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I know this is hard for her. She’s very loyal to her brother.
“She doesn’t even like baseball,” Becky finally admits. “The first time she went to his game, she wore the wrong team colors.”
“What?” I burst out laughing.
“I’m totally serious. I mean, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, except that she was sitting right behind home base. So every time a new player went to bat, the camera crew would zoom in, and she’d end up on the JumboTron.”
I groan. “And Brendon didn’t break up with her right then and there?”
“No,” Becky says. “He told me he’d had enough of all the baseball groupies and just wanted someone who would still like him after he retired. I guess it makes sense.”
I liked him long before he went pro,I think, but it’s too late for me to do anything about it now.
“You’re being way too nice, Becky,” Percy says, grabbing the tequila bottle and taking another shot. “Tell her what she said about him at her bridal shower.”
Becky rolls her eyes. “Ugh, I forgot about that. She went on and on about how rich and good-looking he is and how she couldn’t wait to show him off to the bullies at her high school reunion. It’s like she’s marrying him just to prove that she can.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. Why does she care what they think?”
“Are you kidding me? She’s insufferable. My digital assistant has a better personality.” Sammi grabs her phone from the counter. “Henrietta, how many shots of tequila will it take to get me drunk?” she asks the phone as if Henrietta’s voice will come through the speaker with an answer.
“By US measurement, the average Sammi loses consciousness after fourteen shots of two fluid ounces of tequila,” Percy responds in a robotic voice.
She and Sammi fall on the bed, laughing hysterically.
“I think she might actually be a robot,” Becky concludes. “Anyone with a heart wouldn’t marry someone just for bragging rights, and that’s exactly what she’s doing—only Brendon can’t see it.”
I’m trying to be my usual calm, collected self for the sake of my friends, but I can feel the rage bubbling inside me.
“This calls for another toast,” Sammi says, lifting her shot glass. “To Brendon’s shitty fiancée. May her wedding gifts be refundable, her prenup all-inclusive, and her birth control pills extra strong.”
“Care to join us this time, Mysti?” Percy asks gently, holding out the bottle.
I count down from five, waiting for my loyalty to Norbert to kick in and stop me from getting shit-faced right before my wedding.
Five, four, three, two…
“Don’t do it, Mysti Biscuits,” Becky says in her best Norbert voice. “Tequila makes your breath stink. How about a shot of mouthwash instead?”
Damn it. She’s figured out the real reason I’m not drinking. Now I’m going to have to come up with a better excuse.
Fuck it. I’m tired of hearing Norbert’s voice in my head—he’s so fucking negative all the fucking time.
“I guess it won’t kill me to haveonedrink,” I agree, starting to warm up to the idea.
“Just one,” Sammi promises me, “and then we’ll go get you some tacos so you won’t get sick. You’ll have plenty of time to sober up.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll have one shot. ONE.” I grab a shot glass and hold it out, confident that I can limit myself to a reasonable amount of alcohol, no matter what Norbert thinks.
I mean, how bad can it be?
Sammi fills my glass with tequila, and I toss it back, letting the liquid burn its way down the back of my throat. I suck on a lime slice for old time’s sake, but let’s be honest, I’m well beyond dressing up my liquor with fruit.
Finally, I ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue ever since Becky brought it up. “What is Henrietta doing for her bachelorette party, anyway?”
Becky snorts. “She’s taking her mom, aunt, and grandmother to a silent auction to pick out antiques for her china doll collection.”
I’m trying to be open-minded here.
