And Josh is behind them, giving us a sour look.
Mom and Marie do a surprisingly good imitation of Edina and Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous.
“Uh....” Shannon and I say in twin voices that sound like a boat propeller revving down.
“Thought you could outsmart us, huh?” Marie crows, nudging my mother, who falls against Josh, who knocks into a six-foot-tall stripper wearing less around his waist than Josh has on his balding head.
They’re a game of human drunk dominoes.
The stripper holds Josh up with big, thick hands and winks. “Most people slip a five dollar bill in there after touching me like that.”
“I—uh—um,” Josh flounders, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.
“It’s okay. I give one free grab per cutie,” the stripper says, walking off with a gait that shows off every butt muscle.
Josh grabs the Champagne from Marie and guzzles half the bottle.
“We, uh....” I look wildly around the room for Amy and Carol, who appear to be hiding. “We weren’t ditching you.”
Busted.
Shannon rolls her eyes and stands, giving Marie a grudging hug. “You win, Mom. You figured it out.”
“See?” Marie says, then hiccups, slinging her arm around my mom. “Told you they tried to exclude us old birds.”
“Actually, I figured it out,” my mom protests.
Seventysomething Grace picks that moment to appear, a Corona in hand. “Marie! Good to see you. Shannon’s got one hell of a party here, huh? I could use a different kind of eye candy myself, but a woman can admire the fine lines of a man without wanting to sleep with him, right?” She turns to Josh and clicks her beer bottle against his Champagne.
Josh and Marie share a horrified look.
“I don’t understand what she just said,” Josh whispers.
“Me either,” Marie says.
Josh takes the bottle and drains it.
I leave Marie to do the introductions. I pull Shannon aside, but before we can escape, Marie is huffing with indignity, hissing in our faces. She’s abandoned Josh and Mom. I hope someone, somewhere, introduces them all to each other.
“You invited Grace and tried to ditch me and Pam?”
“Grace isn’t my mother,” Shannon says with a grrrr. Literally. Like a dog. She makes noises like I imagine Mr. Wiffles sounds when upset.
“She could be your grandmother!” Marie snaps back.
“She works for Anterdec! She’s Declan’s longtime assistant and like a mother to him.”
“I am like a mother to him! If you’re going to include Grace, you should have included me!”
“MOM!” Shannon bellows. Her eyes are rimmed with red rage and she looks like she is about to pop. “You have taken my entire wedding and turned it into a giant clusterfuck!”
Marie gasps in horror, because Shannon rarely curses.
“I never wanted the Scottish-themed wedding. Didn’t care about Farmington,” Shannon screeches. The piano players vacillate between playing louder to cover up the argument, and softer to listen in. A small crowd of Shannon’s coworkers and friends is forming around the two women.
“I have put up with the tartan thongs. With having a cat as a flower girl. With the spun sugar, life-size likeness of me and Declan next to the wedding cake. And the ice sculpture. And the ninety-minute video that takes our lives and turns it all into a time capsule. The live streaming video thing was way over the top, but did I complain? NO!”
The crowd tightens.
“All I wanted was one night. One tradition. One ritual that was mine. Just mine, exactly the way I wanted it, with a bunch of women I could let loose with and party. But no. You had to crash it. You had to ruin this for me. I’m not going to worry about your feelings of hurt because I didn’t invite you, when you show no concern for my feelings!”
Marie blinks, then sniffs, then blinks again.
Shannon is panting, her top glimmering in the dark lights of the club, her breasts turning into shiny waves.
“Are you done?” Marie asks in a patient voice.
“Yes.”
Marie reaches out and pats Shannon on the cheek. “It’s okay, dear,” she whispers. “I can tell you’re really having your period and this is just the hormones talking.”
And with that, Marie walks over to a stripper who is on his back on a long table, his body covered with little green vodka jigglers, and slurps one up with more tongue than Chuckles licking a bowl of cream.
I resist the urge to shove Shannon’s eyeballs back in her head.
“HOW DOES SHE DO THAT?” Shannon screeches.
My own mother comes over and gives Shannon a sympathetic pat on the back, then stumbles slightly.
“’sokay Shannon, honey,” Mom says. “Did you know that nine percent of all brides don’t even have a bachelorette party?”
We look at her.
“Wedding insurance project,” she adds, giving us a big smile. It lifts twenty years off her face, and I see myself in her. I look more like my dad, so this is a revelation.
“And,” she says, pulling Shannon closer, whispering in her ear, “between twenty-five and fifty percent of brides and grooms don’t even have sex on their wedding night.”
Oh, now I know my mother is drunk.
She’s talking about sex.
“Don’ be one of those, Shannon. Have sex with Declan. It’s okay to lose your virginity on your wedding night.”
“I already lost my—”
I grab Shannon and leave my mom to stagger over to Marie, where I don’t want to know what happens next. I hear her say to Marie, “You know, I haven’t had sex in seven years...” and that is when my circuits overload.