Page 17 of All Our Nevers

“Oh, creamy. One hundred percent.”

“One hundred percent,” he agrees. “Chunky is just weird.”

“It’s weird! Thank you. Tell that to your brother and his fiancée. They’re obsessed with chunky and it’s disgusting.”

He doesn’t respond, just pulls into the shopping center parking lot and picks a spot. When he looks down to shift the car into park, he almost seems sad.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I push. “What just happened to your face? What are you thinking?”

“Are you gonna mock me for it?” he asks.

“Probably.”

He lets out a reluctant sigh. “It’s just clear you just know my brother better than I do, that’s all.” Then he opens the door and steps out, ending that part of the conversation as quickly as it began.

Our first errand stop is Party City, and by the grace of God we’re on the exact same page with our goal: bachelor/ette party decorations that are over-the-top to the point of embarrassment, for at least Andy if not Sophie too.

We start with the balloon aisle, where we have the full alphabet of letters to play with.

“What should we do?” Owen asks. “Just Congratulations? Or maybe Mr. and Mrs. Walsh?”

“What makes you so confident she’s taking his last name?”

“Is she?” he asks.

“Yes, but you’re a chauvinist for assuming.”

Owen ignores the jab. “Actually… how would you rate your interest in fucking with them?”

“Extremely high.”

“Another thing we agree on, then. What about Nerd Wedding?”

I laugh. “I love it. Or how about just Congrats Andy? Simple but effective.”

“Or, take it one step further: Sophie Are You Sure?”

“What about Is This Incest?”

Now it’s Owen’s turn to laugh out loud. “I like it, but it doesn’t look like they have question mark balloons. What about Take Her Last Name?”

“Ooh I like that one!”

In the end, we purchase enough balloons to have a different phrase in each main room of the Airbnb: we do both Nerd Wedding and Take Her Last Name for the living room, then do Andy’s A Simp for the kitchen, Puke Here for the bathroom, and—most importantly—Quiet Down You Fuckers for their bedroom.

And we don’t stop there. We buy poster boards so we can hang more quippy signs all around the rental. We also get penis-shaped balloons (which they don’t sell at Party City, but I do order online), colorful paper streamers, and an overabundance of cheesy photo booth supplies. Finally, we get and/or place online orders for assorted goodie bag bits in a loose “Sophie and Andy” theme: shot glasses, bookmarks, ibuprofen, sleep masks, sticky notes, and Boston-themed temporary tattoos. There’s one that says “MASSHOLE” in the shape of our fine Commonwealth that really speaks to me.

Then we’re onto the next, and arguably most important, supply stop: the liquor store. We make the mistake of sharing a cart, and that’s when the trouble starts.

“My brother is not drinking Mr. Boston at his bachelor party, Amelia. We’re not twenty-year-olds in the Sigma Chi basement.”