Page 23 of Best Woman
“I’m pretty sure she still does that. Aiden told me he took some leftovers to work for lunch once and she drove to his office to get them back.” We both laugh.
“She’s a lot, yeah. She knows what she wants and doesn’t take no for an answer. She kind of just…decided we were going to be best friends and all of a sudden, we were. The first time I brought a girl back to our room, Rachel almost seemed disappointed I wasn’t harboring some giant crush onher. Then she told the girlUgly Bettywas on in forty-five minutes, so she’d better get me off quick.”
I guffaw, gleefully horrified. “She did not!”
“What can I say, I’ve always had a thing for Vanessa Williams.”
“Well obviously,” I say.
It makes sense, in a way. Rachel was raised with the kind of privilege that leads to exacting standards and zero filter. The first time Aiden brought her over for Hanukkah, she’d thanked my mom for having her and assured her that if she added a bit of matzoh meal to her latkes, they’d be much more crispy. “Don’t worry, Dana,” she’d reassured her on her way out the door, “in a few years Aiden and I will be hosting and all you’ll have to do is bring the wine!”
“What a bitch,” Mom said once they were gone. “I give it six months.”
Look how that turned out. And honestly, Rachel’s latkesaresuperior.
Soon we’re parking in front of Boca’s closest approximation of a hip bar. “You really do look great,” Kim says as I check my lipstick. “Your legs in that dress…”
“It’s too much, right? I’m wearing a pop star’s castoffs and he”—I point toward a man entering the bar—“is wearing those cargo pants that zip off at the knee.”
Kim looks up from my legs, which I most certainly don’t mind her noticing. She can notice them for as long as she likes. “Nah, you’re going to be the hottest girl in there.” She says it so casually, but my heart still speeds up.
Pitbull is playing inside the bar, which is pretty much exactly what I expected. We’re ushered into a large private room, something that wouldn’t be possible in New York, where square footage is in short supply. Kim grabs my hand, our rings clinking together. The moment we cross the threshold, an earsplitting shriek, comparable to the sound the Ringwraiths make inLord of the Rings,rends the air. Poor Pitbull, you’ll never overpower a Jewish bride days out from her wedding.
Rachel rushes over, wearing an honest-to-god Hervé Léger bandage dress as if it’s 2012 and she’s the bottle girl. Her normally curly hair is blown straight, whipping behind her like the flag of some country where the national flower is Daisy by Marc Jacobs and the currency is Lululemon gift cards. She’s startlingly pretty, a natural beauty enhanced by expertly applied makeup and, I’m fairly certain, a nose job. She’s in fantastic shape and has no problem sprinting across a crowded room in six-inch heels, and even at a distance, you can tell that this ishernight, her week, her wedding. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying, and then she’s right there in front of us, pulling Kim close and shrieking her name. She’d probably cry if it wouldn’t ruin her eyeliner, but she also may have had her tear ducts removed in high school when she did her nose.
“Oh my fucking god,” she whines, clutching Kim tight. “It feels so real now that you’re here. My maid of fucking honor!”
Kim pulls back and, for all her bluster in the car and over the past few weeks, she looks genuinely happy to see my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “I can’t believe you’re gettingmarriedthis weekend. Holy shit.”
Rachel grips Kim’s (extremely toned) arms, staring ferociously into her eyes. “We have so much to talk about. Every day there’s a new disaster, I just found out from the caterers that there’s a cream cheese shortage and they won’t be able to do the mini bagels with lox during the cocktail hour. Is that not apocalyptic?”
“Florida has shit bagels anyway,” I cut in. “Hi, Rachel.”
Rachel lets out another squeal and pulls me into a hug. “Jules, you’re here!” I was right: she is wearing Daisy by Marc Jacobs. She pulls back to take in my outfit. “Oh my god, is that the dressHannah G wore to Kristen Stewart’s birthday party?” Wow, she really is a Bananah.
“Hey, guys,” Aiden says, sliding into our little circle and slipping an arm around Rachel’s waist. “I mean, sorry,hey,y’all. Or should I sayhey, folks?” Rachel, Kim, and I simultaneously roll our eyes, although I’m sure each of us for very different reasons. I know Aiden is probably earnestly trying to phase gendered language out of his vocabulary, but considering what I’ve told Kim, it’s easy to mistake his comment as rude and dismissive, maybe even aggressive. She certainly doesn’t give him a warm welcome and presses her shoulder against mine supportively. It makes me feel excited and icky all at once.
I sweep my gaze around the room as they chitchat, taking in the crowd for tonight’s event, the official wedding kickoff for the under-forty wedding guests and any of Aiden and Rachel’s friends who didn’t secure an invite to the actual reception. It’s a lot of unfamiliar faces, but I smile at a few extended family members, already anticipating a night of stilted, awkward conversations. And of course, there’s Ben, looking far too handsome in a tight blue button-down that hugs his shoulders and black slacks that cling to his butt. I love his butt.
He looks up and waves hello, and the satisfaction of his eyes widening as he takes in the way Kim Cameron is pressed against me was honestly worth the price of my plane ticket.
I zone back into the conversation, which has moved on to Aiden and Rachel’s favorite date night activities. “One of those places where you can paint and drink wine just opened up in Delray and it’s like, so incredible to be doing something creative.” Rachel smiles at Aiden. “Right, honey?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to pass some shitty art down to our kidsas heirlooms. They’ll break out some sort of futuristic blacklight technology and see thatVase with Dandelionsstarted as justBoobs.”
“You two are going to look so great walking down the aisle together,” Rachel says, smiling at Kim and me. “Things worked out perfectly.”
“I don’t know about perfect,” Aiden says, a pained look on his face.
“Yeah, it’s too bad about Jenna,” Kim says, her tone firm, maybe even combative.
Aiden doesn’t notice, shooting me a guilty look. I know it’s because he feels bad for how long it took to figure out how serious Jenna’s hostility toward me was, but from the way Kim’s eyes narrow, she must read something else into it. With the foundation I’ve given her, it must be so easy to interpret how uncomfortable he is as directed toward me rather than on my behalf.
Kim wraps her arm around my waist, mirroring Aiden and Rachel, and squeezes me in a way that would be delightful in literally any other context. Aiden looks surprised, but it quickly melts into the face I remember from childhood, the one he’d get before my stuffed animals went missing. Devious little shithead.
“I’m sure Jules is much happier walking down the aisle with you,” he says, grinning.
“Well, I do have not being an asshole going for me,” says Kim.
