Page 96 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
And besides—it’s not like I believe in God, anyway.
—
MANUEL CALLS ME THIRTY TIMESthat night. I ignore every one.
32
NOW
“SO.” MOM CLAPPED. “WHAT’S FIRSTon the agenda?”
“First on the agenda is everyone over sixty goes to bed,” said Karma.
“Oh, come on.” Mom pouted. “I gave birth to Taron. Don’t you think I deserve to be at his fiancée’s bachelorette party?”
“Did you hear what you just said?”
“I, for one, have less than zero interest in watching my son get shit-faced,” said Speedy. “Especially when the only thing I can drink is Cherry Coke. Gentlemen, goodnight.”
“Ah, ah, ah!” said Clarence, grabbing the handlebars of Speedy’s wheelchair and turning him around. “We need full attendance from the male population tonight.”
Speedy sighed lengthily.
“Don’t listen to Karma, Mom,” I said. “You can stay if you want.”
She perked up. “Really?”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s not like we’re going to a strip club.”
“Well, we are.” Clarence led the men to the back door. Under his arm was a lopsided trash bag filled with God only knows what. “Don’t plan on using the back porch tonight, ladies.”
Manuel winked at me on his way out. Then the door swung shut, and I found myself standing before five women, all of whom were staring at me, waiting for a good time.
I cleared my throat. “Welcome, everyone,” I said, hating myself immediately for doing so. Why was I speaking like a flight attendant? “To Helene’s bachelorette party.”
“Riveting,” said Karma.
Shelly shushed her.
“Obviously, I’ve…never thrown a bachelorette party before, and since we can’t do any of the typical activities, I came up with a schedule.” I pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper from my back pocket. On it was a list of activities I’d stolen from Google. From articles titled “Throw the Best Bachelorette Party Ever” or “7 Activities Guaranteed to Wow the Whole Bridal Party!”
I cleared my throat and read them aloud. “First, we’ll do a blind wine tasting. Then, we’ll do a few rounds of Never Have I Ever. Then…”
“Nope.” Karma stood up. “Boose, I love you, but where did you get these ideas? Martha Stewart online?”
“No,” I lied.
“All right. Well. Not happening. I’m sorry. Helene”—she turned to the bride—“don’t worry. We’ll show you a good time.”
—
ROCKS AND STRAY ROOTS CAUGHTmy feet as I hurried to follow Karma through the forest.
“Okay. Here’s the plan.” She spoke over her shoulder to the rest of us. “The boys are dicking around down on the rocks. My idea is this: First, we pretend that we’re going off into the forest. Second, we get rip-roaring drunk. Third”—she halted and dropped her backpack onto the forest floor—“we take these bottles of whippedcream”—she opened the bag’s mouth to reveal five aerosol cans and a handle of tequila—“and spray the shit out of the men. Any questions?”
“Just one,” said Mom, raising her hand. “Who’s in charge of cleanup afterward?”
“As I said before: all women over the age of sixty are welcome to make their exit at any time.”
