The Gay Best Friend by Nicolas DiDomizio

Author:Nicolas DiDomizio
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks

31

I plop down on my bed and take a gander at the itinerary.

Paige printed out professionally designed copies for each of us on premium cardstock covered in pink glitter, confirming the fact that her itinerary kicks my itinerary’s ass.

Trista wasn’t kidding; it’s going to be a long night. And I can’t even take a nap, because I have less than an hour to get ready for dinner—seared bay scallops with sautéed watercress and roasted cherry tomatoes—which Paige is currently preparing in the kitchen. Then we’ll be pregaming at the house until nine o’clock, at which point a limo is scheduled to arrive and take us to Providence, Rhode Island for a night of bar-hopping.

There’s a parenthetical instruction next to the dinner menu: Be sure to wear your shirts tonight. They’re in your welcome bags!

I dig into the L.L.Bean beach tote Paige sent me upstairs with and look for said shirt. It’s buried under several room-temp bottles of Evian and a trial size tube of Advil, folded neatly, with a note on top:

A bride is nothing without her tribe! Xoxo. Paige.

P.S. Don’t forget to bring your markers to dinner!

There’s a package of multi-colored Sharpies attached to the note, which I assume is for some kind of arts-and-crafts drinking project she has in mind. I unfold my shirt—a plain white cotton tee with “Bride Tribe” printed in big magenta letters on the front. The back is an entirely blank canvas, and—damnit. She’s gonna make us draw on our shirts.

But this is Kate’s weekend, and I’m going to be a good sport.

I repeat this to myself like a mantra as I jump into the shower and try to psych myself up. This is going to be fun! With Paige in charge of the planning, all I have to do is sit back and go with the flow. And not spill anybody’s secrets.

Even if Melanie continues being snide to me, I will not tell her that her husband cheated on her last month. Even if Trista grills me about what happened the night before Bucky broke up with her, I will not tell her that he and I hooked up. And even if Kate corners me in a drunken stupor, I will not tell her that Patrick licked whipped cream off a stripper’s breasts.

All I have to do is keep my mouth shut.

I dry myself off with one of Mrs. Cooper’s terry cloth towels and get dressed. This “Bride Tribe” shirt is a perfect fit, but it still looks absolutely ridiculous on a six-foot-tall Italian-American man with bushy eyebrows and a thick dusting of facial hair. And I’m sure it will look especially so when adorned with various colorful bachelorette-themed doodles. I shiver as I imagine the five of us in our matching tops, trotting along the streets of Providence between gay bars, and—yeah. It is imperative that I get blackout drunk as quickly as possible.

I apologize in advance to my poor liver.

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