Joey was tipsy in the way that the private room Lily had arranged in the restaurant filled with a rosy glow. But she wasn’t so tipsy that she couldn’t comprehend the irony. A hostess was leading Leo to a table not four feet away, in the midpoint between the bachelorette party and the restaurant’s terrace. He sat, his back to them, framed by the sign strung over the private room door that read, SAME BACK FOREVER. Apparently Lily had ordered it from an Etsy shop—a play on the “same penis forever” bachelorette trope, in homage to the back being Joey’s favorite male body part. It made Joey giggle each time the sign popped into her periphery.

Joey needed to text Leo ASAP to tell him to leave the restaurant. She rummaged for her bag, but it wasn’t under her chair.

“Lil, do you know where my bag went?”

Her sister glanced up mid-conversation with Bea about constructing a guesthouse in the Abramses’ backyard to house Lily’s growing media company. “That big canvas one?”

“Yeah.” Joey sipped her jalapeño margarita, her eyes not straying from Leo’s back.

“I thought it was your overnight bag. I had the guy put it in your hotel room.”

“How could it be my overnight bag when I didn’t even know it was my bachelorette party? It had my paints and stuff in it. And my phone!”

“Your sister got you a hotel room, did you hear?” Bea said.

“Actually, I got you all hotel rooms,” Lily said. “Boca Beach Club is one of my advertisers. The guy did me a favor.”

“But I need my phone!”

“Why do you need your phone?” asked Siya from Joey’s side, adjusting the bodice of her fuchsia minidress. “You don’t need your phone to get woke.” She made a jokey W with her hands, thumbs together, like the sign for an angst-filled “whatever” they’d used in middle school.

Joey laughed in spite of the burgeoning Leo fiasco. “You are so uncool it’s terrifying.”

“Whatever,” Siya repeated, hands back in the W-position. But she was laughing too. “Isn’t woke what all the kids are saying these days?”

“I think you used it wrong. You’re looking for turnt. Or lit.” Joey felt only half present in the conversation. How could she tell Leo to leave without risking him swiveling around and being seen? Maybe she could write a note and tell a waiter to slip it to Leo. She just needed—aha!—a napkin to write on.

“Turnt,” Siya mused. “Let’s turnt this party up. Do you want a passion fruit margarita next round?”

“Sure,” said Joey absently, her eyes darting from Bea to Leo, from Leo to Lily.

“You seem so…distracted, Jo. I mean, I know it’s your wedding. It’s not real to me yet.”