FOR THE BACHELORETTE, KRISTEN DECIDED the theme of the night should be the nineties, because there’s nothing Trina loves better than the nineties, so everyone has to dress up in nineties clothes. Honestly, I think the whole reason behind the theme is because Kristen wants to wear a crop top and show off her abs. She arrives at the house in a blue T-shirt that says SKATER GURL and baggy jeans, and her hair is parted down the middle. She’s wearing dark brown lipstick, very matte.
The first thing she does is turn on a nineties station, which blasts all over the whole house. The girls are meeting here, and the boys (and Kitty) are meeting at the steakhouse. I’m glad, because I still don’t know what I’m going to say to Peter.
We’re still getting ready. I’m going with a floral babydoll dress I found on Etsy, and cream-colored knee socks and black platform Mary Janes. I’m brushing my hair into two ponytails when Kristen comes upstairs to do inspections, carrying a martini glass that says Maid of Honor in pink cursive. “Aw, you look cute, Lara Jean,” she says, sipping on her cocktail.
I tighten my ponytails. “Thank you, Kristen,” I say. I’m just glad my outfit is up to snuff. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I would hate to mess up Trina’s night.
Kitty and Margot are on the floor; Kitty is painting Margot’s nails black. Margot has chosen to go the grunge route—a long flannel shirt and jeans and a pair of Doc Martens I borrowed from Chris.
“What are you drinking?” Kitty asks Kristen.
“Cosmopolitan. I have more downstairs in a Sprite bottle. Not for you, though.”
Kitty rolls her eyes at this. “Where’s Tree?”
“She’s in the shower,” I tell her.
Kristen tilts her head and squints at me. “You’re missing something.” She puts down her glass and digs into her clutch and pulls out a lipstick. “Put this on.”
“Oh . . . is it the color you’re wearing?” I ask.
“Yes! It’s called Toast of New York. It was the shit back in the day!”
“Um . . . ,” I hedge. Kristen looks like she smeared Hershey’s kisses all over her lips and then the chocolate dried.
“Just trust me,” she says.
“I was thinking about wearing this.” I put down my hairbrush and show her a shiny pink lip gloss. “Didn’t the Spice Girls wear lip gloss like this? Weren’t they from the nineties?”
Kristen frowns. “They were more late nineties, early two thousands, but yes. I guess that’ll work.” She points her lipstick at Margot. “You need this, though. Your outfit isn’t nineties enough.” She watches as Kitty puts the finishing touches on Margot’s nails. “I used to use a Sharpie,” Kristen says. “You girls don’t know how lucky you are to have all these options. We used to have to make do. Sharpies for black, Wite-Out for white.”
“What’s Wite-Out?” Kitty asks her.
“Oh my God. You children don’t even know what Wite-Out is?”
As soon as Kristen turns her back to pick up her cocktail, Kitty bares her teeth at her and hisses silently.
“I saw you in the mirror,” Kristen says.
“I meant for you to,” Kitty says back.
Kristen eyes her. “Hurry up and finish with your sister’s nails so you can do mine.”
“I’m almost done,” Kitty says.
A minute later the doorbell rings, and all three of them head downstairs. I hear Kristen yell, “You get the door; I’ll get the drinks!”
*
Trina’s sorority sister Monique is wearing a slip dress with big sunflowers splashed all over it, and a white T-shirt underneath, plus black platform Mary Janes that look like space shoes. Her friend Kendra from SoulCycle is wearing overalls with a pink ribbed cami and a matching pink scrunchie in her hair. A lot of the stuff people are wearing, the kids from school wear too. Fashion really is cyclical.
The nineties theme was the right call, because Trina is delighted by all of it.
“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?”
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.”
“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.”