A wall of humidity hits us when we step out of the airport, even though it’s nine at night.
“Jesus, it’s hot.” Sophie waves her hand at her already red face. “I feel queasy.” She hooks her arm through mine, then stumbles. I right her before she falls flat on her face.
The person who should be half in the bag, stuttering and on the verge of throwing up, is me. The shots on the plane should’ve been mine. But my best friend took it upon herself to start my girls’ “better off without him” party all by herself.
“Soph, you’re such a lightweight,” Brit says, her accusatory finger pointed. “We need to catch that bus to our resort, otherwise we’ll be stuck here all night. One time when I came down with my brother…”
She continues to recount her story while walking in front of us like our designa
