Page 164 of Glitched Play

I laugh and take a drink. Pink sugar coats the rim because Birdie declared plain salt too depressing for a girls’ night. Between the margaritas, bowls of queso, stacks of ribbon, and dozens of tiny honey jars covering the island, Noelle’s kitchen looks like a Mexican restaurant collided with a wedding supply store.

Margarita Night was supposed to happen last week, but Birdie had to fly out of town for a recording session, two of the kids got sick, and finding an evening when everyone was free apparently requires the same strategic planning as an NFL schedule.

Tonight, the guys are all at the stadium preparing for the home opener, Birdie and Noelle couldn’t find sitters, and Margarita Night became Margarita-and-Wedding-Favor Night.

I like this version better, anyway. It feels less like an event I’ve been invited to and more like real life.

Messy. Loud. Slightly sticky.

The kind of night where no one cares that my hair is piled into a crooked knot or that there’s dried glue on my thumb. I’ve spent years trying to fit myself into rooms where everyone seemed to understand rules I’d never been given.

Here, the only rule appears to be protecting your drink from small hands.

“I still think glitter was a mistake,” Annika says from the opposite side of the island.

“Glitter is never a mistake.” Birdie shakes more silver flakes over one of the wooden signs meant for the dessert table.

Noelle stares at the sparkling trail leading from the island to the hallway. “That’s easy to say when this isn’t your house.”

“It’ll vacuum.”

“It’ll multiply,” Sutton corrects. “You’ll still be finding it when Emma graduates from high school.”

Birdie lifts the sign and studies it. The words LOVE IS THE BEST PLAY are surrounded by enough glitter and rhinestones to be visible from space.

“What do we think?”

“I think it weighs more than one of your awards,” Annika says.

Birdie gasps. “I don’t have that many awards.”

“You do. Don’t be bashful.” Noelle adds.

Birdie’s smile softens for half a second before she sets the sign back on the table.

“How did the recording session go?” Sutton asks. “You never finished telling us.”

“Amazing.” Birdie brightens so quickly it’s like someone flipped on a stage light inside her. “The industry is all about collaborations right now. Country with rock. Country with pop. Sometimes country with something that doesn’t sound remotely country until they add a steel guitar and call it genre-bending.”

“Is that an actual industry term?” I ask.

“It is now.” She brushes glitter from her fingers. “Hayes Dieslich was incredible. I actually could’ve made it back in time for Margarita Night.”

Noelle arches an eyebrow. “You canceled on us for nothing?”

“I didn’t know it would go that fast. We did one practice run, then one real take, and that was it. Our voices were perfect together.”

Annika leans closer. “Perfect in a musical way or a he’s-a-country-star-with-jeans-painted-on-his-body way?”

“Musically perfect.” Birdie pauses. “His jeans were also very committed to their job. But your kids were sick anyway.”

We all laugh.

“Did J.D. meet him?” Sutton asks.

“Yes, and before you ask, he was fine.”

“Fine as in secure and supportive?” Noelle asks.