Page 61 of Fun at Parties
If we were smarter, we’dhave parked facing west. Instead, with nothing covering the windshield, we wake as soon as the sun peeks over the horizon and blasts us in the face.
Nate stretches and groans, a low, sleepy sound that conjures thoughts of rumpled bedsheets and skin-warmed pillows.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice raspy. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Road trip detritus is sprinkled throughout the car. My water bottle is in the rear cupholder, with a few stale ounces remaining. I swirl the water around my mouth before swallowing.
“We needed the rest,” he says. “Besides, it’ll be easier to find him today. We’ll be staying in the same spot as him.”
“Livvie texted us.” I open the message. “They’re on the earliest flight, so they should be here by late morning. The first thing I’m doing when we get there is brushing my teeth.”
Nate rubs his eyes. “Last night I thought I never wantedto get wet again, but the first thing I’m doing when we get there is taking a shower.”
We climb out of the car and do laps up and down the rows to wake up. Most of the campground is quiet, with shadowy lumps under blankets barely visible through car windows. One group of people is sprawled in a circle of folding chairs around a cooler, debriefing over canned cold brew. Outside the Jeep, we bum a couple bananas off Madison.
“Ready for today?” she asks too brightly for a person who spent the night adjacent to the remnants of vomit.
“We’re heading out in a bit,” I say. “Meeting friends in a different lot.”
Nate holds up his banana. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Enjoy the rest of the weekend!” I add. For the last twelve hours I’ve felt solidarity with everyone else we’ve shared this humble campground with. Been grateful for their generosity. Admired their resilience.
Today, my feelings are more likeso long, suckers.I am no longer sure I would’ve been on the right side of the French Revolution.
When Livvie and Kyla arrive at the VIP campground, Nate and I have been hovering outside the entrance for forty-five minutes. We are all frizz and grime, dressed in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. Livvie is wearing a white sleeveless bell-bottomed jumpsuit. Kyla’s in a fringed suede miniskirt and matching top. Their blowouts are immaculate, and they have coordinated metallic temporary tattoos on their biceps.
It feels like two goddesses have descended from the heavens to save us from squalor.
The RV is sponsored byBeach Housemainstay Laguna Boys Cerezita Rum, and it’s branded with giant versions of the company’s logo. Inside, it’s a futuristic mix of faux reddish wood, bright crimson leather, and chrome. There are two sofas at the front, then a dining table and kitchenette. At the back is a bedroom with a door that shuts for privacy and a truly luxurious bathroom, with a glass-enclosed shower and marble sink. Nate makes a beeline for it, his overstuffed duffel bag in hand.
Livvie flings open the closet and fills it with garment bags. “Feel free to borrow anything you want. I brought tons of clothes. Oh, and we’ll take the couches tonight.”
I hover in a half squat over the one I was about to sit on. If they sleep on the couches, that leaves only the bed. “Are you sure?”
“I can’t sleep next to Kyla. She gets in my face and mouth-breathes all over me.”
“In a way that my future husband will find adorable,” Kyla adds. She spins around and points at me. “Not that I need a man. Wait, am I allowed to hook up tonight?”
I’m still stuck on the sharing-a-bed-with-Nate thing. “Here? Uh, can you text us, so we know not to come back until you’re done?”
“Ew, no, I’m not bringing someone back to our sanctuary.”
“Oh,” I say, as the real meaning of her question clicks. “You know I’m not actually an authority on relationships, right? Or not being in a relationship.”
Livvie grabs a stick of deodorant from her suitcase. “Isn’t that your whole thing?”
I slump on the couch. “My boss wants it to be mything. I don’t have any relevant expertise, but apparently that doesn’t matter. I guess it’s more about how you present yourself than what you know.”
“Sounds kind of like Sloane,” Kyla says. “She was on myBeach Houseseason. And now she’s the TikTok nanny. She only worked in childcare for, like, two months, but she gives advice to parents and does reaction videos to people’s babysitter horror stories. She just got a sponsorship from some educational toy subscription box.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure whether they’re friends with this person. “Good for her?”
Livvie snorts. “It’s sketchy. There are actual experts online, don’t get me wrong. I saw a post from a gynecologist that convinced me to ask my doctor about fibroids, and that’s how I got diagnosed. But there are a lot of bullshitters too.”
“Don’t you think that’s on the people who listen to them, though?” Kyla uncaps her lip liner. “If I base my parenting strategy on something posted by a girl with charisma and funny facial expressions without making sure she has credentials, that’s my fault.”
I want to talk this out further, but Livvie grabs her slouchy bedazzled shoulder bag. “Let’s go take pictures so we can move on to parenting a couple cocktails, yeah?”
