Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink Read Free Page B

champagne. I walk through Nic’s marble foyer, with a glass of champagne in one hand and a now-empty toothpick in the other, and open the door to Seema.
    “Why do women get married?” she asks me irritably.
    I look up to the ceiling to think. “Um … so they can feel morally superior to the rest of us?”
    Seema takes my glass of champagne, takes a very healthy sip, and marches in without giving me my glass back. “Scott and I just had the biggest fight.”
    As she heads toward the kitchen, I close the door then quickly follow. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” Seema says angrily, then sighs. “I just want to get drunk, get presents, and revel in the mockery that is the supposed bliss of the engagement.”
    Okey-dokey.
    “There’s our blushing bride!” Nic gushes happily.
    “Shyeah, right,” Seema responds.
    “Trouble in paradise?” Nic pats her hand on a barstool by the kitchen island, inviting Seema to sit. “What is it? Did he ask for a prenup? Has he not written his vows yet? Do you want a nice ginger martini for your signature cocktail at the reception, but he’s going all hoppy and IPA beer on you?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” Seema sighs, then downs the rest of the champagne from my flute. She grabs the open bottle of champagne from the stainless steel bucket and refills my glass.
    Oh, dear. It’s a little too early to be one of those kinds of days. “We have mixers to go with that,” I hint to Seema. “And not just orange juice.” I point to several pitchers of mixers in a rainbow of colors. “I also made fresh peach purée, not to mention strawberries mixed with muddled basil, plus the purple one is a reduced Concord-grape juice mixed with orange zest, orange bitters, and rosemary—”
    “Stop,” Seema interrupts, furrowing her brow. “You have met me, right?”
    I take a deep breath, then say to her diplomatically, “I’m just suggesting that you might want to take it easy on the champagne. You don’t want your Auntie Hema seeing you loaded.”
    Seema takes another gulp of champagne. “First off, don’t say auntie . You sound like you’re being condescending. Second, not to worry, in the last ten years she’s never seen me sober.”
    Aunties are the older Indian women who help the bride with her wedding, both with the henna ceremony the day before, and then with putting on her sari the day of the wedding (a several-hours-long process). Seema only has a couple of aunts: Hema and Neya. Personally, I think they’re charming and lovely women. They drive Seema crazy. Which is fair, because she adores both my aunt Jacqui and my aunt Kris, and they are both nuts and a total embarrassment, so we break even.
    Hema came into town a week before the wedding just to be at the shower today, so we’re conscientious about everything’ being perfect.
    Nic promptly walks over to Seema, takes the glass out of her hand, and gives it back to me. “Hey! That’s mine!” Seema protests.
    “Oh, no,” Nic says. “You are so cut off for now. And your guests will be here any minute expecting a happy bride. So vent before they get here.”
    Seema only pouts for a moment before unloading. “Scott doesn’t want to give up his loft after we’re married. He is paying almost three thousand dollars a month on rent. That’s money that could be going toward our retirement fund, toward buying a bigger house.… Hell, at this point, I’d agree to use the money to go on a camping trip to Mount Rushmore.”
    I furrow my brow. “Why Mount…?”
    “I just really hate Mount Rushmore!” Seema whines. “That’s not the point. The point is, he already has an exit strategy. While I’m planning our wedding, he’s planning our divorce. So why am I bothering to marry him in the first place?”
    “My advice?” Nic says calmly. “Let it go.”
    “Let it go ?” Seema shrieks in disbelief.
    “Let it go,” Nic repeats. “Men need time to adjust to the idea