She’s swaying a little when he sets her to her feet and reaches around to lower the mic to pint-sized.

“Don’t fuck with my track,” she warns her bestie as he runs off stage. Apparently, he was trying to find an instrumental to swap it out with. “Here I go,” she says when Jamie Fox’s part comes on. “I’m gonna sing along with the words, so I don’t forget.”

I give her a thumbs up, dying laughing when she starts and stumbles through the entire song, belting out each chorus with the utmost confidence, like she didn’t just decimate Kanye’s track.

“For real,” she slurs as her song draws to a close. “I’m happy for you if you’re happy. That’s all I want for all of you assholes.” An extremely rare tear trickles down her cheek, and she swats it away with excessive force. “I just hope you thought to get a prenup.”

I shake my head, knowing I have no need for that shit. I’d never have insulted Sammi in suggesting one.

“We’ll discuss later.” She’s still wagging a finger at me when Rhett drags her from the mic.

“My turn, bitches!” Aiden darts onto the stage with a fucking tablecloth tied around his neck to serve as a cape. Who does he think he is?

“Clearly, we saved the best for last. Tonight, I’m gonna sing a little tune you may have heard before, from none other than Jay Z. It’s called ‘99 Problems.’”

He raps along to the track, not missing a single word as he stomps around the stage, flapping his cape. The energy is nonstop all the way through until he finishes with an emphatic, “I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain’t one!” and drops the mic.

“What’s this picture you sent me?” There’s an unmistakable laughter in her voice. “Are you motorboating a titty cake?”

“Yup.” I yawn, fighting to keep focused enough to carry on a conversation. “It said, ‘Tit’s your day.’ You know…before I destroyed those bazoombas.”

“Of course.” She cackles, then clears her throat. “I love that they did this for you.”

We’ve been on the phone for over thirty minutes, and I’m just now remembering about her dad’s appointment today. “Jesus,” I groan. “Here I am going on and on about clits and tits and Jager Bombs. I’m so sorry, babe. How was your dad’s appointment?”

“Actually,” she says, her voice perking up. “It was good news for once. You know that trial he’s in? The one that hasn’t really made any difference so far?”

“Yeah…” I hedge, sensing a but.

“Well, his numbers looked significantly better today. They want to get him in for a PET scan in the next few days to determine how much it’s actually helping, but this is promising.”