schooler being told to hurry because the school bell was ringing soon.
Lucy sat up and turned to face him. “Yes, we have to go. If we didn’t show, I’m not sure which mother would kill us first.”
He laughed, deep from his belly, and then grabbed her in a hug from behind. “Definitely yours.”
“You’re probably right,” she said. Lucy’s parents were fairly laid-back, liked to refer to themselves as “free range”—and that had been mostly true during Lucy’s childhood. She and Alex were allowed to play outside on the street even after it got dark, were expected to do their own laundry and make school lunches, and they never once complained about the state of Lucy and Alex’s bedroom. But along with turning the lights off when you left a room, their mother was militant about lateness. Once, Alex had slept in the day they were driving to Boston to visit their cousins and wasn’t in the car at the predetermined time—7:00 a.m. sharp—and so their mother had put the car in Drive and left fifteen-year-old Alex at home, even as Lucy cried (she was only nine and couldn’t imagine how Alex could survive the four days alone).
Lucy disentangled herself from Daniel and stood in the tub, shivering as she grabbed a towel. She plucked a few of the pink petals that clung to her wet skin, then patted her body dry before bending at the waist to wrap the towel around her hair. Daniel was right behind her, planted a kiss on the goose-bumped skin on her shoulder before grabbing his own towel and aggressively rubbing it against his arms and legs, like he was trying to exfoliate with it. “I will never understand why you use your towel for your hair when you’re so clearly freezing,” he said.
She was already applying body lotion, starting to warm up now that she was dry. “One of life’s great mysteries.”
He laughed and wrapped his arms around her body as they locked eyes in the mirror. Lucy gave him her most serious look. “Daniel, stop. We do not have time.” She glanced at her phone on the vanity. Mom was going to blow a gasket. “We’re already going to be late.”
In a flash Daniel whipped off his towel and pulled her toward the bedroom, then tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. The towel fell off her head and the wet strands of hair stuck to her back and shoulders. “Seriously, we don’t have time!” But her protests were lost in her laughter as Daniel jumped into bed beside her, snuggling both of them under the duvet.
“If we’re already going to be late...” he said, grinning, his own damp hair stuck to his forehead in wet spikes.
Lucy thought once more of her mom’s inevitable irritation, and of their friends who would be standing there waiting for them to arrive—the champagne perfectly chilled and ready to pop—then said with a sly grin, “What’s another few minutes?”
* * *
They arrived at the Thompson Hotel, where the engagement party was being held, nearly an hour late. It was hard to say which mother was angrier, though after some discussion they decided they had been right with the earlier guess. While Daniel’s mom was visibly displeased—telling because she was the stoic sort who rarely showed emotion—she did express relief they weren’t hurt after they said their taxi driver was in a fender bender (which did not happen, but was completely plausible).
But Lucy’s mother would have none of this excuse. She was onto them the minute her younger daughter opened her mouth—Lucy had never had much luck trying to feed her mother anything but the truth, so should have known better. But at least she didn’t call them out on it in front of everyone. Merely narrowed her eyes before saying, “Well, how awful. I’m so glad it wasn’t more serious.” Dad hugged Lucy tightly, while Daniel’s father, a personal injury attorney, had a dozen questions for his son about the accident and what happened. Luckily Daniel’s mother shut that down quickly, reminding everyone they were here for a party and the champagne had been waiting long enough, and Obviously everyone is fine, so let’s get on with things.
And despite lamenting the social gathering—Daniel was raised on a regular diet of parties and events thrown by his high-society parents and had developed a severe aversion to anything requiring black tie—Daniel relaxed as soon as he got a couple of drinks in him. They danced and sashayed among friends, chatted politely with their parents’ acquaintances and extended families, and by midnight only a handful of die-hards remained, including Lucy and Daniel, Jenny, Margot, Alexis and her current beau, Allen, who was a performance artist (Lucy had to laugh watching Mrs. London attempt to understand what it was he did for a living).
Jenny, Margot, Alex and Lucy kicked off their shoes, then stole a full bottle of top-shelf Scotch and a glass off the bar and headed up to the rooftop, giggling drunkenly as they did. Lucy poured the glass full to the top and it was passed down the line while they leaned against the rooftop’s ledge, enjoying the warm night and the very expensive booze Daniel’s parents were paying for.
“So, Mrs. London,” Jenny said, after a big sip from the communal glass, “when’s the first garden party?” The rest of them broke into sloppy laughter, and Lucy snorted.
“Screw you, Jenny,” she said, taking a sip straight from the bottle. The Scotch warmed a path right to her belly. “There is only one Mrs. London, and she’s downstairs.”
Margot raised a brow. “You’re not taking his name?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Alex said, grabbing the bottle of Scotch and taking a swig. She wiped her mouth with her arm and hiccuped. “We’re Sparks girls. Forever and ever, right, Luce?” She threw an arm around her little sister and kissed her on the side of the head.
“I’m sort of surprised.” Margot swirled the remaining finger of Scotch in the glass before tipping it back.
“You are?” Lucy asked, spinning out from under her sister’s arm to look at Margot. “Why?” For whatever reason, even in her drunken state, Margot’s opinion mattered a lot to Lucy.
Margot shrugged at Lucy’s surprise. “You seem the type.”
Lucy was immediately offended, despite believing there was nothing wrong with wanting to take your husband’s name...even if she didn’t want to. But Margot’s words stung. You seem the type? Was that a diss or a compliment? Maybe she saw Lucy as confident enough in who she was for it not to matter if she gave up her maiden name.
Jenny murmured something about how she would for sure take her husband’s name, because her last name hadn’t been the easiest to live with.
Alex snort-laughed and said, “I don’t know. ‘Jenny Dickie’ has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”
But Lucy decided she was too drunk to sort out what Margot meant, so better to come right out and ask. “The type?” she finally said, turning to Margot. “What does that even mean?”
Margot pushed off the wall, then came to stand right in front of her. “It means nothing. Don’t get worked up, okay?” Then with only a few inches between them, she leaned in and gave Lucy a quick kiss, right on the lips. The move erased any response Lucy might have given, and she found herself slightly breathless. “I should have said he’s the type,” Margot added, smirking.
Daniel’s the type? The type to what? Want his wife to take his family’s name?
They had discussed it, the whole last name thing, after Daniel proposed. And while he admitted he would have preferred them to share a surname, he was fine with whatever she wanted to do. Lucy was about to announce all of this, felt the need to defend Daniel and her feminism, but by the time she pulled herself
