Page 9 of Kiss Slay Replay

“That’s my girl!” He makes the decision to toss it to me, which I realize too late, after I haven’t caught it, after it hits the wall and explodes all over my room. All over my dress. Hair. Shoes.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he says, turning on his heel. He returns a second later with towels.

My hair, which I just spent the last hour blowing out, is now sticky with margarita. My dress, too. I burst out laughing because why not? What else am I going to do? Cry? Self-immolate?

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Cass says, jumping up, jumping into action. “I have a pack of Tide pens in the van, and, Jesus Christ, let that be the most mom thing I ever say. I’m going to clean this dress tonight for you to wear tomorrow, and whatever dress you packed for tomorrow or as a plan B you can wear tonight. And I’ll fix your hair. And I’ll kill my husband. Or you can kill him. Whichever you prefer.”

“You want a replacement, Willa? I won’t throw it this time. Promise,” Luke says, holding up another canned margarita.

“Do you have straight tequila? Is this safe to inject directly into my veins?”

“I got whiskey,” he says. “You’re a whiskey gal.”

“Go to the car and get the Tide pens. They’re in the center console. And get the whiskey,” Cassie tells Luke. She materializes her vape and takes a hit.

“Whatever you say, boss! Willa, you look great. Don’t even worry about it. Tanya’s got nothing on you.”

“Go!” Cassie says, exhaling.

“Going, going,” Luke says, kissing Cass on the cheek before bolting out of the cabin.

“Tanya?” I ask.

Cassie opens her can and passes it to me. “Ravi’s date.”

“His what? He brought a fucking date?”

“Hey, hey! Oh my gosh, I’m so happy to…”

We turn to see Steph in the doorway observing the margarita mess. She looks so beautiful that I literally can’t breathe, with her long, dark hair in a glamorous updo, birdcage veil, her makeup perfect, her dress simple—a shade of lavender that suits her, that is her. Sweet and lovely and fun and unique.

“Get out of here, you look like a fucking dream,” Cassie says, taking another pull on her vape and then tucking it into her bra.

“Is everything okay?”

“Luke threw a cocktail at my head,” I say, as Cassie unzips my dress. “Now I’m going to look like a wet dog in front of my ex-fiancé and, apparently, his date.”

“Did no one tell her?” Cassie asks Steph.

Steph gasps, slapping her hands to her cheeks in horror. “I assumed you knew.”

“Never assume.” I don’t have it in me to be self-conscious, even though I’m now in my underwear. We’ve all seen one another naked—swapping outfits in our dorm, squeezing into the same bathroom at parties to gossip, skinny-dipping on group vacations. But that was a long time ago. Our bodies are different now, as we skid into our thirties.

“Oh, Wills. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not on you, Steph. It’s your day! Your weekend!”

Evan’s voice carries through the wall. “What are you bitches doing in there? Sounds like Friday night at the asylum.”

“It is unreal to me that he didn’t talk to you about it. He reached out to Jace to ask and then, you know Jace, he was like, okay, yes, sure. Then Jace came to me, and I almost called you to check but then I thought it might be annoying, or upsetting, or that maybe you’d be insulted I would think you’d care, and I…” Steph trails off, biting a manicured nail.

“Don’t!” Cass and I shout in unison. We’ve been scolding Steph about her nail-biting habit since first semester freshman year.

“Right. I’ll ruin them.” She takes a moment to admire her ballet slipper–pink nails. “Willa, if you’re not okay with it I can see if…”

“Steph. It’s fine,” I say, even though it is not fine. Even though Cassie is stabbing the back of my head with a bobby pin.

“Did you not know he was seeing someone?”