Page 36 of Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

A Young Woman’s Guide to Impending Pregnancyhad been my bible since my mother passed it to me in my twenties. It has a lot of great tips and advice, despite being written in 1942 by a quack of a doctor who believed women over thirty-seven should not conceive. It caused a great deal of stress when I turned thirty-five, but some could say it was the catalyst to me getting pregnant. It sounds better than saying a drunken night and an expired condom got me pregnant.

I don’t have time to answer Morgan before Brit bursts out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel and frowns when she sees Morgan and me still on the bed where she left us. “Aren’t you ready?” she cries.

″You’re not,” I point out.

″Five minutes,” she promises.

To give Brit credit, nine minutes later the three of us are standing on the terrace with glasses in our hands watching the Bellagio fountain rise and fall in a rainbow of colours. The setting sun is a beacon for the lights of The Strip to come alive.

″I’ve never seen anything like this,” I marvel.

″Glad you came?”

I glance over, the setting sun softening Brit’s face. She worked wonders in those nine minutes, reapplying her makeup, and a quick fix of her hair. Her red pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse are a little formal for me but does a great job highlighting her figure. No extra baby weight there.

″I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I push away any thoughts of my earlier reluctance. J.B. was right once again. I need to be here.

″I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Brit admits in a low voice. “It would have seemed wrong if you weren’t able to come.”

Touched, I lean my head on her shoulder, vowing to give my oldest friend my full attention. The kids are fine tucked in back home with J.B. This is my time–mine and Brit’s–to celebrate her happiness.

″To us,” Morgan says loudly, holding up her glass. “To having fun and leaving responsibilities at home.”

It’s like she can read my mind. Morgan’s good like that.

″To us,” I second, clinking my glass against hers.

Our first stop in Brit’s Weekend to Remember–my name for it, not hers–is the first of many bars in the hotel. It’s called The Studywith a casual, library vibe which I love, but Brit dismisses. We have a glass of champagne and the waitress tells us about the other bars in the hotel.

″You really don’t have to leave the hotel,” she says. “There’s so much to do here.”

Next stop is dinner atEstiatorio Milo.

″This is nice,” I say as I glance critically at the tables. “Good space, butThricehas a better atmosphere; a few of the mains dishes can compare to what Cooper can do atThrice, but the wine list here is amazing.” I make a mental note to help J.B. with that.

When I work at the restaurant, it’s as an unofficial sommelier. Before the kids came along, I used to supplement my teaching salary by working in a wine store, so even bartender J.B. admits that I know my stuff.

Brit scoffs at my blasé comment. “You’re seriously comparing this place to Cooper’s restaurant? This is a world-class place in Las Vegas.”

″AndThriceis number six of Toronto’s top restaurants; Toronto is also a world-class city, in case you haven’t noticed. I think Cooper would do well for himself here.”

″I can totally see J.B. behind the bar at thatVesperbar the waitress told us about,” Morgan cuts in.

”He’d love the James Bond vibe,” I agree. “He’s teaching the kids how to make martinis. Says it’s a life skill. Lucy says–”

Brit sets her Lychee martini on the table a little harder than necessary. Once again, she’s matched her drink to her nail polish. “We’re not talking about the kids tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next night. This weekend is for the over-eighteen crowds only.”

Before I can comment with words I most likely will regret, Brit continues, turning to me with a vulnerable expression that I don’t normally see. “I want this weekend to be like when we were younger. After we graduated when we didn’t have responsibilities. When we could do whatever we wanted and didn’t have to explain ourselves. Before boyfriends, or husbands, orkids.When it was just the three of us.” Brit turns to include Morgan and then back to me. “Who knows when we can do this again? I want it to be justusthis weekend, just like it used to be.”

I meet Morgan’s gaze, both of us surprised at Brit’s pleading tone. “I don’t remember a time before boyfriends,” Morgan says. “You two never had anyone serious, but I had Anil for years–”

″I can’t believe you let him come to your wedding after they broke up,” I accuse Brit.

″I can’t believe how you ruined my wedding by getting into a fight with his new girlfriend,” Brit shot back at Morgan.

″She started it.” Morgan grins. “But I definitely finished it.”

The moment passes and we start talking about Brit’s weddings–never her marriages, but the memorable parts of her wedding days. Like during her second wedding, when her sister Sierra smoke a little too much weed before the ceremony. It was like a remake of the wedding scene fromSixteen Candles, where the sister takesthe muscle relaxant and chats to the guests on the way down the aisle. Sierra did more than chat; she touched, she hugged, she grabbed the crotch of one of Brick’s friends.

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