“I’ll just nod and pretend I read it, too.”
“It’s one of those books that are about the big family, and what the big family is up to, and how the big family changes over time, and all the little ways the members of the big family irritate each other but also love each other.”
“I see,” Gary says. “So I’ll just pretend that I’m a character in an Austen novel I’ve never read, and all will be well.”
“Totally healthy,” Phoebe says.
He holds open the hotel door like a butler. “The ladies await, Maid of Honor.”
She blushes. So Lila told him.
“GARY, YOU’RE LATE for your Bourbon Bubbler,” Lila says as soon as they walk into the conservatory.
“What’s a Bourbon Bubbler?” Nat asks.
“And how do we get one?” Suz asks.
“Sorry,” Lila says. “It’s a massage for men only.”
“How can a massage be only for men?” Marla asks.
“That’s like when they tried to market wine just for bros,” Nat says. “As if there are some grapes that are manlier than other grapes.”
“Wine for bros,” Juice repeats, and laughs.
“I for one can only feel okay about being rubbed down if it’s done with literal poison,” Gary says, and the women laugh.
“Are you ready for some very relaxing poison, bro?” Juice asks, pretending to be a masseuse.
“Oh come on. It’s a classic bourbon sugar scrub,” Lila says. “People have been doing it for … years.”
Lila kisses Gary goodbye. Every kiss they have in public seems grander than the last—designed to produce applause. Phoebe feels her stomach lurch. Maybe she’s hungry. Maybe she needs a big breakfast, like the kind she used to order for herself when hungover. Phoebe sits down at the table of women, looks at the menu, while the bride tries to order a coffee.
“That’s all I am trying to do here,” Lila says to the waiter. He wears a name tag that says, RYUN, DRINK CONCIERGE.
“Oh, we have free coffee in the samovar,” Ryun says.
“What’s a samovar?” Juice asks.
Phoebe imagines that when Ryun is not being asked, What’s a samovar, he’s spending a lot of time trying to explain why his name is spelled with a U and not an A.
“It’s that jug of coffee over there,” Ryun says, pointing to a table.
“Right, but I don’t want free coffee from the samovar,” Lila says. She points to the menu. “I want this coffee.”
“But it’s the same coffee,” Ryun says, smiling. “The only difference is that this coffee is just six dollars more.”
“Look, I am just trying to order the coffee that’s on the menu here. Can you please give me that coffee?”
Juice and Marla give each other eyes across the table. Ryun nods.
“Right, okay, I understand,” he says, and then goes to get a cup of coffee out of the samovar. When he brings it over to Lila, the cup wobbles violently on the saucer.
“Thank you,” Lila says.
Lila is the only one at the table not embarrassed.
“Here is your binder, Maid of Honor,” Lila says.
Being maid of honor comes with a schedule of events and a list of duties, some already crossed out, like “Research old restaurant that Oprah loves,” “Book the water spa,” and some duties yet to be crossed out: “Buy compostable dick-themed flatware,” “Confirm tarot reading, 7 p.m.,” and “Confirm Sex Woman, 5 p.m.”
“Confirm Sex Woman?” Phoebe asks.
“What’s a Sex Woman?” Juice asks.
“Nobody knows, sweetheart,” Marla says.
“I’m not supposed to know,” Lila says, closing the binder. “Today is supposed to be a surprise.”
“I bet she’s one of those women who show up with toys and things, and, like, teaches us how to have sex,” Suz says.
“Do you not know how to have sex, bro?” Juice asks Lila.
“Mel, please don’t call me bro,” Lila says.
“Bro, please don’t call me Mel.”
“But Mel is a beautiful name,” Lila says. “And Juice is actually the nickname of a professional football player who was famously tried for murder.”
