Giant gold Mylar balloons are tied to nearly every surface, and there’s a Goddamn balloon arch over the bed.
Someone shaped our towels into a pair of kissing swans, and there’s a bucket of champagne chilling by the bed.
The word Congratulations is spelled out in rose petals on the duvet, and someone has stacked rolls of toilet paper up, so they resemble a wedding cake.
“Are we in the wrong room?”
“No,” Ev sighs. “I guess this is what he meant.”
“What? What who meant? What are you talking about?
“Barry, down at the desk. He and Nancy did all this.”
“Wait, you knew about this?”
“No, but when we were waiting for Elaine’s veil, he kept saying things like ‘have a great night’ and ‘I hope your room is to your liking.’ I thought he was just making awkward small talk, but now it all makes sense. I’m guessing he thought the veil was yours and that we were, well, getting married.
I walk around the room like it’s a crime scene, and I’m careful not to touch anything. The pop of the champagne cork nearly sends me into hysterics. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “We can’t drink that! It’s not ours!”
He ignores my words and frantic hand gestures and pours two full glasses.
“It is ours, Molly. They’re not going to take it back. Here, have a sip. It’ll help you to calm down.”
I turn my head sharply. “Did you just tell me to calm down?”
“Oh, hell. You know that’s not what I meant. But you are kind of freaking out over a few balloons and a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” My voice is deceptively calm.
“Yea, a misunderstanding.” He sits on the bed and takes a drink of champagne.”
“What the actual hell is happening right now?”
“That’s what I‘m wondering, Molls. Look, we had a wedding veil couriered to us, so they assumed we were engaged. It’s not a huge leap if they don’t know our circumstances. So, we enjoy their kind gesture.”
“And they don’t know our ‘circumstances’ as you put it, because you didn’t correct them.”
“Of course, I didn’t. How awkward would that have been? ‘Hey, Barry, do you have my sister’s wedding veil? I’m dying to see it.’ Yea, no. I just played along.”
“Yea, you just played along without ever thinking of how it might hurt me.”
“How it might hurt you? What the ever-loving fuck, Molls? Explain to me how these swans made of towels make you a victim?”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re damn right I don’t understand—because you’re not making any sense. Look, I get it, it’s weird for two people who are casually dating to walk into a honeymoon suite. But we laugh it off, make fun of the weird toilet-paper cake, and drink some champagne. No harm, no foul.”
“Just...no.” I’m pacing now, and my common sense has totally left the building. Nothing about my thoughts is rational, and though I know that, I can’t do anything to stop them. “I don’t want this, Ev. I don’t want any of this.”
“Yea, Molls, I’m reading that loud and clear. It’s why I’m 40-years-old and still nervous about introducing you as my girlfriend for fear you’ll get spooked and split. I’m fully aware that you don’t see a honeymoon suite in our future.”
“I don’t even want to see it in our present. I’m going to call them and explain. I’ll pack it all up, and they can take it away.”
“What the hell? Why? What harm does it do just to let Barry and Nancy think we’re schtupping like our lives depend on it in the blissful love nest they made for us?”
“Because it’s not true. We are not engaged. And, God, I know you think I sound nuts right now, but I’m not being nuts. You need to understand. The minute I play along—the minute I don’t stand up for what I need—that’s when it starts. Maybe it’s different for guys, I don’t know. But, Ev, I’m 30 years old, and I can’t begin to count the number of people who have asked me if I’ve found ‘the one’ or told me I have good hips for child-bearing. It’s fucking relentless. And it’s akin to torture, being a single lady at a family holiday. If you’re not being set up, then you’re being told what an asshole your last boyfriend was. Ask your sister—she dealt with the same crap. Well, after my last shitstorm of a relationship, I decided I was done with the crap. If guys can date casually and never even consider marriage, then so the hell can I.”
I pause for a breath, and then keep right on going. “And how many times has someone asked you how many kids you’re having? And what did you say to the family members who disagreed with your decision to get a vasectomy?”
