Page 29 of The Snuggle Is Real

I never drink before the toasts at an event. Not at the ones I work, and not even at the ones I don't. I like to watch the room first. See where the energy is, who's nervous, who's already three drinks deep and about to become a problem. Then I'll have a drink.

I've never explicitly told him that.

He just figured it out. At some point in an insane amount of weddings as my plus-one, he watched me and he noticed and he filed it away.

"Two limes," I say quietly. “Thanks.”

"You always squeeze the first one and then want another one."

He’s right, of course.

He takes a sip of his bourbon. "I'll get you a real drink after MacKay's toast. Old fashioned, orange peel, no cherry."

"Because the cherries are⁠—"

"—neon and taste like cough syrup and have no business in a serious cocktail," he finishes.

I laugh. I can't help it. That's my exact rant. Word for word.

Across the table, Winnie has her hand over her heart.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," Ian says. “Or showing us up.”

"Tell them about Destin," Dylan says. "Mom said something happened in Destin and you'd never tell her the whole story."

Malcolm and I look at each other.

"Absolutely not," I say.

"There's nothing to tell," Malcolm says at the same time.

"Now you have to tell it," Great-Aunt Opal yells. I had no idea she was even listening to us.

I sigh. Malcolm sighs.

"Spring break, junior year," I start. "Six of us crammed into a Honda Civic that belonged to my roommate, who swore the air conditioning worked and it did not work, so we're driving through Alabama in March with the windows down."

"Emily was in charge of navigation."

“Because I'm a better navigator than you."

"That’s debatable, because we ended up at a Waffle House in Pensacola at two in the morning."

“That’s on the way to Destin!"

"If you go in the wrong direction first, sure."

"And then," I say, "there were only two beds left in the motel so Malcolm and I slept feet to head on the floor."

"And she kicked me in the face at four a.m.."

"Because you were snoring."

"I don't snore."

"He wheezes delicately," I tell the table.

“That’s it?” Dylan says. “Mom made it sound like this story was some big scandal. I thought y’all got pregnant and gave a baby up for adoption or something.”