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My head dipped, cheeks going red. "Peyton, they were like... fifteen."
"So?"
"So maybe telling them about self-love and literary porn was slightly inappropriate."
"Why?" she asked, brows furrowing. "It's not like I'm some creepy ass old dude. I wish someone had given me that advice at their age. I mean, you guys have seen Matilda," she said, shaking her head.
Matilda was the name she gave to the tattoo on her left hip. It was supposed to be a flower, but looked suspiciously like a vagina. It had been her first tattoo when she was eighteen. She'd spent a total of fifty bucks on it. And it showed.
She had the money - and talented tattoo artist - to cover it up, but she had become fond of her 'Two-lipped Tulip' tattoo.
"So, where are we were on the gay strippers?" Peyton asked, tapping her pen on her lip.
A deep sigh escaped me.
I had lost the battle the second she pulled out her notebook.
There were going to be gay male strippers at my bachelorette party.
I never could have known they'd show up in furry costumes and bounce around on giant balloons in a room full of various giant art prints that depicted assorted flowers and mushrooms that looked more like genitalia than anything else while the music blasted songs about taking yourself to orgasm while everyone sipped drinks out of penis straws and vagina cups.
I didn't want to talk about the confetti poppers.
Or the honey.
Oh, God, the honey.
It was my own fault.
I never did remember to specify what I did - or didn't - find freaky.
There was one thing for sure, though, Peyton had certainly delivered on her promise to make it an unforgettable night.Kingston - 1.5 yearsThe farmhouse had been a wreck when we'd left it.
It had been a wreck since we started work on it, to be perfectly honest.
There were some nights that we would pack the dogs in the back of the car and head back to my old apartment because we genuinely couldn't stand being in a perpetually unfinished construction zone every moment of the day.
Sometimes it was fun. Okay, well, maybe it was only really fun in the beginning. Back when we piled the old, hideous kitchen cabinets in the backyard, grabbed some sledgehammers, and destroyed them. Or when we would make out in the paint aisle in Home Depot.
Back before we had to spend hours poring over tile options and had to deal with the city and all their rules about adding on bedrooms and the current septic system.
Back before prices started to spiral out of control, filling the never-ending project with dread and weariness instead of excitement and hope.
We'd impulsively decided to stop things exactly where they were two months ago, making sure everything was livable and weather-resistant, choosing instead to focus on the wedding, the honeymoon, happier things.
Unlike Savvy's bachelorette party planned by Peyton and my bachelor party planned by Atlas, we'd decided to take the reins of the wedding over entirely, not trusting our family to not go overboard.
We wanted simple.
Family, close friends, an outdoor ceremony. Something on the casual side. So the kids didn't get antsy and miserable, stressing out their parents, making the day a chore for them instead of a celebration. And with a fenced area for all of the family dogs to run and play as well.
"Should we raise a barn too?" Nixon had asked, scoffing a bit at our unconventional plans.
"So we don't have to wear suits, right?" That was Rush.
It wasn't traditional, that was for sure.
The Mallick women had shown up early on the day of, transforming the park we had rented out into something straight out of a bridal magazine with white and yellow flowers, fabric tied chairs, candles. They'd managed to make the picnic area into a beautiful dining space, had turned the gazebo into the spot we would stand and recite our vows in front of our family, friends, and a Justice of the Peace.
There had been no nervousness that morning at my old apartment building.
There was nothing to be nervous about.
Because there was no doubt in my mind about Savea, about our future.
She was the one.
She'd always been the one.
She was across town at the Mallick house, letting the girls pamper her, likely listening to Peyton act all serious, giving her the "talk" about what to expect on the wedding night.
I was the calmest I had ever been as I slipped into a suit, as I shared a drink with all the men, as they reassured me that they would make sure Harry stayed on track while we were out of town for a few weeks - a gift from Charlie and Helen to us, three weeks on a beach in the Bahamas.
No drywall dust.
No tile samples.
No instant headache from the sounds of hammers and drills and electric sanders.
