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 together, Margot was already walking back toward the stairs. “Come on, ladies. We’re out of booze, and therefore possibilities, up here.”
They stumbled behind her, Lucy touching her lips as she did, which were still slightly tacky from Margot’s gloss. A few shots of tequila later Lucy had forgotten the conversation—and the three or so hours following it—entirely. Until the next day, when she and Jenny nursed hangovers with plates of waffles and rehashed Margot’s comment. Lucy let Jenny reassure her she and Daniel were not “predictable” and Margot clearly had no idea what she was talking about.
“Maybe I will take his last name,” Lucy said defiantly, cutting her waffle with more gusto than was required.
“Maybe you will.” Jenny pursed her lips and pointed her fork Lucy’s way, matching her tone.
“I can still be a feminist and take my husband’s name.”
“Damn right you can,” Jenny said.
Lucy put down her fork. “Lucy London.” She repeated it a few more times. “Not bad, right?”
“Not bad at all,” Jenny said. “But I’m probably not the one to ask. Jenny Dickie, remember?”
They laughed so hard that Lucy, who had unfortunately just taken a bite of her breakfast, spit the piece of her waffle right into Jenny’s face, which only made them laugh even harder. Then Lucy went home and told Daniel she was going to take his name, after all.
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