I love your dress Kendra says to me Thank you I say Its vintage She recoils in

I love your dress kendra says to me thank you i say

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“I love your dress!” Kendra says to me. “Thank you!” I say. “It’s vintage.” She recoils in real horror. “ Oh my God. Are the nineties considered vintage now?”
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Trina says, “Yes, girl. Their nineties are our seventies.” She shudders. “That’s terrifying. Are we old?” “We’re geriatric,” Trina says, but cheerfully. In the car on the way to the karaoke bar, I get a text from Peter—it’s a picture of him and my dad in their suits, smiling big. My heart lurches when I see it. How do I let a boy like that go? * * * We have a private room reserved at the karaoke bar. When the waitress comes around, Margot orders a pomegranate margarita, which Trina notices, but she doesn’t say anything. What could she say? Margot’s in college. She’ll be twenty in a month. “Is that good?” I ask her. “It’s really sweet,” she says. “Do you want a sip?” I would surely love a sip. Peter’s texted twice from the steakhouse, asking how my night is going, and my stomach is tied up in knots. Furtively I look over at Trina, who is doing a duet with Kristen. She might not have said anything to Margot, but I have a feeling she will say something to me. “In Scotland, the drinking age is eighteen,” Margot says. I take a quick sip, and it’s good, tart and icy. Meanwhile, everybody’s looking through songbooks, trying to decide what songs to put in. The rule of the night is only nineties music. It takes a while for people to get warmed up, but then the drinks start coming fast and furious, and people are shouting out song numbers for the queue. Trina’s friend Michelle goes up next. She croons, “There was a time, when I was so broken-hearted . . .” “I like this song,” I say. “Who sings this song?” Kristen pats me on the head indulgently. “Aerosmith, baby girl. Aerosmith.” They all get up and sing Spice Girls. Margot and I sing “Wonderwall” by Oasis. When I sit back down, I’m breathless. Trina’s SoulCycle friend Kendra is swaying to the beat of whatever nineties song Trina and Kristen are dueting, her frosted martini glass in the air. It’s acid green. “What are you drinking, Kendra?” I ask her. “Apple martini.”
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“That sounds good. Can I try it?” “Yeah, have a sip! They’re so fruity you can’t even taste it.” I take a little hummingbird sip. It is sweet. It tastes like a Jolly Rancher. When Kristen and Trina’s number is up, they fall on the couch beside me, and Kendra jumps up to sing a Britney Spears song. Kristen is slurring, “I just want us to stay close, you know? Don’t be boring. Don’t be, like, a mom all of a sudden, okay? I mean, I know you have to be a mom, but like, don’t be a mom mom.” “I won’t be a mom mom,” Trina says soothingly. “I could never be a mom mom.” “You have to promise to still come to Wine Down Wednesdays.” “I promise.” Kristen lets out a sob. “I just love you so much, girl.” Trina has tears in her eyes too. “I love you, too.” Kendra’s martini is just sitting on the table all alone. I take another sip when no one is looking, because it does taste good. And then another. I’ve finished the
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