Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Quickly, we head to the garden level and find the private suite.
With her blonde hair curled like a pinup, my friend Elodie stands outside the door of the suite, tapping the toe of her comic-book-styled three-inch pumps.
“You’re fashionably late, Rach. And your sister is dying to make a toast,” she chides as she takes the cheesecake bars from me. “Were you playing with the Girl’s Best Friend toy I sent you? You do look a little sweaty.”
Is it that obvious? Also, she needs to stop talking about vibrators. While staring at Elodie, I glance sideways at Carter, jerking my head, telling her without words not to discuss sex toys in front of him and his cheese-grater abs I want to lick.
Elodie rolls her eyes. “I’m sure Carter is aware of the existence of the Girl’s Best Friend. It’s only the most popular vibe on the market. Remember when vibrators used to have names like the Man-inator, and Deep Thruster?” She adopts an overly masculine tone as she says the names. “Or better yet,” she says, her eyes on his name tag, “The Randy.”
“I hope there’s not a vibrator named the Randy. Or the Dicky for that matter. Or Peter,” he adds, rolling with the sex-toy talk so much more smoothly than I am.
“I hope not either,” I say, even though it doesn’t matter what the vibrator is called. I’m breaking out Elodie’s gift and using the Girl’s Best Friend tonight. Several times.
Well, since I can’t use one now and all.
“Anyway, I need to steal the woman of the hour away. Okay with you, Randy?” Elodie asks Carter as she offers me her arm.
“I’ll allow it,” he says playfully.
Yup. He has no clue I’m suffering from a sudden onslaught of weirdly misplaced lust.
Thank god.
Besides, it’s just temporary, surely. Like a shirtless-ness hangover.
Elodie guides me to the front of the packed room where my sister presides over twenty or thirty people here at the event. Juliet is a breakup party planner extraordinaire and she’s surveying the glittery scene while standing next to a grand piano all while looking effortlessly fabulous in a black dress that hugs her curves.
The spacious suite she’s booked is both classy and sexy at the same time, with dark wood walls, green banker’s lamps, and card dealers in old-timey costumes manning green felt tables filled with chips and cards for poker and blackjack. On a few high tables are stacks of Elodie’s chocolates from her shop, and my mouth waters at the sight of the robin’s egg blue boxes holding truffles, caramels, and dark chocolate decadence. Sugar, come to me, sugar.
“You can have some later,” Elodie says, reading my mind.
“How ever did you know?” I tease.
“I’ve learned to recognize the signs of a chocolate trance. God, I love it when people go into chocolate trances,” she says as we reach my sister.
A banner hangs on the wall behind Juliet with the words Celebrate chances written on it in a silvery font. “You’re here,” she says, then hugs me before she quickly slides back into party-boss mode. “Take this,” she says, handing me a glass of champagne from one of the coasters on the gleaming black piano where a woman in a dapper suit tickles the ivories, playing pop music.
My sister grabs her own glass of champagne, lifting it high, then clinks a fork against it. The crowd quiets. The pianist plays more quietly, a background tune, giving the attention to Juliet.
I try to catch my breath as I scan the room.
Hazel’s here with her arm draped around her boyfriend, Axel, who is Carter’s half-brother. Elodie has slinked into the crowd, hanging out with some of my friends from Venice Beach, like my TV writer pal Ellie who flew up to celebrate tonight with her fiancé, Gabe, a retired football star. My friend Brooke is here too, along with her quarterback husband, Drew. My brother Sawyer’s not here but he’s been working in New York a lot recently, and I’ll get to see him soon when I visit our parents in Petaluma.
It’s overwhelmingly wonderful to see all these friendly faces. But it’s weird too. They’re here because I failed at marriage. Thank god there are other uncoupled people here as well, like Elodie and Juliet and Carter and others. I paste on a smile I try desperately to feel.
“Thank you all for coming,” Juliet begins. “I just want to say it wasn’t easy to convince my fabulous sister to let me throw a party for her. Rachel resisted more than a few times. But I’m used to winning her over.
“When we were kids, I always had to convince her to take me to the beach, to bring me to the mall, to sneak out for ice cream. And I won her over this time, too, but it’s not just because I grew up doing it.” Juliet turns to me, her expression heartfelt, her green eyes full of affection. “I threw this party because I love you, Rachel. And I’m pretty sure all of us do. We want you to know we’re here for you as you embark on this next phase. Let it be the best part of your life. Let’s celebrate the awesomeness of divorce!” She lifts her glass, and everyone erupts into cheers as she shouts a hearty, “Congratulations!”