Page 4 of Momcom Vacation

“I miss you too, Doc. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be safe.”

Beside me, Delia angles forward, reaching out for something on the table.

“I will, beautiful. You too.”

As I end the call, I catch sight of what Delia picked up. Oh no. She’s inspecting my festive, seasonal vacuum clit stimulator. The one that looks like a snowman. I’ve appropriately named it Olaf because…well, because.

Face contorted, she brings it closer to her face and peers into the opening on the top. “Is this one of those M&M’s dispensers?” She shakes it, like maybe a piece of candy will pop out. “I’m craving chocolate.”

Liv places a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing with laughter.

Dylan, voice too loud for such a small space, says, “No, that’s her clit sucker.”

Delia’s whole body goes rigid, and she drops my vibrator on the table with a thunk, like it’s scalded her hand. Then she turns her outraged eyes to me. “Are you fuckingkidding meright now?”

I shrug, my face heating. “His name is Olaf.”

Liv and Dylan fold over with laughter while Delia continues to seethe. “I don’t give a shit whatitsname is. What the hell are you doing just leaving it lying around like that?”

“I have homemade organic hand sanitizer made with aloe vera and essential oils. Want to put a little of that on?” I ask, my laugh making my shoulders shake. Irritating my fierce and feisty bestie is way more fun than it should be. She’s so animated when she’s pissed.

“I don’t need fuckingoil-infusedhand sanitizer, Shay. What I need is bleach!”

Chapter 3

Cortney

Mom: After a lot of thought, your father and I realize that a 1000-person guest list isn’t realistic.

My whole body deflates. Oh thank god.

Mom: It must be 1500.

With a sigh, I toggle out of the text thread. There’s a good chance that what is supposed to be the best day of my life will actually be the death of me. Getting to call Dylan my wife? Yeah, I’ll live for that moment. But all the stuff that goes into the wedding? It’s nothing but stress. I rub a hand over my face. I promised Dylan that I wouldn’t overthink these plans while she’s gone. That I won’t make myself nuts. But now I’m spiraling. Fuck. I’m pretty sure I don’t know fifteen hundred people. If I tell her about the change, she’ll say “sounds fun.” This day is supposed to be ours, and yet it’s turning into the kind of event I can’t stand. Where the people in attendance are there because they’re the who’s who of Boston and New York, not becausethey’re people we care about. But Dylan wants this, and I’d do anything for her.

“You didn’t develop a fear of flying, did you, Man Bun?” Beckett turns to me, his brow furrowed.

I take a deep breath, but before I can call him a dumbass and remind him that we fly together with the Revs all the damn time, Liam calls me.

“Dude.”

Quickly unbuckling, I spin and kneel in my seat, assuming my daughter is waking up. But Willow is still sound asleep in her car seat next to her big brother. This is her first plane ride. I didn’t plan to take her into the air yet, but an hour ago, Beckett insisted we pack up all the kids and hijack the Bolts plane for a surprise family vacation. And when Beckett sets his mind to something, it’s nearly impossible to talk him out of it. Maybe once a week, I can talk the man out of his crazy ideas, so I’ve learned to use my chips wisely.

Liam pulls his Beats off his ears and leaves them hanging around his neck. “What do I say to Meme?”

“About what?” I run a hand through my hair and brace myself. There’s no telling what my mother is texting him about.

“She’s asking if I have a preference for family colors…”

Why would she ask a seventeen-year-old boy about color schemes? Especially my future stepson, who lives in black hoodies even in summer.

His phone vibrates in his hand, snagging his attention.

“And she wants to know if I can get my own date or if Aunt Taylor should find one for me.” His brows shoot up, disappearing beneath his messy hair. “Is your sister good at picking girls? I’m not sure I should trust her.”

Prior to Dylan, Taylor was my go-to when I needed a date to a function, but would I trust her to pick one for a seventeen-year-old? Fuck, I don’t know.

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