The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(21)

“I can’t believe you said that so fast. You didn’t even call me Adolf Titler or Fuckass Shitlord. Should I be worried?”

Scheva laughs. “See? Look at you with the insults just flying off your tongue. You’ve still got what it takes.”

We stare at each other in silence for a few minutes before I finally speak.

“I’m really scared,” I whisper.

“So am I,” she mutters back. “Everything happened so fast with Alex. He acts like a toddler ninety-percent of the time and it’s so annoying.”

“But?” I prompt her.

She lets out a huge sigh. “But, the other ten percent? He’s hot, and sweet, and funny, and he really loves me even though I’m a raging bitch.”

“Everything happened with me and Sam so fast too, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, aside from the whole my family might kill him and now he needs to be heavily medicated because of them, thing.

“So, are you going to talk to Alex, tell him you still love him and that you’re sorry you freaked out?” I ask.

“Aunt Bobbie sent me a text photo of him dressed up in drag that said ‘Please, for the love of God, take him back. This is what you’ve done to him. I can never un-see this.’,” she tells me, in her best Aunt Bobbie voice.

“That bad, huh?” I laugh.

“It was hideous. He’s a very, very ugly woman. If I don’t take him back, the drag queens of the world will burn me at the stake. It’s the least I can do for your aunt and her people,” she shrugs, making light of a situation that I know is anything but easy for her to talk about. Scheva doesn’t do very well admitting she made a mistake. Which is probably why she’s my best friend.

“So, I guess that means I have to make time to talk to Sam as soon as possible. Tell him I found his pills and completely freaked out and acted like a lunatic because I’ve been afraid he won’t want to marry me. Apologize for going overboard on the whole Keep Calm and Don’t Die thing, while also making sure he knows I still want to marry him even if his penis never works again, and promise that my vagina will never hate him,” I ramble.

“That’s true love right there,” Scheva nods. “You might want to also warn him that if this problem persists for the rest of your lives, you’ll turn your vagina into a mood ring so he can be properly warned ahead of time. It will be pink when it’s happy, and black as death when it’s hangry for cock.”

“Did we just have a moment, Fuck Knuckle?” I ask with a laugh.

“Pretty sure we did, Dick Cheese. Can we stop now? All of these feelings and shit are starting to give me hives,” she complains, scratching her arms.

We both get up from the table to head outside and see if my mom is ready for us to start putting together the wedding invitations, when Scheva suddenly grabs my arm before we get to the side door in the kitchen.

“Wait! I almost forgot something. Don’t move.”

She leaves me standing in the kitchen and runs out of the room. Coming back a few seconds later with two tank tops in her hand, she tosses one at me and smiles.

“I know you’ve been a complete pain in the ass and don’t want to do any of the normal wedding bullshit, but since Sam is having a mini bachelor party tonight, I figured we could do the same while we’re here. I brought enough vodka to kill an elephant,” she informs me.

It’s been driving my mother insane that I’ve vetoed all of the traditional wedding things, like a bachelorette party and a bridal shower. Bar hopping and making asses of ourselves where I would inevitably be forced to wear a tiara and a sash held no appeal whatsoever, and I didn’t see the need for a bridal shower since Sam and I live together and already have everything we need for our home and life together. Even though I didn’t necessarily want to have a typical bachelorette party, I still love that Scheva totally gets me and decided we should just get drunk and make bad choices in the comfort of my parents’ home.

Unfolding the white tank top, I smile when I see what’s printed on the front of it in sparkly, gold lettering.

“Awwwww, ‘Drunk in love,’” I read.

Scheva turns her own black tank top with the same sparkly gold lettering around and I laugh when I see what it says.

“Just drunk,” I recite. “These are perfect.”

We both quickly change out of the shirts we’re wearing into the tank tops, in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, not giving a f*ck if anyone sees us. Scheva goes to my parents’ freezer and grabs a bottle of vodka, and we link our arms together as we head outside into the backyard to help my mother.

*

“You’re so pretty, I think I’m gonna cry,” Scheva tells me with a sniffle, taking a swig from the almost-empty vodka bottle as I twirl in the middle of my parents’ living room.

“I’m going to cry too. But mostly because you’re a horrible, ungrateful child who bought her wedding dress without me,” my mother says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “You’re so pretty, but you’re still horrible. And did I mention ungrateful?”

I stop twirling to look down at my wedding dress. I also stop twirling because my twirling, and the room twirling, is a bit too much twirling for one person, and I don’t want to throw up on my pretty dress.

“I already told you, mom, I saw it in the window of the vintage dress shop by our house and I had to get it before someone else did,” I explain for probably the tenth time since I bought it a month ago, showed it to my mother, and she flopped her body on the floor, throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which I’d never seen before.