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“Oh. Simon had made arrangements with a family friend before us,” I said, helping myself to an egg salad tit sandwich. Cheers rang out as another friend pinned the boobs on the head of the cutout, and Nana made a crude joke about bad plastic surgery. “I want to be her when I grow up.”
“Me too,” mumbled Katrina, finishing her drink. I looked at the impeccably dressed older lady with newfound respect, suddenly much more interested in what she had to say. “What? Robert wasn’t always the man you met at dinner. Obsessed with power and using his children like pawns on a chessboard. Sometimes I wonder if Beth got pregnant on purpose to have some measure of control over who she’d marry.”
Ouch.
Katrina took the bottle and poured the rest into her glass. “I’m sure you know by now about the horrid fight Simon and his father got into.” I gave her a curt nod and glanced at Nana, who looked deep in conversation with one of Beth’s coworkers. Nana looked my way and winked before focusing on the woman enthusiastically waving her arms.
“Well, I need to express how grateful I am to you for that.”
“Me? Me—” I stammered. She couldn’t possibly think I had anything to do with that argument.
“Simon has always tried to be this perfect person, striving to meet his father’s unrealistic expectations. All he had was bitterness. Then there was you, and now, I can see the happiness I thought he lost peeking back through. So thank you. Excuse me. I’m going to have a go with pinning those boobs on correctly.”
She left me reeling on the couch with my mouth open, desperate for a stronger drink and something more substantial than finger sandwiches.
“Addison,” Beth called, motioning me to the front of the living room where she was sorting through large-printed pictures. “Get your ass up here. It’s time to play guess the tits.”
“Whoa,” I said, standing and rocking back on the heels of my boots. I balanced myself with my hand on the sofa’s edge, turning to Beth with a smile. “Sure, but someone needs to get me something sweet before we start.”
“Celeste, get Addison a piece of titty cake, please.”
“On it,” she said, breaking away from Nana and heading to the double-D-sized chocolate cake.
“Alright, ladies. First picture.” She held the large photo above her head, and we all peered at the B-cup boobs, trying to guess the celebrity. Based on the classic coffee shop I saw in the background, I had an inkling of who it was, but my phone buzzed in my pocket before I could yell out.
Hackette: What if I don’t care?
Me: You will if you ever want to be a serious journalist again.
Hackette: Fine. When and where?
Me: Lovely. Tomorrow. Sweeter Things at noon.
Hackette: Fine.
Me: Fine.
I pocketed my phone just as Katrina called out Jennifer Aniston, and Beth high-fived her mom, passing over a bag of gummy boobs. The next picture made D-cups look small and were paired with a classic black dress with a drastic v cut down the middle.
“Dolly Parton.”
“Pamela Anderson.”
“Elvira,” I hollered, cupping my hand around my mouth.
“Yes,” Beth said, pointing at me.
I whooped and fist pumped, raising my hands in the air. “Hit me with some tit gummies, lady.” She threw a bag over, and I caught them, stuffing them under my arm as Celeste passed me a piece of cake. “Thank you.”
The games continued and the drinks flowed, and Nana appeared with two more bottles of champagne and a fresh bottle of liquor. She passed a bottle over to me, and I stuffed the gummies into my back pocket, deftly twisting the muselet off the bottle and holding it away from the crowd. A loud pop filled the air along with cheers and giggles as Nana poured a healthy amount of liquor into each glass. Beth followed with raspberries, and I topped everyone off with champagne.
Beth looked at the drink, then filled her crystal goblet with sparkling cider, topping it with several raspberries.
“I’m sorry you can’t indulge,” I said, reaching for Nana’s take on mammogram-shaped s’mores: Graham crackers with a giant pink marshmallow partially stuffed between it with a chocolate chip on the end.
“Don’t be,” Beth said, waving her hand and filling a small plate with melon boob balls. “It’s much more fun enjoying this sober and taking the occasional blackmail picture.”
“You wouldn’t,” I teased, looking where Katrina held up the Velcro boobs from the game to her chest and laughed.
