My best friend hurls an ice cube at me across the table. Her aim is so poor, it’s easy to dodge despite the fact that my bloodstream is currently eighty-five percentPatrón.
"Guys…” Phoebe adopts her most solemn look. Her eyes are watery again. “Can I ask you a seriousquestion?”
Uhoh.
"Never a good idea to ask serious questions after this much tequila," Shelbymutters.
"Have to agree," Chrissy says,hiccupping.
Phoebe continues as if she hasn't heard them. "I'm not a bridezilla,amI?”
The entire table goes silent. The din of the club seems to press in on us from all sides, the longer the silencestretcheson.
“I mean…” Phoebe's bottom lip starts quivering. "I do recognize that I’ve been... picky... aboutthings."
"Picky?" Gemma's brows lift in twin arcs of incredulity. "Phoebe,pickyis complaining to the caterer when they change your rehearsal dinner salad course from romaine to iceberg unexpectedly. I don't have a word for whatyouare."
"What have I done that'ssooooobad?" Phoebe pins each of us with a stern look, as if daring us to come up withsomething.
"Well, you’ve sent back your dress to the tailor four times," Shelby points out, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Not to mention our bridesmaiddresses..."
"And... didn't you make the florist cry last week when she said she only had blush pink peonies instead of pure white for my maid-of-honor bouquet?"Gemmaasks.
"Plus... you did drag us to look at about sixteen venues...." Chrissy blushes up to the roots of her platinum pixie cut. "But, really, compared to some of my old sorority sisters, you weren'tsobad..."
"Like hell she wasn't," I grumble. "You guys were spared the experience of shopping for wedding lingerie. Phoebe, I've now seen more lace thongs on your body than I've ever witnessed onmyown."
Phoebe's mouth twitches. "You guys! You're supposed to tell me I was a delightful bride!" She glares at her sister. "Admit it, you're just holding a grudge because that woman suggested you buy something from the maternity section at thedressshop—”
Gemma's faceflushes.
"You can barely even tell you're pregnant," Chrissy assuresGemma.
Phoebe snorts. “Maybe when you're looking at her from the front. The profile is a whole differentballgame."
"You know, you really shouldn't insult the overly hormonal, aggressively sober woman who happens to be carrying your future niece or nephew." Gemma pins her sister with a scary look. "Especially since you left your phone at home, and without me you wouldn't be able to find your way out of a brown paper bag at the moment, let alone get yourself back onboard the party Hummer in onepiece."
"I had to leave my phone behind,” Phoebe insists. “Seriously,youtry living with a man like Nate. Given half a chance, he'd have already triangulated my cell signal and sent a SWAT team in to retrieve us. Especially if he knew we ended up at astripclub."
"Honey, I hate to break it to you, but I'm guessing Nate has ways of tracking you down with or without your cellphone." I tilt my head in contemplation. "He's the best private investigator inthecity."
"Didn't he once put a tracking device in your necklace?" Chrissy eyes the massive rock on Phoebe's left finger. "You don'tthink..."
Phoebe's face blanches. Uncoordinated from the alcohol in her system, she jerks her hand up to her face so fast it bonks her straight in the nose. "Ow!" She blinks her watering eyes at the engagement ring. "No… that's pure diamond. Trust me, if there's one thing I know, it'sTiffany&Co."
Shelby laughs. "Great. Maybe you can take a look at my old ring, let me know how much it'sworth."
"So..." My voice trails off. "The divorce isfinal,then?"
Shelby shrugs. "Not quite. Paul has been putting up a surprising amount of resistance. But hopefully within the next few weeks my lawyers will be able to work theirmagic…”
"Have you seen him?" Chrissy asks, studying herfriend.
Shelby shakes her head, eyes darkening with unreadable thoughts. "You know what? Let's not talk about my failed marriage while we're out celebrating Phoebe's impending one. No need to tempt theuniverse."
We all stare at her for a beat, wanting to ask for more details but afraid to push. When it comes to Paul, Shelby has always been notoriously close-mouthed. In the year I've known her, I've only met her (soon-to-be-ex) husband once, in passing, and we traded no more than the most basic of greetings before he got called awayforwork.
"Right, so..." Deciding a change of subject is in order, I seize my shot glass and hoist it into the air. I’m never one for big shows of emotion, but I figure my best friend’s bachelorette party warrants an exception. "Atoast!"