I roll my eyes. We don’t—we never have—but still, he’s never told me he’s allergic to latex. And I could’ve sworn he was allergic to sunflower seeds. Why did I think that?

I can feel the shift in Andie’s energy; she’s luxuriating in that I appear to know nothing about my fiancé. My heart is in my lap by the time Lexy chooses Skye’s World for 100.

“Skye’s World for one hundred,” Andie chirps. “‘What is Skye’s favorite song?’”

“‘River of Dreams,’” I mutter. I just want the game to be over. “Billy Joel.”

Andie clicks on the matching file and Burke’s voice fills the room: “‘River of Dreams’ by Billy Joel.”

The group cheers, and I feel momentarily revived until the next question, Baby Burke for 400.

“‘How much did Burke weigh when he was born?’”

“That’s a hard one,” Isabel says kindly, and I know she knows that I have no idea.

“Seven pounds, ten ounces?” I guess. “Something like that.”

“Ten pounds, four ounces,” Burke answers when Andie clicks play. “I was a giant baby. My poor mom.”

I sink back into the couch, my stomach pooling with a feeling that resembles dread. Had Burke told me he’d been such a big baby? Had I simply forgotten?

The questions keep coming. What is Burke’s least favorite vegetable? I say broccoli; the answer is asparagus. What kind of dog did Burke have growing up? I guess golden retriever; the answer is none—a trick question. What is Burke’s favorite TV show? I guess The Wire; he answers The Sopranos.

The secondhand embarrassment in the room is palpable by the time we reach the last question.

“I’ll read this one.” Andie clears her throat. “Bedroom Bound for five hundred. ‘What is Burke’s biggest sexual fantasy?’”

“Yee-haw!” Lexy jumps on the couch and mime-throws a lasso while she humps the air. I can tell she’s wasted.

The other girls are looking at me, waiting. I sip more Whispering Angel, grateful to whoever keeps topping off my wine.

I have no idea what Burke’s biggest sexual fantasy is. We have what I would consider to be a good sex life—fulfilling, fun, adventurous enough—but we’ve never discussed our sexual fantasies. Somewhere underneath the five thousand glasses of rosé I’ve consumed since noon, I’m humiliated, but in this moment I’m suddenly clouded with anger.

“I don’t know.” I glare at Andie. I hate her for making me feel this way, for taking pleasure in it. For ruining this perfect day with a stupid game that she used to make her point: that Burke and I hardly know anything about each other because you can’t actually know someone in nine months, not enough to commit to marrying the person.

“Guess, then.” Andie folds her bony arms across her chest, her hazel eyes piercing.

By now most of the others have lost interest in Bachelorette Jeopardy. Lexy is busy connecting her phone to the Bluetooth speakers, and Kendall, Soph, and Taylor are in the kitchen making margaritas. Only Isabel and Kate are still watching Andie and me.

“Do you know Spencer’s sexual fantasy?” I ask Andie. It comes out like an accusation, but I don’t care.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Andie retorts sharply, and I wish I’d never asked. I suddenly realize that I’m acting exactly the way she wants me to.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll guess Burke’s answer. Threesome.” I know it’s wrong.

Andie hits play on the video. “Oh, boy.” Burke laughs. “I guess I’d have to say getting tied to the bed.”

“Ooooh!” Kate exclaims. “Now you know what to do on the honeymoon, babe.”

I’m thrilled the game is over, but I can’t help but notice the triumphant way Andie folds up the poster board and gathers the Jeopardy cards. It’s something imperceptible to everyone but me.

Lexy has finally figured out the Bluetooth, and “River of Dreams” blares through the speakers. “Cheers to our sweet baby Skye!” Lexy whips out a small plastic baggie of white powder. “Any takers?”

“You know, for someone who wants to become a mother in the near future, you sure aren’t showing very maternal instincts.” Andie whisks the baggie from Lexy.

“Shut up, Andrea. This is my last hurrah. I might as well live it up while I still can.”

“Amen.” Kate cracks open a fresh seltzer and stifles a yawn. I’ve nearly forgotten that she’s completely sober.

“I’m joking, Lex.” Andie throws her arm over Lexy’s shoulder. “Cut me a little one.”

“That’s the spirit. Who else?”

“I shouldn’t.” I never do coke anymore—none of us really do, except for Lexy—but I’m drained from all the sun and wine, and the offer is tempting. “Just a small one.”

“Iz?”

Isabel purses her lips. “A baby line. But don’t tell my husband.”

Lexy rolls her eyes and cuts seven lines on the glass coffee table—none for Kate, obviously. When Kendall declines, Lexy and Andie split the seventh. I’d forgotten how Lexy brings out the party-girl side of Andie.

We Uber to Sotta Sopra, an Italian restaurant in town, to find that my dad has already prepaid for our dinner.

“That is so sweet,” everyone sings in agreement.

After dinner we go next door to the Talkhouse, where a cover band is playing hits from the eighties. The Talkhouse always reminds me of being younger, of sneaking in here with Lexy before we were even legal because she knew the bouncers. And it reminds me of my earlier twenties, of the Max LaPointe years. Of being pressed against him near the back bar after too many vodka sodas, his hands running over the back of my jeans.

The band is fun; it’s one I’ve seen before, and they play all the best eighties songs such as “Take On Me” and “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” But something about being at the Talkhouse makes me feel old and nostalgic in a way that’s unsettling. I take out my phone to text Burke, but I already have a message from him.

Miss you Goose. Don’t have too much fun tonight!

I miss YOU. We’re at the Talkhouse and there’s music and it’s fun … but I also just want to be home with you.

Tomorrow. Can’t wait. I love you.

Love you more Goose.

I feel giddy with affection, wondering for the millionth time how I ever got through life without Burke. Warm, kind, dependable Burke, whom I love with ever fiber in my body.

As I slip my phone back into my purse, it vibrates again, and I smile at the thought that Burke has more to say.

But it isn’t Burke—it’s an email from Max. A wave of anxiety slams my chest. I don’t want to read it, but I can’t not.

Hope you’re staying out of trouble on the bach, psycho bride. How about a drink when you’re back? You and me, for old times’ sake. Your treat––God knows you owe me.

My insides roil with nerves and I shove my phone into my bag. I know I don’t actually have a reason to be scared—Max still follows Lexy and Isabel on Instagram; of course that’s how he knows it’s my bachelorette weekend. It’s not like he’s stalking me.

Still, his message makes me feel shaky and sick, and I decide to go home in the first Uber around midnight, before Andie. She, Lexy, Taylor, and Soph have decided to stay out later, and I don’t know what time it is when Andie slides into bed beside me. I wake to the smell of perfume, her trademark Fracas. She drapes her arm across my middle.

“I love you, Skye.” Her breath is velvety against the back of my neck. “You’re my person.”

When I don’t say anything back, Andie keeps talking. “Don’t worry about that stupid game today. I just thought you’d want to play it because everyone else always does, but it’s dumb.”

I say nothing. I want her to think I’m asleep, but I know she knows I’m awake.

“And I don’t know if you noticed, but every single question about you … Burke got all of those right. He really knows you. He loves you.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, realizing for the first time all night that what she’s saying is true—Burke did answer the questions about me correctly. “I love him, too.”

“I know.” Andie nudges in closer, her forehead against my shoulder blade, and how is it that she comes back to me when she feels like it, apologizing without an apology in a way that immediately reminds me of how I love her more deeply than I will ever love another friend?

As we drift toward sleep, the tension between us evaporates, a block of ice melting, and it’s as though it were never there.

Chapter Seventeen

Burke Michaels’s Diary

FEBRUARY 7, 2019

Dear Dr. K,

Sorry it’s been so long. It’s hard to find the time and space to write, now that I’m living with Skye.

But let me tell you—things are gearing up. Next month I’m going to ask Skye to marry me.

There are just two hurdles, one of which I tackled just a couple of hours earlier at drinks with Skye’s father.