***

“I think I might be pregnant.” Charlotte shouts over the music as we dance near the speakers. She is very drunk. She will throw up tonight.

“The fuck?”

David still isn’t back. He texted me that our toddler is lying in his arms, not moving, but staring up at him. Our other one is passed out and curled up against his leg. He can’t move. He is writing with his left thumb and there are lots of typos.

I had felt bad for him, wanted him to come back and have a big glass of whiskey, until this. He wouldn’t want to hear this.

“The condom broke,” Charlotte says.

“What did you do?”

“Took a Plan B.”

“Good.”

“The first time.”

“The first time? You’ve been with this guy for a few weeks and multiple condoms have broken?”

“Just two.”

“Does he know how to properly use one?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe he hasn’t quite figured it out yet, the poor little guy.”

“He’s the tallest guy I’ve dated. I never trade in for someone shorter.”

“He’s a baby. How can you have a baby with a baby?”

“I’m worried that I might be pregnant and you’re making fun of how old Gabe is.”

“No. How young he is.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Sure it is,” I say. “What do you two even talk about? He buys shirts at Target of the bands you saw live in high school. His favorite shows are on YouTube. Do you even have a YouTube account?”

She drinks. A new song comes on. Something clubby. I don’t know what it is.

I say, “If you’re going to do this, why not call Seth? He lives in Long Beach, and you two have always gotten along.”

“He’s overweight.”

“You and I have both been overweight before.”

“He’s always overweight.”

“He’s solvent. And Jewish. Jewish guys commit to their wives, trust me.”

“He’s balding.”

“So is David. Jewish guys do that too. It’s not a big deal.”

“Gabe takes me out. We have fun. And you should see him in some of those t-shirts he wears.”

“I’m sure he’s gorgeous.”

“Look,” she says, unzipping her purse to find her phone.

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“If I know what he looks like then I’m a part of this. I don’t want to be a part of this.”

“Well trust me, he’s hot.”

“Yeah. And virile. Broken condoms and all. Trojans can’t stand up to a real man in bed.”

***

We’ve stopped dancing but we’re still on the edge of the dance floor. Charlotte’s glass is empty, and I’m afraid that if I move to a chair then she’ll go to the bar before she follows me, so I stand there with her.

Another bridesmaid comes up to us, the one who kicks open the slit in her skirt with every step. She high fives me and Charlotte as she passes by us. Last night at the rehearsal dinner she was the only person to come out to the pool in her bikini, ready to swim. Everyone else understood that pool party meant by the pool, not in it. But no one else has a stomach as flat as hers.

Then, Jessica comes over and puts her arm around Charlotte, leans on her. She reaches her other arm out and I slide in so she can grab me. She’s strong, and as she pulls us in it feels like she could break my collarbone.

“Cousins,” she says. “There are no Mullen girls left.”

“Nope,” I say.

Charlotte says nothing.

“What does this mean?” Jessica says.

“It means we’re all grown up,” I say. “Aren’t we, Charlotte?”

“Sure,” Charlotte says.

Jessica squeezes. My neck hurts.