Page 2 of Acadia Falls

I grabbed a pretzel and stuffed it into my mouth. I hadn’t had a carbohydrate in three months. Because I’d been dieting. For my dress. That I was going to wear to my wedding. Tomorrow.

“That fucker.” I did another shot, not bothering with a lime or the salt.

“Are you sure…?” Maran peered at me.

“About what I saw? Yep.” I had another shot. “And it was Daisy. And she has literally had sex with everyone on this island!”

Maran winced. “You know her?”

I nodded. “Since we were kids.”

Maran winced again.

“Don’t do that—don’t cringe.” I poured myself another shot. “Daisy’s one thing—but Derek’s white ass does not deserve us cringing.”

“It doesn’t?” She seemed to perk up a bit.

“No way. That fucker. I can’t believe he did this! He proposed to me! If he wanted to keep fucking around, why did he do that?” I threw my hands up in the air. “After I broke up with him—for the third time—he came crawling back, begging me to give him one more chance. And then he proposed. We have nine bridesmaids and groomsmen. Nine.”

“So… what are you going to do?” Maran sipped her drink.

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes widened. “About tomorrow?”

“Um… nothing?” I downed another shot. My head was starting to spin, which was a welcome distraction. “I’m going to get up early and deface Derek’s Porsche, and then I’ll probably take a nap.”

Maran looked like she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t, bless her heart.

I shrugged. “I’m probably still gonna have the reception, though. It’ll be one hell of a party, right?”

“Absolutely.” Maran’s voice was full of support. She raised her glass. “So… cheers.”

“To what?”

“To you.” She grinned at me. “And to good riddance, Derek. I’ll help you with his car, you know. No one crosses my best friend and gets away with it. I’m going to tag his hood with a giant penis.”

I clinked my glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

I knocked back the shot, and then I ate another pretzel.

Because… because.

The sun was coming up, the bottle of tequila was empty, and Maran was eating the last pretzel.

“You look better than you should,” I told her. Somehow, I was still, unfortunately, wickedly, sober.

She shrugged. “I think all this fresh, clean air is getting to me. Even though I drank half a bottle of Patron.”

“It is nice here, huh?” I squinted out at the beach. Little Seal Island—“LSI,” as it was known—was a tiny island located on Mount Desert Island, Maine. Its year-round population less than seventy people. In the summer, that number swelled to six hundred.

“Why haven’t we ever come up here before?” Maran asked.

I shrugged. “Because the Hamptons are closer, and there’s way more to do there.”

She looked at me and frowned. “Why exactly do your parents have two summer houses?”

I leaned back against the porch rocker. “Because they can?” Because they’re rich as hell?