I wake up relieved that today is Jessica's bachelorette party. Dropping a bag of penis accessories on the living area sofa, I move to the bedroom and pull a sundress from my luggage. Holding it up in front of me makes me feel my first pang of uncertainty. It looks like it shrunk after washing it and tossing it into the dryer. I hope it will fit.
Luckily, it fits, but it doesn't look any bigger once it's on. The top half of the dress pushes my breasts together, though, giving me cleavage I don't think I've ever had before. The bottom half is cute and flares out, ending a few inches above my knee. I slip on a pair of flip-flops and walk into my bedroom.
"Rise and shine, Michelle," I say, clicking on a light switch.
"Oh God," she groans, pressing her head into a pillow. "What is wrong with you?"
"Time to wake up," I tell her. "It's bachelorette day. We need to be at the Spa in thirty minutes."
"So early," she groans.
"I'm leaving you in charge of waking up, Stephanie," I tell her. "I'm heading to Jessica's villa. Meet us at the Spa. Hurry up."
I walk to Jessica and Michael's villa, coffee in hand. When I stepped onto the porch, I saw their front door was slightly open, and I could hear two voices arguing.
I push open the door, letting myself inside. I see Jessica rummaging through a drawer, shouting at Michael, saying, "Keep looking."
My eyes darted to Michael, standing in the middle of their room, fingers running through his hair, eyes wide, nostrils flared. He looks exceptionally agitated. What did I walk into?
"I told you to be more careful," he says.
"I am careful," she shouts.
I step backward, thinking I should slink away from their argument, but Jessica spots me.
"Oh Megan, thank God you're here," she says, voice breaking on my name. "I lost my engagement ring."
Michael kicks over a garbage can, mumbling a few swear words.
"I had it on last night at the bar, put it on my nightstand before I went to bed, and then when I woke up, it was gone," she says. "I don't understand where it went."
I watch red-faced Michael rip the bedsheets from the bed and toss them to the floor. "Stop talking and start looking, Jess," he says. "We need to find that ring, or my mother will have a fucking heart attack."
She starts to cry. "Stop being such a jerk. I didn't mean to lose it."
Michael mutters something under his breath and turns his back to her, searching on a nearby desk. She flips him off and then turns to face me, "Please help," she says.
Somehow, I find myself searching for Jessica's engagement ring on my hands and knees.
To say this ring is spectacular is an understatement. It's been in Michael's hoity-toity family for five generations. It's a stunning two-carat, radiant-cut light orangey-pink diamond with two honking white diamonds on either side. She has been able to wear it safely every day for the past year, so how she lost it the day before her wedding is beyond me.
My arm was wedged underneath a dresser when I heard Jessica shout, "I found it."
Michael runs a hand over his face and lets out a relieved sigh. Without another word, he walks through the living area and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
"What's his problem?" she asks, slipping the ring onto her finger. "I found it. The ring must have slipped. I found it behind my nightstand."
I glance at the clock on the wall, seeing we only have five minutes until our spa appointment. "We need to go," I tell her. "We can't be late."
Stephanie and Michelle are waiting for us at the front doors of the Spa.
When we walk inside, a middle-aged woman with curly black hair greets us with a smile. "Welcome to the Spa, ladies. May I ask, who is the bride?"
"Me," Jessica says, shooting up her hand.
"Wonderful. Congratulations," she says. "My name is Nadia. I will be taking care of you this morning."
She takes a tray of champagne flutes from the counter and hands one to each of us. Leading the way, Nadia walks us through double doors onto a hydrotherapy Jacuzzi pool deck. We are surrounded by lush greenery and tropical flowers. The sun is shining, and the air is warm. I admire a gigantic mosaic mural on an outside wall resembling the sea. Nadia hands each of us a white housecoat.
"Can we use the pool?" Jessica asks.
I nod. "We are getting every treatment this spa offers."
She throws her arms around my neck, hugging me. "You're the best."
We follow Nadia further inside to a separate section of the Spa. Rich, warm colours and plush furniture decorate the space. We removed our sandals and selected a colour for our hands and toes.
Once our manicures start, so does the conversation. We mostly listen to Jessica vent about the trials of being a bride and planning a wedding, how Michael can never seem to understand the importance of details, or how she's worried her dress won't fit after a week of drinking and eating non-stop.
"You've never told me how you met Michael," Stephanie says.
I've heard this story a million times. But, of course, Stephanie wouldn't know. She didn't attend the same high school. Jessica met her at college.
Jessica smiles. "I have Megan to thank for officially meeting Michael."
"Guilty as charged," I laugh.
"Back in high school, Megan was such a studious little academic," she laughs. "She took every advanced science course offered."
"Ew, why?" Stephanie asks.
"Because she wanted to be a marine biologist," Jessica answers. "And every day when her advanced biology class ended, I'd show up at her classroom door and walk with Megan to English class." She sips champagne before continuing, "Michael was in Megan's advanced biology class. One day, Megan went home sick from school and didn't tell me, so I showed up at the classroom door and waited for her, but she didn't show. Michael was the last student to exit the classroom, and he looked at me and said, your friend wasn't in class today. He then asked my name, and I told him Jessica Ellis. I pretended I hadn't noticed him before, but I mean, how could I not have noticed him?"
"True," Michelle says, and we all nod in agreement.
Michael is very handsome. Honey-brown hair and piercing blue eyes like his rarely go unnoticed.
"Anyway, he asked me if he could walk me to my English class," she laughs, nostalgic at the memory. "I didn't even have to tell him where my classroom was. He already knew, which meant he had followed us before. I thanked him for walking me, and we said our goodbyes, but then, later that same day, he approached me in the cafeteria, asking me if I wanted to come to a party that weekend. So I made Megan come with me to that dingy basement party, and after the party, he asked me to see a movie with him sometime. Of course, I said yes. We saw a movie next weekend. And ta-da, it's been love ever since."
"So," I say, " if I hadn't gone homesick and puked my brains out, Michael and Jessica wouldn't have met."
"Exactly," she laughs.
Stephanie frowns. "Why can't I meet someone great?"
"What do you mean?" Jessica asks, placing a hand on her forearm. "You've dated a lot of really great guys."
Stephanie chews her lip as she contemplates this.
"What about your last boyfriend?" Michelle asks. "Davis, right?"
"His last name was Davis. His first name was Andrew," she replied. "And he was a major jerk with a crummy bartending job and lived in a shitty bachelor apartment."
"Oh."
"It's not fair," she groans. "Michelle has a boyfriend, and she has Matthew on the side. Jessica has Michael, and Megan has Steven. " She takes a deep breath and frowns. "I have no one."
"I do not have Matthew on the side," Michelle says. "Did you not hear our fight last night? I am done with him."
"Please," Jessica says, waving Michelle off. She turns her attention back to Stephanie and asks, "What about Eric?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"What's wrong with Eric?" I ask. "He's cute."
"He's cute, yeah, but have you seen him drunk?" she asks, shaking her head. "And he suffers from Peter Pan syndrome. He'll never grow up. He should see a therapist."
"What about that cute guy you work with at the bank?" Michelle suggests.
She shakes her head again. "Been there, done that. I've already slept with him. He was a sloppy lay. Gross, no."
Jessica hums in response, tapping an index finger on her lips as she thinks. Suddenly, her eyes light up, and she gasps, covering her mouth. Finally, she says three words I never wanted to hear: "What about Ben?"
I silently pray Stephanie will say no, gross, or yuck. But she doesn't. She contemplates this, relaxing her shoulders, and her lips push into a bit of pout. Those few seconds feel like hours before she responds with a wicked smirk, "I have a confession."
No. Please stop talking. Please stop –
"I slept with Ben."
I feel like I've been dropped in ice water, goosebumps spreading across my skin. My stomach drops, even though I know this could have happened long ago.
"What?" Jessica laughs. "You're lying. When?"
Stephanie continues: "Actually, it happened a couple of weeks ago. Just before this trip."
My heart starts to hammer, and I am tempted to lean forward and put my hand over her mouth to stop her from saying anything else. But then she adds, "It just happened one night...and then once more. I thought we'd hook up again on this trip, but so far, nothing."
I can't breathe. The idea of Ben being with other women makes me faintly nauseous, but the idea of him being with Stephanie weeks before we flipped a coin makes me feel hot with adrenaline and sick to my stomach. I sink lower into my seat, feeling like someone has reached down into my throat and pulled my heart out.
I felt like what we had was real. I felt so close to him; I thought I was different than some random girl like Stephanie. How could he keep this from me?
"I'm a little speechless," Michelle says. "How did this happen?"
"The night Megan invited us over for a party she was hosting for her co-workers," Stephanie says. "And then another time after that. I got a little tipsy and gave him a call. He showed up, and you know..."
I think back to that night, to that party. Memories of Stephanie flirting with Ben in my kitchen and then of them doing shots together creep back into my subconscious. I vaguely remember them leaving my apartment as Stephanie drunkenly hung off his arm.
I want to press my hands to my eyes, feeling jealous and stupid and embarrassed and - God, just so angry at Ben for leading me on.
"Megan, did you know about this?" Jessica asks.
I shake my head, unable to speak, feeling unshed tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I blink them away.
"Ben promised he wouldn't tell Megan," Stephanie says, admiring her nails. "He also made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone. Oops."
I am trying my hardest to force air into my lungs and not freak out. I am poker-faced like a champ. I want to be mad at Stephanie, slap her across the face, and tell her I hate her. But it is not her I'm mad at. It's Ben.
Looking at the girls, I try to keep it together, feeling like such an idiot. I should have known. Ben is a player. He always has been, and he always will be. I want to climb into a hole.
I wish I never slept with Ben. I wish I didn't care they slept together weeks before he slept with me. I also wish I didn't care how he kept this secret. I try my hardest not to imagine them kissing, touching and humping. But images of them together pollute my brain, making me feel slightly ill. I also hate that I can't even turn to Jessica for support and cry into her shoulder over my heartbreak and humiliation after finding out I'm his sloppy seconds.
I've never felt so low.
Michelle proceeds to ask Stephanie how he was when they had sex. She says something in reply, but I'm not listening anymore.