Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink Read Free Page A

me off. “Right. Like you’ve ever said no to something that involves cake.”
    Her statement sounds insulting, but since it’s spot-on, I’m gonna let it go.
    “Nic, can you explain the cake pull to me in a hundred words or less?” Jeff asks.
    “It’s a bridal-shower game with silver charms buried inside the frosting of a two-layer cake and pulled out by a ribbon. Each guest pulls one ribbon from the cake, and the charm that is attached to that ribbon is supposed to determine the guest’s future. So, for example, the girl who pulls the engagement-ring charm from the cake would be the next to get engaged, the girl who pulls the baby carriage will be the next to get pregnant, etc.”
    “Is there a charm to get Mel to come visit me in Hawaii?” Jeff asks.
    “The passport,” Nic answers. “But she’s already asked for the antique phone, which means good news is coming her way.”
    “Hmm,” I say, thinking aloud. “Maybe I would like the passport. My last day of school was Friday, and I have tons of time to kill. Maybe I should go abroad this summer. I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”
    “Or Hawaii,” Jeff suggests.
    “Hawaii doesn’t need a passport,” I tell him.
    “And Paris doesn’t have a free guest room for you to stay in for as long as you want.”
    Jeff makes a fine point. Those student loans are not going to pay themselves down, and a free place to stay would keep expenses more reasonable. But mostly, it would be wonderful to see Jeff. Since he completely reinvented his life and moved to Maui two and a half years ago, there’s been a hole in my heart I haven’t quite been able to fill.
    “Oh, my date’s here!” Jeff says cheerfully, hopping off his bar seat. “Gotta go!”
    “Isn’t it four in the morning where you are?” Nic asks.
    “I’m a guy. We live to start dates at four in the morning. Love you both. Bye!” And he flickers off.
    Speaking of flickering, I have a flickering of jealousy pass through me. Not because he’s my ex-boyfriend, but because I can’t even remember the last time I liked a guy enough to see him at four in the morning. Or even at 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday night.
    “What do you think about toilet-paper bride?” Nic asks.
    I turn to look at her. “I don’t think it would be one of your best looks.”

 
    T HREE
    At noon, I’m all dressed up in my favorite purple Suzi Chin dress (which expertly hides my recent increase in girth) and some modest beige pumps. I sit at Nic’s nicely appointed granite kitchen island, stabbing large cooked shrimp with multicolored cellophane-tipped toothpicks and placing them on a decorative serving tray while Nic places a pile of bingo cards next to me.
    “I’ve been inspired!” she tells me proudly. “Bridal bingo!”
    Nic trots over to her refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of champagne while I read the squares on the bingo card at the top of the pile. “On this card the eternal and bridesmaid squares are right next to each other.”
    Nic pushes the champagne bottles into a giant stainless steel bucket filled with crushed ice, then turns back to get more bubbly. “Fine. I’ll take that card.”
    I flip to the next card. “On this one, the mother-in-law square is next to the groom square, with the bride square three spaces away diagonally.”
    Nic shoves two more bottles into the big bucket, then pulls the cards away from me to put them back on the counter. “You’re overthinking this.”
    “I’m just saying, have you even looked at where they put the word sex ? Because if it’s near a space marked ‘free’…”
    “I’m begging you not to finish that thought.”
    I shrug, then go back to my toothpicking. Nic pops open a bottle of champagne. My face lights up. I happily grab a champagne flute, then wave the glass in front of her, a gleeful, oversize grin on my face.
    Nic laughs and pours me a glass.
    The doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” I say, nabbing a large shrimp for myself to accompany my