Page 2 of While You Were Trending

I’d hoped—hoped—that I could get through today with minimal interaction with her.

Maybe not see her at all.

That I’d take one look at her and know that theI have a crush on Ginny Rhodesstage of my life is over.

Instead, after wishing the couple a lifetime of happiness, I’ve been wandering the grape fields and checking out the open winery buildings, avoiding her.

Very unsuccessfully, since I’m now lingering in a barn doorway across the fields from the main festivities, having accidentally stumbled upon Ginny and her mother and an older lady.

Ginny’s upright, but the other two—the other two are clearly having their own separate kind of party here.

“It’s Caro’swedding day,” Ginny’s hissing. “What are youdoing?”

Her mom, Freida, a taller, more slender version of Ginny, in a form-fitting shimmery green gown and some kind of magic makeup that makes her skin look like it’s made of porcelain, is sprawled on the barn floor. She passes a joint to the older lady, who’s sprawled next to her between the plank wood wall lined with work benches and a large green tractor, then grins at Ginny.

“Caro’s so pretty,” Freida says in the loopy way that suggests this isn’t her first joint of the night.

“Caro will be pretty pissed if she finds you like this,” Ginny says.

“Lighten up, my dude,” Pip Makepeace says. She’s eighty-five, owns this place, and despite having all day to figure out exactly what she’s wearing, I still don’t know how I’d describe it to a friend in a way that would be believable.

It’s like a miniskirt and a chipmunk mated and created some kind of new dress that covers all of the critical parts—but not much more—with brown-and-black striped fur. And there’s an ornamental urn on her other side that doesn’t fit with the working-farm-equipment décor of the barn.

Or the wedding theme around the rest of the vineyard.

Freida giggles. “Yeah,duuude. Lightenuuuup. We’reenjoyingtheday.”

“Weddings are shit,” Pip says. “We’re enjoying the weed.”

“Noo, they’re boooti—buka—betterful.” Freida giggles.

“They’re dumb,” Pip replies.

“What do you know?”

Pip pats the urn. “Best you can hope for is that they kick the bucket young enough for you to enjoy the rest of your life without them.”

“Mike and Caro will besooohappy, you old crank.”

“Happy if they like shit.”

“Who has shit?”

“They do. Marriage is shit.”

“It is not! It’s becka—boota—betterful.”

“I know you didn’t just call me a boobful.”

“Caro has a boobful.” Freida takes another hit off the joint. “Soooo many boobs. And she has a third nipple.Shhhhhh. I’m not ’apposed to talk ’bout it. It’s here.” Ginny’s mom points to her belly button. “And it’s socuteand small, but it’s a real nipple.”

Ginny puts her palm to her forehead. “Can you please not talk about Caro’s boobs today? At all? Especially today, and especially at all.”

She’s in a soft pink bridesmaid dress, with her own breasts hugged by satin and fluffy ballerina fabric flowing out of her waist.

Her hair’s wild and free, all brown curls spilling over her shoulders, and whatever she’s done with her makeup has her blue eyes popping in a way that I hate.

Mostly because of how much I want to stare into them.