Page 39 of The Lovers
She’s reaching for me like that’s it. Like one sentence of affirming my worth makes up for years of pushing me to question it.
“Not. On. Your. Life.”
I hear the sound of laughter from the bachelorette party roaring over the dusty expanse behind me, and I whirl away for another beer.
?The bonfire warms the air; glowing orange embers jump into the darkness near the farm-style table. It’s lit by shallow lamps, set with a woven cream runner, and decorated with bouquets of wildflowers. The crew has dwindled down to just the bachelorette party, and Kit and me—Millie’s honorary working guests—and the Glamp-Out overnight staff. The chefs have created a light, fresh, inclusively vegan and gluten-free menu, and I almost feelguilty for taking Millie up on her offer to eat. This wasn’t a cheap excursion; it wouldn’t have been easy to coordinate. It really should have been handled by her bridal party, even if the cumulative energy of this group is more in the vein ofcacophony of wild birdsthanreliable team players.
I’m now three crab cakes in, one more beer down, and too intimidated to ask Kit if she’s ready to head back to Celestial Sands. In my head, there’s no way to pose the question that doesn’t immediately make it provocative.
Coco drops down in the empty space beside me. Cupped in her gloriously long fingers are two shots of clear liquor, one of which she hands to me.
“Oh, no—” I set it on the table. “I’m heading out soon.”
She picks it back up. “Not.”
She presses the shot back into my hand, closing my fingers around the glass before she releases. “We have a whole thing planned. You can’t miss it.”
“As her wedding planner, I’m glad to hear you’ve come through on the planning.”
“Wow, you’re kind of a judgy bitch,” she says, but her tone is kindhearted. I sputter out the beginning of an argument—but she quickly brushes my offense away. “Oh, fuck off, I don’t care—we’ve been discussing you in the group chat and we all agree.”
That isn’t a complete thought, but okay. “On?”
“You need to cut loose.”
“I don’t.” I balk, unsure if I should feel offended or charmed by them discussing me in this way. “I’m working the wedding, not attending it.”
“You need to get laid.”
“That would be incredibly inappropriate while on the clock.”
She cocks a brow. “Just a ballpark guess, it’s been what, over a year—thirteen months?”
Her ballpark must be small, because she’s practically on the field.
“That’s none of your business.” This is really getting away from me.
“So I’m close?” She grins, and I expel a sharp huff through my nostrils. “What’s your flavor?”
“Do you mean like what kind of person am I attracted to?” I am too stunned to be offended. Coco has this way of disarming through shock that most people would get canceled for, but that she seems to exploit to her advantage.
“You’re giving strong Cate Blanchett inOcean’s 8plus a little Alanis on thatJagged Little Pill.”
“In what way?” I look down at my pin-striped / leather bomber combo in confusion.
“Energetically.”
“So my soul is intimidatingly queer-shaped?”
“As is mine.” She winks at me. “Look, half the chicks here are some kinda gay, and I know for a fact at least one of Sean’s sisters is full-on butch, but she passes as lipstick for the ’rents if you’re not into that vibe.”
“Please stop talking.”
“We like you—you’ve done a baller job on Millie’s nuptials so far,” she says, her voice softening to something almost gentle. She nudges me with her elbow.
“The wedding events don’t begin until tomorrow.” I counter her compliment with my skepticism.
“None of us will judge you if you let your freak flag fly.” She lifts her shot glass toward me. “Bottoms up, bitch.” When I don’tcomply, she pouts out her bottom lip, begging with giant storm-cloud-gray puppy dog eyes.
