“It’s assigned,” Hannah calls out to me. “The bridal party is not sitting together. We couldn’t get it to work out that way.”
Which means there’s no telling where I’m going to be. Table thirteen, here I come. I’d rather be there than sitting with a blind date. Unfortunately, my mom’s not going to back down.
“Did you hear that?” Hallie asks. “The bridal party isn’t sitting together.” There are several snickers in the background and I’m hoping like hell they’re joking with me.
I sigh. “Yeah, I got it. No worries.” I’m just going to be miserable the entire time if it’s actually true. Looking over at my laptop, an idea comes to mind. I’ll sneak it into the reception and disappear to a corner so I can work. Problem solved. I won’t have to worry about any of it.
“All right, girlie. We’re almost there.”
Shit, I’m not dressed. “See ya in a minute.” Quickly, I hang up the phone and get dressed in my tutu and tights. The word bridesmaid sparkles in the mirror when I take one last look at myself. I put on my green beads and run a hand through my hair. “Here we go.” Grabbing the glitter green purse, I stick my license and money inside of it before heading downstairs to the lobby.
The limo pulls up and as soon as I walk out the doors, Hallie stumbles out and waves at me, dressed in her green tutu and white T-shirt that has Bride printed across the front in gold glitter. Hannah appears behind her and shakes her head. “Sorry, cuz. She’s a little wasted.”
All the girls inside the limo hoot and holler. They’re all Hallie’s friends and I don’t know them, but they sound like they’re a little tipsy too.
Hallie holds up a small plastic cup with green Jell-O in it. “You can’t enter until you down the Jell-O shot. It’s the rules.”
I glance over at Hannah and she shrugs. “What the bride says, we do. Guzzle down, girlfriend so we can go.”
Inside, I groan, but I toss back the shot with a smile on my face. Hallie squeals when I finish and jumps up and down before squeezing me so tight, I can barely breathe. “We’re going to have so much fun, Hope. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Hearing her say that makes me really smile. “Come on, you drunkard. Let’s get this party started.” It’s hard, but I have to put my thoughts of work aside for a couple of hours. It’s not every day your favorite cousin gets married. I get in the limo and more Jell-O shots are passed my way. It’s definitely going to be a crazy night.
2
Kellan
When you grow up in an Irish family, every holiday is important. Except, Saint Patrick’s Day is the ultimate holiday. The be all that ends all other events. Countless days of cooking, drinking, eating and more drinking. It might as well be Christmas on steroids with the way my family goes all out with the celebrations. Thing is, I don’t know any different, and when I invite people to hang out for St. Paddy’s day, they’re often shocked that day actually means week. This year though, things are a little different for me. Aside from my familial duties, my best friend Stewart is getting married to his long-time girlfriend, Hallie, this weekend and it’s my job to organize the bachelor party. What a better way to party, than New York City on the day of the green.
The guys all gather at my house, sitting in the living room and eating shepherd’s pie. Most of the guys are humming with each bite, which I get. My grandmother is the best cook this side of the Hudson. While they’re stuffing their faces, I’m opening box after box of the outfits I ordered. If we’re going to hit the parade, we’re going in true American Irish style, decked out to the nines in nothing but green. Green jackets, with green shamrock vests. Green and orange fake beards. Green, white, and orange felt hats. Shamrock colored and shaped sunglasses. And beads. While they may be popular in New Orleans, you can bet your ass we’ll do our part in making sure all the lovely lasses have a set of beads around their necks today.
“While you gorge yourself on my grandma’s shepherd’s pie,” I say to all the guys while they eat, “I want you to remember a few things. The first being, Stewart wanted a weeklong party and mistakenly agreed to get married the week of Saint Patrick’s Day. Second, in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m Irish. My name and ginger hair should’ve given me away. Third, I do apologize, but we’re heading out in style.”
I hand each guy their box and hear groans, grumbles and snickers. Some are happy, some are pissed, and me—well I’m damn excited. It’s like Halloween all over again, but this time I don’t mind dressing up.