Page 22 of Best Woman

“I’m soooo happy you went with the Balenciaga,” River squeals.

“The black is a bit…witches of Eastwick,” Daytona rebuts. “Or Bushwick, I guess.”

“Can we please not mention Bushwick,” Kyle moans. “I’m still recovering from last week’s K-hole.”

I’m locked inside a single-stall bathroom on an emergency emotional support four-way FaceTime. I’m not feeling especially supported. “Can we please focus? I’m in the midst of a crisis.”

They all roll their eyes simultaneously. “When are you not in the midst of a crisis?” asks Daytona.

“I don’t know, I think I had a good week sometime in April.

But seriously,” I grip the sink for support and also so I can push my boobs together for optimum cleavage in case anyone decides to take a screenshot.

“Aiden just revealed my very real teenage crush to the girl I’ve duped into paying attention to me.

She’s going to realize I concocted this whole charade as an excuse to perv on her! ”

“Can we make this quick?” Daytona says, across a small, messy room from her phone. I believe she’s staying in a punk squat in Atlanta. “I’m off testosterone blockers again and I’ve been extremely preoccupied since I got here. Last night I spent about six hours inside the sweetest little twink.”

“I thought you were in your daddy phase,” River says.

“I was, but then it turned into my mommy phase.”

“Focus!” I clap my hands like a kindergarten teacher at the end of recess. “I’m dealing with my actual, biological family members and their repeated attempts to ruin my life.”

“I don’t know, babe, Aiden telling your pseudo-girlfriend that you used to write her name in bubble letters on your binder doesn’t sound all that diabolical,” Kyle muses. “Considering the circumstances it’s almost, like, supportive.”

That’s perfectly rational, but after a glass of champagne and two cocktails, I am not. “He’s not being supportive, he’s trying to embarrass me. And now Kim keeps giving me these looks .”

“Are they sexy looks? Also, does anyone know how long I’m supposed to leave this on for?” River is painting bleach onto their eyebrows, a look I tried during my club kid phase and could never pull off. I’m sure they’ll look infuriatingly cool.

“No more than twenty minutes,” I caution. “And I wouldn’t call them sexy, per se. Although Kim is always sexy, so I wouldn’t be able to spot the difference.”

“You may have to accept that your embarrassing crush is not as embarrassing as you think, and this girl could be into you. Anyway, I need to get ready, I’m running late for a sex party,” says Kyle.

He’s shrugging into a leather harness, silver glitter dusted on his high cheekbones.

It hits me deeply how much I miss all of them, how much I wish they were here, and also how strange it would be if they were.

My life in New York and the person I’ve become there feel light-years away from this bathroom stall in this lame bar in this claustrophobic little town.

River perks up. “Oh, is it the one in that dungeon in Park Slope?”

“No, it’s in the secret back room inside that fried chicken spot in Bed-Stuy. Wanna come?”

River squeals and they start discussing outfit options.

I mumble out a goodbye and hang up. So much for moral support.

I reapply my lipstick, sniff under my arms to make sure my nervous flop sweat isn’t too noticeable, and open the door.

Rachel is standing on the other side. “Oh, thank god,” she moans, pushing her way into the bathroom and locking the door behind her with me still inside.

“I have to pee so bad and I had no idea how I was going to get this dress off. Can you help?”

It takes a minute, but between the two of us—me yanking up the stiff fabric of her dress, her wiggling down as hard as she can—we get her bottom half free and she squats over the toilet, sighing in ecstasy, but the relief is short-lived.

“I want to know what you’re doing with Kim,” she says, eyes sharpened to a point.

Fuck, is the jig up that quickly? “I don’t know what you mean.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Julia, I know you’re very smart, and despite what you might think, I am too.” She is still peeing. Loudly.

She’s not wrong. Rachel is an attorney and by all accounts a very competent one.

She might be a bit silly, a bit dramatic, and she has a distinct lack of tact that only comes from a life of extreme privilege, but she’s sharp.

Those big Bambi eyes see everything, and right now they’re seeing far more of me than I’d like.

And she’s still peeing. “She’s the maid of honor, I’m the best woman. We’re just…getting to know each other.”

“So you weren’t making bedroom eyes at Ben Otsuka across the bar ten minutes ago?”

Well, that’s not where I was expecting this to go.

“First of all, who uses the term bedroom eyes ? Did we time travel to the eighties without my realizing it? Is this Mannequin, starring erstwhile Sex and the City actress Kim Cattrall?” I heave in a breath and count to ten.

She’s still peeing. “No, Rachel, I was not giving him eyes associated with any kind of room. Those are just…my eyes.”

“You guys have had a thing on and off for a while, even though we all like to pretend you don’t. I know for a fact that when he stopped by last Thanksgiving to return Aiden’s electric carver, the turkey wasn’t the only thing getting stuffed.”

“Oh my god.”

“Kim is my best friend, and she might come off all tough and independent, but she’s a highly sensitive person and she’s been through some shit. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be wooing the maid of honor and hooking up with a groomsman.”

She’s. Still. Peeing.

Turning away from her, because it’s very hard not to stare directly at her vagina, I grip the sink for support that has nothing to do with my cleavage.

“Rachel, this might be hard for you to conceptualize, since you and Aiden have been together for years and are literally getting married this week, but Kim and Ben and I are all adults. Queer adults at that, and it’s pretty presumptuous of you to assume that we have the same ideas about monogamy as you. ”

“I’m not some basic straight girl you need to educate about queer relationship dynamics. My best friend is a lesbian. I know all about polygamy.”

“Might you mean polyamory?”

“Whatever!”

“I’m also not some chaotic bisexual stereotype who just wants to fuck anything that moves, Rachel.

Just because I have hooked up with Ben doesn’t mean I’m going to again.

” Even though I did so not twenty-four hours ago and, depending on how things go with Kim, I likely will again at some point this week.

And even if I was in a relationship with Kim—the thought of which causes my heart to beat a little faster—I don’t know that I even believe in monogamy.

“Just don’t fuck with my maid of honor, especially during the most important week of my life. If you’re gonna hook up with Ben, be honest with her about it. There’s nothing Kim hates more than a liar.”

“I wouldn’t lie to her.” Again. Hopefully.

I hear her finally stop peeing and tear off some toilet paper. “By the way, you’re coming to my bachelorette party on Thursday.”

I whirl around, shocked. “I am?”

“Of course. You’re about to be my sister-in-law.” She stands, dress still scrunched up around her torso, panties around her ankles. “A little help, please?”

I help her back into her dress and zip it up for her.

“You don’t have to worry about me and Kim.

We’re two consenting adults.” One of whom has lied to the other in a bid for sexy sympathy.

“Sure, I had a major crush on her in high school, but that was over a decade ago.” And yet every time she looks at me, I feel sixteen again, sweaty palms and all.

Speaking of palms, Rachel grasps my hands, despite having not washed hers yet. Gross. “OK. I trust you.” That should be reassuring, but my heart sinks. She shouldn’t. “Julia, I think part of the reason why Kim and I got so close in college—”

“—is that you were secretly in love with her and now you’re going to leave Aiden for her?” I can’t help but tease, trying to break the tension.

“—is that I’ve always wanted a sister. And after this weekend, I’m finally going to have one.

” She smiles at me, moves to wash her hands, and fixes her makeup.

I’m gobsmacked and shocked to find my eyes stinging with tears.

She catches my eye in the mirror and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Should we do a little coke? It usually gives me the shits, but I can’t eat until Saturday if I want to fit into my wedding gown. ”

Sisters, amirite?