by Lila Monroe
“I love that,” Hallie says, smiling at me over her drink. “You look really, really happy.”
“I am happy,” I confess, “but I’m also trying—like, with limited success—to keep my expectations really low. I can definitely feel myself getting wrapped up in the romance of this whole thing, but I have no idea how much of it is actually for real.”
“Oh, I know that feeling,” Hallie says with a grin.
“No kidding,” I say, remembering what happened with her and Max. “And I don’t know if maybe it’s just a fling for him, or . . .” I trail off, not wanting to put my hopes into words just yet. “How did you guys figure it out?”
Hallie tilts her head to the side, considering. “I mean, there were definitely a few misunderstandings along the way,” she admits. “But we just kept talking. And, you know. Having super-hot, amazing sex.”
I laugh out loud, clapping a hand over my face and peering at her from between two fingers. “The sex definitely isn’t going to be a problem,” I reveal sheepishly. “Like. At all.”
“Aw yeah,” Hallie cheers, lifting her cocktail in a toast. “Enjoy yourself, Olivia,” she says as we clink. “You deserve it.”
Back at my dad’s house, we find Vanessa scrolling Instagram in the living room. She’s dressed in a short silk kimono printed with tropical flowers in garish shades of orange and pink, a giant water bottle full of green juice in one hand. “Bride Tribe!” she yells, loudly enough to send Jagger flying into the next room. “The photographer’s here!” She looks at us, frowning. “It’s about time.”
I see Hallie’s eyebrows twitch, but she smiles, holding a hand out to shake. “You must be Vanessa,” she says smoothly. “I’m so excited to get to capture your special day!”
“It will be special,” Vanessa says, brightening a bit as she sits upright. “Now. I made a list of my best angles for you to study, but that’s going to have to wait, because we have to get downtown to the bridal shop for the final fitting.” She frowns. “BRIDE TRIBE! HURRY UP!”
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” I say, edging toward the door. I’m already imagining heading back to the hotel and grabbing Ryan for an afternoon tumble. I can practically feel his mouth between my—
“What?!” Vanessa interrupts, looking at me like I’m demented. “Where do you think you’re going? You need to try your dress on, too!”
“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m all set, thanks. I’ve actually got a super cute tux picked out—”
“A tux?” Vanessa laughs like I just suggested wearing a red pleather catsuit. “Who do you think you are, George Clooney? Don’t be ridiculous, Livvie. I already found the perfect thing for you.”
Which is how I find myself standing on a stool in front of a three-way mirror in Tootsie’s Key West Bridal Salon in a teal satin princess number with puffy sleeves and an honest-to-Jesus bustle, enormous tulle underskirt crinkling loudly like I’ve got the Sunday Times shoved into my panties. There’s even a matching headband involved. Tootsie herself crouches at my feet, scowling while she pins up the lacy hem.
“That is . . . assertive,” Hallie murmurs as I turn slowly to get a look at the massive bow positioned directly over my ass.
“It’s classic!” Vanessa says, clapping her hands.
If by “classic” she means “directly out of 1989,” she is technically correct. I think longingly of the skinny black pants and exquisite white silk top hanging in my closet back at the hotel, which I was planning to pair with a perfectly tailored blazer and, as a nod to Key West, an amazing pair of flamingo pink fuck-me pumps.
Well. Fuck me, all right.
“Look on the bright side,” Hallie murmurs sympathetically, clicking away at her camera as Vanessa tries on her massive bedazzled tiara to the adoring coos of the Bride Tribe. The thing is so heavy with rhinestones I’m surprised her skinny neck doesn’t snap. “It could be worse.”
I look down at the dress, which is somehow both incredibly dated and strangely provocative, with a neckline even lower than the other day’s pirate costume. If I manage to make it through the wedding without a nip slip, it’ll be a minor miracle. “Could it, though?”
“Probably not,” Hallie admits, snapping a few more photos. She makes a face. “I’ll crop you out of these, in any case.”
“You’re a true friend— OWW!”
“Stop moving,” Tootsie orders, stabbing me with a straight pin.
I finally get Tootsie’s go-ahead to change my clothes, digging my phone out of my shoulder bag in the dressing room and smiling when I see I’ve got a text from Ryan. How’s it going? he wants to know.
Kill me, I type. I look like a slutty cupcake.
My favorite kind, he fires back. Then, a moment later: There’s a frosting joke here somewhere, but I’m too gentlemanly to go looking for it.
Too bad, I type, biting my lip to keep from smiling like a goof. See you later?
Can’t wait.
After the fitting, the girls head out to hot yoga but I beg off, dropping Hallie at the hotel before heading back to my dad’s house. It’s empty—at least, I think it is, until I wander into the kitchen and see Tristan sitting at the breakfast bar, laptop open and a bag of almonds at his side.
“Hey,” I say, trying not to sound too openly disappointed that it’s him and not Ryan. “What’re you doing here?”
“The wifi at the hotel was acting up,” Tristan explains, sitting back on his barstool. “Your dad said I could post up here and get some work done.”
“Insurance emergency?” I joke, but Tristan doesn’t laugh.
“It’s pretty serious, actually,” he says, before launching into an explanation of premiums and risk assessment that I can neither follow nor particularly care to. It’s strange how the Tristan of the last few days doesn’t seem to mesh at all with the person I had in my memory all these years. Has he always been so . . . bland? He’s got all the charm and character of . . . well, a bag of raw unsalted almonds, pretty much.
“So how are you?” he asks, once he’s finally finished. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you at all since you got here.”
“Oh,” I say, shrugging. I hadn’t actually noticed. “Just been busy with wedding prep, I guess.” And getting my brains fucked out, though I don’t add that part.
“Well,” Tristan says, “we should try and get that drink, in any case. We always had so much fun hanging out in college.”
“Oh! Um, yeah, of course.” I’m about to try and beg off as nicely as possible—already I’ve heard enough about umbrella policies to last me the rest of the week—when I hear the front door open. A moment later Ryan appears in the kitchen, a case of beer in one arm and a couple of bags of groceries in the other.
“Hey,” he says, holding the groceries up. His cheeks are faintly pink from the sun. “Your dad asked me to grab some stuff for a barbecue.” His gaze flicks back and forth between Tristan and me for the slightest fraction of a second before he smiles. “What are you guys up to?”
“Just hanging out,” I say, taking one of the grocery bags and tilting my face up for a kiss. “I’m really, really glad you’re back.”
16
Olivia
Vanessa’s bachelorette party is scheduled for later that night, a mandatory event with a mystery theme. “Can’t I just skip it?” I ask Ryan hopefully. We’re sprawled out naked on the mattress in his hotel room, his fingertips tracing idly up and down my spine. He fucked me slow and deep when we got back here, working my clit with two capable fingers, and I’m already aching for a second round. “She’ll probably be so drunk she won’t even know who’s there and who isn’t.”
Ryan smirks. “Nice try,” he says, ducking his head down to kiss me. He catches my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently before smacking me playfully on the ass. “Get to it, princess. I should practice this pitch anyway.”
“You’re going to kill it,” I promise, pulling a peachy silk dress over my head and stepping into my sandals. “W
ish me luck.”
I’m expecting a standard, run-of-the-mill bachelorette party—cheap sashes, penis-shaped accessories, maybe a male stripper or two—but I should have known Vanessa wouldn’t settle for anything so normal. Instead she has us trudge through the woods behind my dad’s house—which is really more of a swamp, dark and smelly and thick with bugs.
“Are we nearly there yet?” Kirsty whines. She keeps getting her stacked sandals stuck in the mud, flailing wildly to keep the bugs away.
“Totes close!” Vanessa chirps, checking her phone. “I promise, this is a super-secret, super-spiritual location. You’ll really feel the vibes.”
“I can practically feel myself coming down with West Nile,” Hallie mutters under her breath to me.
I stifle a laugh.
“Cooee, photographer!” Vanessa yells, like she’s forgotten Hallie’s name. “Are you getting us walking? This is a great action shot.”
“Be right there.” Hallie gives me a look.
“I did warn you!” I protest, as she trudges off to the front of the pack.
Finally, we reach a clearing with a large white tent—and Jeep, that’s clearly driven in through a dirty track through the woods.
“Why couldn’t we drive?” Hallie whispers to me.
“Because we’re bonding!” Vanessa overhears. “In you go!” she chirps, ushering the rest of the Bride Tribe through the flap.
Inside, there’s a wooden floor layered with moth-eaten Persian rugs, topped with heaping mounds of pillows and so many white pillar candles it’s a miracle the whole place doesn’t immediately burst into flames. The top of the tent is open, and the air is thick and humid despite a fan blowing noisily in the corner. The scent of patchouli is so heavy I can’t hold back a cough.
“Is this a . . . sweat lodge?” I ask, blinking.
“It’s a yurt!” Vanessa explains excitedly. “Get ready, ladies! We’re going on a Goddess Journey tonight.”
The Bride Tribe immediately bursts into noisy applause—at least, I think that’s what they’re doing. It’s possible they’re just trying to kill the thousand mosquitoes buzzing hungrily in the air.
“Goddess journey?” Hallie mouths at me.
I can only shrug.
“Ladies, are you ready to venture within?” The tent opens, and a child walks in. OK, fine, she’s maybe twenty-two, wrapped in a white sheet with a crown of eucalyptus on her head, though between her fake boobs and bleached blonde hair the total effect is a little more Animal House than Grecian goddess. “I’m Fern, and I’ll be your spiritual leader on this amazing quest.”
“Hi, Fern!” the Bride Tribe chorus excitedly.
“She has a hundred thousand followers on Instagram,” Vanessa hisses proudly. “She’s like, so the big thing in wellness.”
Fern hands us all togas of our own—Jesus Christ, this week has involved more costume changes than a middle school production of Hairspray—before passing out a bunch of stylized animal paraphernalia for us to wear: intricate swan wings for Vanessa, bejeweled deer antlers for Kiki. A russet colored fox pelt for Kirsty to wrap around her milky shoulders.
“Vanessa and I picked each item to reflect your essential animal nature,” Fern explains, before handing me—
“Is this a Davy Crockett hat?” I ask, blinking.
“It’s genuine raccoon skin,” Vanessa says sweetly. “It reminded me of you.”
“The desiccated husk of a small, garbage-eating rodent?”
Vanessa smiles. “Exactly!”
Welp, I think, jamming the thing on my head, at least it’s not the same taxidermied parrot from the pirate shoot, I guess.
Hallie is spared the props, so she just circles the tent, snapping photos as Fern cues up some New Age music on her iPhone, the screen glowing blue in the candlelight. She leads us through a cycle of chanting designed to help us get in touch with our feminine power. “Feel free to really vocalize,” she says brightly. Kiki in particular gets super into it, hooting like a rabid chimpanzee.
As we’re chanting, Fern walks around pouring us glasses of something murky from an earthenware pitcher that might look old and sacred if it didn’t still have the HomeGoods price tag stuck to the side. “It’s Clarity Tea,” she explains. “It’ll help you access your Third Eye and see clearly.”
Crystal frowns. “Olivia didn’t get any!” she says, waving her cup in my direction.
“Oh,” I say with a shake of my head, “I’m OK.” There’s no way I’m about to put that concoction—which looks like a mix of raw sewage and river muck—anywhere near my face. “I’ll just have water.”
Vanessa gets me a cup while Fern leads us in another round of om-ing, to a tune that sounds suspiciously like the opening of The Lion King. I’m half expecting her to burst into the first few bars of “Hakuna Matata” when all of a sudden Ryan walks in.
Wait. Ryan is here?
I blink and he’s gone again, replaced by my father, who immediately turns into Tristan—but the Tristan I remember from back in college, not the bland specimen of this week. “Who do you think you are, George Clooney?” Vanessa asks with a derisive giggle. When I look down at my hands they’re suddenly hairy as a man’s.
“Um,” I manage to say, groping around for Hallie beside me. Suddenly my heart is pounding, the blood thundering wildly through my veins. “Something’s not right.”
“Liv?” Hallie says, lowering her camera and looking at me. I gasp as her hair turns to writhing green garter snakes before my eyes. “Are you OK?”
“No,” I say, staggering to my feet. My skin is crawling. Pink and purple dots dance in front of my eyes. “I’m freaking out. I think . . . I think I’m tripping?”
“Ooh, it might be the Clarity Tea,” Fern says with a nervous giggle. It sounds like she’s speaking from the bottom of a well. “I think it can cause hallucinations in some people.”
“But I didn’t drink any of the Clarity Tea,” I protest weakly.
“Well,” Vanessa chimes in, looking at me sheepishly, “that might not be entirely true.”
A flicker of suspicion cuts through my baffled haze. “Vanessa,” I manage woozily. “Did you . . . ?”
“Surprise!” She giggles. “I keep on telling you, Livvie. You need to live a little.”
I whirl on her, so dizzy I nearly fall flat on my face. “So you roofied me?”
Vanessa frowns. “Well, when you put it that way it doesn’t sound very fun at all!”
I open my mouth, then close it again, too addled to string together a coherent argument. “I think I need some air,” I manage instead.
Hallie grabs a fresh water bottle from her purse and follows me outside, where we sit on the steps to the yurt. “I can’t believe she drugged you!” Hallie hisses. “I know you said she was the worst, but she is seriously the worst!”
I blink. Her hair is still writhing, like a halo . . . “You have pretty hair,” I say, reaching to touch it.
“Do you want to go home?” Hallie takes both my arms. “Because I can try and hotwire that Jeep . . ..”
“Hotwire.” For some reason, that seems hysterically funny. “Hot wires!”
“Olivia . . .”
“I’m fine!” I insist. “I just . . . need to wait. For it to wear off. I probably shouldn’t go anywhere.” I frown. “Unless you want to go swimming? I could really go swimming right now.”
I start to head for the shoreline, until Hallie yanks me back. “Um, OK, let’s get back in the tent. It’s probably safer there.”
“OK!” I agree. “Maybe there are snacks?”
“No. We don’t eat anything,” Hallie says quickly. “You hear me?”
“Diet time.” I nod.
Hallie guides me back inside, where the others are lolling around in a circle. “It’s time for the next stop on our goddess journey,” Fern is saying. “Your initiation into the ancient and sacred art of Tantra.”
I almost choke on my own tongue. Seriously? I thought I kept my mouth shut, but Va
nessa shoots me a glare.
“Oh, Livvie, loosen up,” she chides, adjusting her massive swan wings. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know how you wound up so straight-laced. Your dad is totally into this stuff.”
Well, that’s a gold nugget of information I certainly never needed to have.
“Acorn!” Fern calls cheerily. Her eucalyptus crown is listing drunkenly to the side. “We’re ready for you!”
The flap to the yurt opens and a tall, skinny guy strolls in. He’s got narrow hips and sloping shoulders, plus a hipster beard and man bun.
Also, he’s stark fucking naked.
For a second I’m so stunned I think I’m still hallucinating. I glance over at Vanessa and the Bride Tribe, but they’re all cool as can fucking be, like their days are one long parade of hipster penis and this is nothing out of the ordinary. Only Hallie raises her eyebrows, her cheeks turning faintly pink in the candlelight.
“Well,” she says with a shrug, “guess I shoot nudes now.”
That’s when Fern reaches up and unknots her toga, her naked body gleaming as she reaches for Acorn’s dick. “We’re going to demonstrate the principles of Tantra,” she announces pleasantly. “You can all come closer to get a better look!”
17
Olivia
“I don’t know, Liv,” Ryan teases half an hour later, the warm breeze ruffling my hair as we drive through downtown Key West. “Back in New York I never would have taken you for such a damsel in distress. Deserted islands. Swinging hippie dicks. At this rate, who knows what else I’m going to have to rescue you from before the week is out.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m laughing, flushed with the thrill of unexpected freedom. Hallie used my phone to text him an SOS just as Fern and Acorn were beginning their demonstration of The Method of the Great Bee, and to his credit, he showed up in record time, though not before I got an eyeful of both The Erotic Carousel and The Posture of the Apes in the Third Month of Spring. “I’m traumatized over here! I may never recover.”