Shopping for a CEO (Page 82)

“I can’t eat any of this!” Shannon cries out, then shoves another mouthful of caramel chunk ice cream between her teeth. “I’ll never fit into my wedding dress.”

“That’s okay, dear,” Marie says with sympathy, patting her arm. “We never thought you could manage anyway, so I had the seamstress add some gussets for the inevitable.”

“WHAT?”

“I have not spent twenty-six years as your mother to not realize that you have the self control of Agnes at a yoga class for male underwear models.”

My mom clears her throat and asks, blushing, “You offer yoga classes for male underwear models?”

“No, but isn’t that a great idea?”

My mom nods. “I’d exercise more if that were an option.”

Marie just beams.

“I am going to stand in front of a thousand people in two days and look like a big, white whale next to a god in a kilt!” Shannon sobs. I’m impressed. She’s taking this acting thing way too far, but it seems to be fooling Marie.

“A billionaire god,” Amy adds.

“That’s not helpful!” Shannon snaps. She scrapes the bottom of her ice cream pint and pokes furiously with a spoon, as if viciously stabbing Ben and Jerry.

“Don’t be silly,” Marie soothes. “The photographer is an expert in Photoshop. You won’t look like a whale. I promise.”

“I don’t want to have my wedding photographs doctored!”

“Not doctored. More like….finessed.”

“That’s fakery!”

“That’s reality, Shannon,” Marie argues. “Fake is the new black.”

“What is that supposed to mean? That makes no sense!”

“Just eat your ice cream and wait for the pills to kick in, dear.” Marie and my mother sling their purses over their shoulders and start to walk out the door.

“Where are you going?” Carol asks.

“To Shannon’s bachelorette party.”

“There is no party.”

Marie and my mom share an uneasy look. Marie taps one fingernail against her front teeth as she screws up some courage.

“Spit it out, Mom,” Carol says with a resigned sigh. “Whatever this is, it’s gonna be good.”

“Well, just because you all have uncooperative uterii doesn’t mean Pam and I need to miss out on all the fun!”

“Uncooperative Uterii sounds like the name of a garage band at Smith College,” Amy groans.

“You’re going to,” Shannon says slowly, her eyes still closed, head slung up against the back of the couch, “have my bachelorette party without me?”

“If you insist, sweetie!” Marie chirps. She and my mom high tail it for the door. “We’ll do a blow job in your honor!”

“A what?”

“It’s a drink. A shot. Don’t worry. She’s not really…they’re not really, you know….” My mother sputters more than a lawn mower warming up.

“Although, Pam isn’t married. She can whore it up all she wants.”

The words whore and my mother should never, ever be in the same sentence.

My mom just winks at me. Winks!

And with that, they’re off, Spritzy as their mascot. Mom has a letter from her doctor that sort of certifies Spritzy as a service dog. Not really, but the letterhead shuts people up fairly quickly. Mom’s anxiety over her pain from the fibromyalgia means having Spritzy helps.

Not sure how having Spritzy at a bachelorette party is going to work, but…

Carol’s phone buzzes with a text. She reads it and makes a sound of disbelief.

“Everything okay with Jeffrey and Tyler?” Shannon asks, her brow creased with concern.

“What? That? Oh, yeah. Dad’s keeping them overnight. Taking them out to their favorite restaurant and spoiling them rotten.”

“You gave poor Jason earplugs for Chuck E. Cheese, right?” I ask.

Carol smiles and looks just like Marie. “We gave him a twelve pack for Christmas this year.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Josh just sent me a text asking where the party is.”

“Josh? Why would Josh think he’s been invited to my bachelorette party?” Shannon asks.

“Let me find out.” Carol taps her screen a few times and we wait.

And wait.

Bzzzzz.

She reads the text aloud:

“Your mother invited me.”

Jaws drop in disbelief.

“He has a penis! He can’t come to my party!”

“He likes the same eye candy.”

“Besides, I’m pretty sure Andrew invited him to Declan’s bachelor party.”

“And there will be plenty of penises at your bachelorette party,” Carol groans.

“Not Josh’s penis! Stripper penii!”

“Tell him where Mom and Pam are,” Shannon says with a gleam in her eye. She looks at Carol and adds a mopey sigh.

Carol taps on her screen. “Done. Josh says he’ll save some stripper belly lint for us to keep as a memento.”

“Ewww,” I say, recoiling.

Amy has been standing by the front door, looking outside. She turns around, slowly pulling her long, auburn curls out of the crooked ponytail she made.

“They’re gone. It’s safe.”

“Whew!” Shannon exclaims. “I thought I was going to have to eat the entire pint and get sick before they left.”

“That whole ‘I’m going to look like a whale in my dress’ act was great! You really sold it, Shannon,” I tell her.