Page 9 of Beards and Broken Hearts

Then, with a small wave, she makes her way to the check-out counter, leaving me in her dust. That woman has more energy than I do, and I’m not sure what to think about that. I’m not excited about the bachelorette party, but I know my sister will be. Maybe if I go out tonight, it will fill my social quota for a while.

Hours later, I’m back home, and groceries have been put away. I cooked a spaghetti dinner for my sister and me to share over a bottle of rose.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so full. Thanks, sis, I’ve got dishes,” Holly says, running hot water into the large white farmhouse sink.

“Awesome, ‘cos it’s about time to go, and I still don’t know what to wear.”

“No problem. Check out my closet if you want. I have that dark navy blue dress you said you like.”

I stop my ascent up the stairs to say thank you to her. Secretly, I love that dress, and even though she hasn’t had the chance to wear it yet, I’m going to take her up on the offer.

Walking into Holly’s room is like walking into Santa’s secret workshop. Since we were kids, my sister has loved Christmas, but now that she’s an adult with big girl money, the woman is obsessed. Most of the house is decorated, including the front and back porch, but nothing is as extreme as Holly’s room. It smells like warm sugar cookies when I walk in. Her walls are painted the same dark green as the house, but she has strings of lights across the ceiling. The huge king-size bed takes up most of the space. It is red velvet and decorated with tons of tiny cookie-shaped pillows.

I find lots of red and green inside her closet, so the navy blue is easy to spot. Pulling it out, I take it back to my room and hold it against me while looking in the mirror. It’s perfect, which helps ease the anxiety I’m feeling. I may not be excited to ogle men tonight, but spending the evening with my sister and Elenore sounds like a lot of fun.

After a shower, shave, and a blowout, I meet my sister at the large two sink vanity in her master bath for makeup. When we’re both dressed in our best and slipping into heels right, we hear a car honk outside.

“It’s a huge white limo. Omg, you did not tell me we’re going in a limo,” Holly squeals from the window, making me laugh.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I must have forgotten to mention it. I just knew you would be sold at Beard Competition.”

She rolls her eyes at me as we walk out, locking the wreath-covered door behind us and joining the gaggle of screaming women hanging out the top of the white Limo.

“It’s a party now!” Elenore shouts.

Holly and I are handed flutes of champagne as we climb inside and take our seats on the luxurious black leather. The inside is decorated with pink neon lights, feather boas, and penis-shaped everything. Straws, ice cubes, suckers, you name it, they’ve put it in here. These ladies sure know how to throw a party, I think as I take the first sip and decide to let loose a little tonight. I might not do it often, but I know how to have fun.

CHAPTER SIX

Layton

The crowd is bigger this year, I think to myself as I sit nursing my beer at the Diddled Fiddle. The only reason I’m still showing up is for the donations this event brings to the station. I’m not usually someone who likes too much attention, and the World Beard Day competition brings in the hungriest of women.

An unwanted image of Daphne comes to mind, but she’s the last woman on earth to be caught in a place like this. At least what I remember of her. She never wanted to join parties or even drink when we were teenagers. Instead, she’d ask me to take her frogging or to the movies. I never minded because I wasn’t much for the cliche parties myself. It was nice to just hang out together on those quiet summer nights, talking or making out.

“Why are you smilin’? I thought you were dreading this?” Jenson asks, taking the stool to my left.

“I am.”

“That’s not what that grin tells me.” He tries teasing, but I’m not in the mood to humor him.

The crowd is getting rowdy, and I hear a group of women chanting, “Shots, shots, shots!”

“You boys about ready? These ladies sure are,” Blake, the bartender, tells us as he sets down Jenson’s logger.

“I will never be ready,” I grumble after a high-pitched squeal of excitement echoes through the wood-paneled establishment.

The two men just laugh at my discomfort, and Jenson looks like a damn eager beaver, ready to strut his stuff. The man loves attention, the polar opposite of me.

Blake leaves us and makes his way to the mic as Rue comes to clear the bar, making room for us to use it for a stage. I drain my beer and wait, thinking I should have brought earplugs.

“Check, check, check. Good evening, ladies of Magnolia Point!” Blake says, causing an uproar of cheer from everyone but me. “Who’s ready for the beards?”

More screaming erupts, but I know that’s my queue. I hand Rue my beer, which she takes with a smirk as she wipes the bar top. Jenson slaps me on the back but doesn’t bother giving any words of encouragement. Not that I could hear him anyway over the noise.

I let the line of my fellow neighbors and a few bearded strangers build before I join them at the end. Not to brag, but my beard has won this event for the past five years, so I feel the crowd should get a good look at everyone else first. Jenson is after me, and my friend might actually beat me this year.

“You put polish on that thing?” I joke, making him laugh and nod confidently.

---