Five minutes earlier…
Chuck and I have barely finished congratulating each other on another successful tour when Finn, Gary, and Phil appear out of nowhere, fast as lightning. I yelp in surprise as Phil pulls a black sack over Chuck’s head and then grips my fake fiancé by the shoulders, preventing him from moving.
“What’s going on?” I ask, while Gary steals Chuck’s phone from his pocket, hands it over to Finn, and then wraps a heavy blanket around Chuck. Chuck flails wildly, but the guys quickly get him under control.
“Surprise bachelor party,” Finn whispers in my ear, as Gary lifts Chuck’s legs and together with Phil, they carry him away.
“What?” I protest. “Where are you taking him? For how long?”
“That’s classified.” Finn shrugs. “Can’t tell you.”
“But I need to talk to him.”
“It’s going to have to wait,” he says, pointedly switching Chuck’s phone off. “Sorry, no cell phones allowed where we’re going.”
He makes it sound like they’re about to embark on a The Hangover style mega bachelor party—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and all that. When in reality, they’re probably going to some D&D retreat in the woods where they’ll dress up in chainmail and go full medieval on me with their crap about no tech allowed.
Which Chuck would love, to be fair, but the timing couldn’t be more wrong. “Finn, you don’t understand. I need Chuck here.”
“Kate, I respect that, really.” He places a patronizing hand on my shoulder. “We all love you and recognize that, starting Friday, you’re going to be boss. But tonight and tomorrow are Chuck’s last nights of freedom, and we, as his best friends, are honor-bound to make sure he has a blast.”
With a wink, he lets my shoulder go and jogs a little backward, still holding Chuck’s phone hostage. “I don’t think you’ll have much time to miss him anyway. You’ve got your own fun coming.”
Finn jerks his chin at the glass front doors, outside of which a pink limousine is pulling up. A few of my oldest friends tumble out of the limousine, waving pink and white cheerleader pom-poms above their heads that match the magenta tutus they’re wearing over their winter clothes.
While I’m distracted by the cheering, Finn turns around and runs away.
Then the pink swarm is on me. I’m smothered in hugs and carried over to the limousine and, without doubt, my own surprise bachelorette party.
***
A few hours later, I’m sitting in my living room sipping a virgin Rossini surrounded by diaper cakes, baby monitors, and tiny rompers—turns out mine was more of a surprise baby shower than a bachelorette party. Outwardly, I’m smiling and laughing and having the best time of my life. Inwardly, I’m cursing the day my fake baby won’t be born.
At least Chuck will be able to get drunk at his party, they had wine in the middle ages. But I have to rot on my couch, drinking strawberry juice mixed with zero-alcohol Prosecco, and listen stone-cold sober to parenting advice I don’t need.
I drop my glass on the coffee table, and something squeaks under my bum—a rubber duck. One of the many toys that have been gifted to my nonexistent baby today. I dig a few more toys out from under me and add them to the pile of gifts that will join the miserable stack of wedding presents slash Christmas rejects already stored in my bedroom.
“Don’t worry, Katy,” my cousin Gretchen says, probably picking up on my dejected mood. “Today has been all about the baby, but tomorrow is all for Mommy!”
An icy shiver sneaks down my spine. “But tomorrow is the day before the wedding!”
“Exactly,” Gretchen says, grinning. “And what better way to get ready than with a full day at the spa? We’ve booked you a facial, a full-body wax, a mani-pedi, and of course a pregnancy massage. It’ll be a blast.”
That actually sounds pretty great—except for the full-body wax, perhaps. But as much as I would love a spa day, tomorrow’s the last day that Chuck and I have to put a stop to this madness. I doubt there’ll be much time for mani-pedis. I’m taking a rain check on the pampering—I hope the spa appointment can be postponed, I’ll sure need it after talking to my parents. Or I could give it to my mom instead… sorry, Mom, no wedding and no grandchild on the way, but here’s a recycled spa gift certificate for you.
“Thank you, girls,” I say. “But Chuck and I are busy tomorrow—”
“No, you’re not,” Sarah, one of my oldest friends and Phil’s girlfriend, says. “The boys won’t be back until late at night.”
I feel like I might faint. “How late? Where did they go?”
Sarah shrugs. “No idea. The guys made this secret man-pact and refused to tell any outsiders. But don’t worry, I made Phil promise Chuck would have enough time to recover before the wedding, and he swore they wouldn’t get a stripper.”
Ah. Perhaps they’re not playing Dungeons and Dragons in some shack in the woods after all. But it really doesn’t matter what they’re doing, as long as they come back in one piece. There’s no way I’m telling our parents by myself, and tomorrow’s our last chance.
I don’t like to admit it, but Marco was right. Life keeps getting in the way. We should’ve told them the first night we arrived home—or, hell, back in September when the breakup actually happened. Our families would have had four months to get over it before we saw them face to face. But now we’re down to the wire, Chuck is gone, and I tried his phone half a dozen times already, but it always goes straight to voicemail.
I’m going to have to deal with this myself, aren’t I?
No. I refuse. This is a two-person mess, and it should have a two-person solution. Chuck must be as desperate to talk to me as I am to him; maybe he’ll find a way to steal his phone back from the guys. I’ll just have to keep calling him until he picks up. Then, we can decide what to do together.