Don shakes his head. “I saw them on the platter in there. All of them together, with the spikes sticking out? It’s . . . disturbing.”

“They’re not spikes, they’re skewers,” I clarify, but Don shakes his head again.

“It’s too much,” he mutters.

I hear a noise outside and run to the window, where I push the curtain aside. “She’s here, she’s here, she’s here!”

Penis spikes forgotten, Don looks energized. “What do we do? Do we hide?”

“Um . . . I don’t think so. She knows this is her bachelorette party. But we should do something!”

Don and I look helplessly at each other as the door creaks open and Annie steps in.

“Uh . . .” she says, taking in the streamers in every shade of pink hanging from the ceiling.

“Surprise!” Don and I yell, which makes her jump.

“Wow, um, okay!” She laughs, then hugs each of us. “I thought we were having a movie night! You guys didn’t have to do this! And . . .”

She steps back, noticing the cardboard cutout of Drew in the corner. “What is this?”

“Do you like it?” Don asks.

She walks over to it and rubs her hands over its smooth abs. “Aw. This is when he was all buff.”

When Drew and Annie first met, he was coming off an action movie that required him to be in intense physical shape that was basically unsustainable unless he kept working out three times a day and eating nothing but chicken breasts. So now he has a slightly rounder face and significantly less defined abs (not that I’ve seen his abs; I’m relying on hearsay). Annie, who’s always liked her rom-com heroes on the dorkier side, much prefers him this way.

“I love it,” she says. “I’m gonna put this in our apartment in LA.”

“I bet Drew will be so excited,” I say.

“He’ll hate it,” she says with a smile.

“Well,” Don says, “as much as I’d love to stay and have a girls’ night, Tyler and I have plans.”

“You should stay!” I say, handing Annie a headband that’s topped with penis-antennae.

“I never imagined my uncle would be at my bachelorette party, but honestly, it feels right,” Annie says, sliding the headband on.

“It does.” Don nods. “But I promised my lady pizza, and pizza she shall get.”

Don leaves, and I show Annie into the kitchen, where I’ve arranged a spread of food on the kitchen island.

“Not all of them are penis-themed,” I say, gesturing toward the fruit skewers. “But I did try to fit the theme.”

“Last-night-of-freedom fries.” Annie reads the card in front of a platter of hand-cut baked fries with a trio of dipping sauces.

“I know this isn’t the night before your wedding and the concept that your ‘freedom’ ends with matrimony is outdated and patriarchal, but, like, it’s a fun name.”

“It is,” Annie agrees. “Nonalcoholic Jell-O shots? So . . .”

“So it’s Jell-O in little cups, yes.”