Chapter 10: The Celebration
Between Us Girls, by Natalie Drenovac
If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1
Saturday, August 3
The group chat has been going all week.
Giselle: I’m baaack!! Dinner at mine Saturday to celebrate?
Carmen: Obviously.
Jess: Who’s this? Jk, I’ll bring dessert.
Miranda: We’ll bring champagne.
Emily: I’ll be there!!!
Now we’re standing outside Giselle’s building, Miranda checking her lipstick in her phone camera. Things have been good between us. Dr. Chen is helping. We’ve talked and talked and talked about boundaries. I imagine this is what it feels like to be an astronaut in a training simulator. When it’s the real deal, you’ve got to hope muscle memory kicks in.
I’ve always loved Giselle’s apartment. High ceilings. Pre-war windows that actually open. Herringbone floors worn smooth in the right places. Books stacked everywhere. And she’s actually read them. Every one. When I first visited her I thought I would feel jealous. That I would leave with a hungry heart. Or that it would make it harder to empathise - that every time Giselle complained about a packed schedule or a spat with her mother, I would be thinking of her high ceilings. But it didn’t. It was like seeing it all made it feel more possible. And Giselle was still Giselle.
We arrive with Perrier-Jouët and white peonies. Miranda in wide leg linen trousers and a silk camisole. Me in a cream slip dress I forgot I owned until this morning.
The door’s already open. Phoebe Bridgers playing softly. The smell of melting cheese and herbs and something roasting.
“Finally!” Giselle appears, pulling us both into hugs. She’s barefoot in a cashmere set, with hair that looks freshly blown out and a ring catching light every time she moves her hand.
“Let me see it properly,” Miranda says, taking Giselle’s hand.
“It’s perfect,” I say. Oval diamond. Simple gold band.
“I stare at it constantly,” Giselle says. “It’s becoming a problem.”
Carmen’s already on the couch with wine, looking like she just walked out of a seventies French film. Black jeans. Vintage band tee. “There they are.”
“We brought champagne,” Miranda says.
“My hero.” Jess appears from the kitchen in an apron. “Giselle’s got me chopping things. I’m being exploited.”
“You volunteered,” Giselle calls.
“Under duress.”
The doorbell rings. Emily.
She bursts in with wine and energy, immediately pulling Giselle into a hug. “I’m here! I made it! David almost derailed this with a work call but I told him I’d leave without saying goodbye if he didn’t wrap it up.”
“That’s the spirit,” Carmen says.
“How are the kids?” Giselle asks.
“Thriving with the babysitter. She lets them have screen time,” Emily laughs. “I’m a terrible mother and I don’t even care.”
“You’re a great mother who deserves a night off,” Giselle says. I am about to cut in with a joke when I register the sincerity in Giselle’s gaze, the measured gentleness in her tone.
Oh.
Emily has definitely not been filling her in about our recent ‘nights off’. Giselle has been hard to reach for the last few weeks but maybe Emily simply…doesn’t want her to know?
When Emily hugs me, she holds onto me for just a beat too long. I can feel her breasts when she presses against me. Then she pulls back, takes the champagne Miranda’s offering. As she turns, sandalwood perfume is carried on the curl of air she leaves behind.
“To Giselle,” Emily says, raising her glass immediately. “And that ring.”
We’re sprawled across Giselle’s living room. Carmen on the floor with her back against the couch, Jess claiming the armchair, Miranda and I on the sofa. Emily kicks off her shoes and tucks herself into the corner with her wine.
Jess brings out a cheese board and we’re all reaching across each other for honeycomb and brie.
“Okay,” Jess says. “I need the full story. Every detail.”
Giselle tucks her legs underneath herself. “So. Kensington Gardens. Ethan had planned this whole elaborate picnic. Very romantic.”
“Of course he did,” Carmen says.
“But then it started raining. Like the sky opened up. And we’re running for cover and we end up under this massive tree, completely soaked, and he just stops. Gets down on one knee. In the mud.”
“No,” Jess breathes.
“Yes. And he says, ‘I was supposed to do this with champagne and sunset but I can’t wait. Marry me. Today. Tomorrow. I don’t care. Just marry me.’”
“Stop it,” Emily says. “That’s perfect.”
“We stayed under that tree kissing until we were hypothermic.”
Miranda raises her glass. “To Giselle and Ethan.”
We toast.
“When’s the wedding?” Carmen asks.
“Spring. April. Nothing huge. Close friends. Maybe sixty people.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Here. Maybe the Bowery Hotel. I really just want good food, good wine, something that is actually fun.”
“Bachelorette party,” Jess says. “What are we doing?”
“Oh god,” Giselle laughs.
“It’s legally required - if you don’t then the marriage is null and void.” Carmen says.
“Fine. But no penis anything. No matching shirts.”
“What if we went away?” I suggest. “Long weekend somewhere?”
Giselle’s face lights up. “What if we did St. Barths?”
Silence.
“When?” Carmen asks.
“Late September? Before everything gets insane.”
“I’m in,” Jess says immediately.
“Obviously,” Carmen agrees.
“Absolutely,” Miranda says.
Everyone looks at Emily.
“Hell yes,” Emily says, grinning. “The kids will survive a weekend of screen time.”
“Perfect,” Giselle says. “I’ll send options.”
Four days in St. Barths. All of us. Miranda. Emily.
Giselle disappears and returns with platters, which she lays gently on the table. Roast chicken with herbs. Potatoes roasted in duck fat. A salad bejewelled with ruby beads of pomegranate and fat green olives.
“This looks insane. Giselle, did you make this yourself?” Carmen says.
“Okay, I so wish the answer to that was yes. HOWEVER, I can assure you I did put it back in the oven for the final stretch, which is its own skill,” Giselle admits.
We laugh. Giselle insists that knowing when to remove the dish your private chef took 95% of the way there, is in fact, a science and an art.
We move to the table. I am sandwiched between Emily and Carmen. Miranda’s across from me.
Under the table, Emily’s foot finds mine. Not deliberately. Just proximity.
She doesn’t move it.
I don’t either.
The conversation flows. Wine keeps appearing like we’re at a tasting. Miranda’s keeping pace with everyone, but she already had two wines before we arrived.
“Okay,” Jess says, leaning back. “I need to ask something.”
“This sounds dangerous,” Carmen says.
“When did you have your first orgasm?”
The table erupts.
“Jess!” Giselle is laughing.
“What? We’re all adults. I’m curious. I want to know if I’m the outlier or if one of you is the weirdo.”
“You go first then,” Carmen says.
“Fine. Seventeen. My high school boyfriend’s older brother’s apartment. I didn’t even know what was happening. I thought I was dying.”
We’re all laughing now.
“Giselle?” Jess prompts.
“Nineteen. College boyfriend. He was very... enthusiastic. Not particularly skilled, but enthusiastic.”
“And he made you - ?” I press.
“Oh, God, no, but he was there.”
“Emily?” Carmen asks.
Emily’s face goes pink. “Seventeen. Alone. In my childhood bedroom watching Cruel Intentions.”
We all stop.
“Wait,” Jess says. “The movie?”
“Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair. The kiss in the park.” Emily’s laughing now. “I was a late bloomer. Very Catholic. I rewound that scene probably fifteen times before I figured out what was happening to my body.”
“That’s actually iconic,” Carmen says.
“I thought I was going to hell,” Emily adds. “But I also couldn’t stop watching it.”
“That’s the most relatable thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.
Miranda’s watching Emily with this expression I can’t quite read. “So your first time was... by yourself. To a movie.”
“To a very specific scene in a movie,” Emily corrects. She’s still smiling but there’s something underneath it.
I catch her eye across the table. She looks away.
“Carmen?” I ask, redirecting.
“Oh god.” Carmen refills her wine. “Fifteen. And before you judge me, it was entirely because of a book.”
“A book?” Giselle leans forward.
“This completely unhinged romance novel about Greek mythology. My older sister had it hidden in her room. Persephone and Hades. Very... descriptive.”
“No way,” Jess exclaims.
“I’m serious. I read the scene where he—” she stops. “Actually, I’m not saying this out loud. But I read it in the bathtub and figured some things out real fast.”
“A book about Greek mythology did more for you than most men ever will,” I say.
“Exactly,” Carmen says. “Still my standard.”
“Miranda?” Giselle asks.
Miranda takes a long sip of wine. “Twenty. Junior year abroad. Barcelona. Older guy. Very European about the whole thing.”
“Very European,” Jess repeats. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he knew what he was doing and wasn’t weird about it afterward.” She looks at me. “What about you?”
Everyone’s looking at me now.
“Fifteen,” I say. “My “best friend” in high school.”
“Wait,” Jess says. “Your best friend?”
“Yeah. We had sleepovers every weekend. Her parents thought we were studying.” I smile at the memory. “We were very dedicated to our biology homework.”
Carmen’s dying. “That’s perfect.”
Emily’s staring at me.
“And?” Carmen prompts.
“And it was revelatory. Life-changing. We both pretended nothing happened when we went back to school on Monday.”
“God, I love that,” Carmen says.
Miranda’s watching me with this expression I can’t read. “You never told me about her.”
“You never asked.”
“I’ve asked about your first time. You said it was in high school.”
“That’s accurate.”
“You made it sound like some random guy at a party.” Her voice is light but there’s an edge.
“I never said it was a guy.”
“You let me assume.”
“Does it matter?” Carmen asks.
“Of course not,” Miranda says quickly. “I’m just surprised you kept that from me.”
The table goes quiet for half a second.
“I didn’t keep it from you,” I say carefully. “We just didn’t discuss the details.”
“Because I thought I knew.” Miranda takes a sip of wine. “Apparently I didn’t.”
Emily’s staring at her plate.
“Well,” Jess says loudly, “what I’m hearing is that men are, across the board, not great at this.”
“Correct,” Carmen says.
“Except the Europeans,” Giselle adds.
“An exception that proves the rule,” Jess says.
The conversation shifts. But I can feel Miranda watching me.
After dinner, we clear plates. Emily and I end up in the kitchen loading the dishwasher.
“Your best friend,” she says quietly. “Sleepovers every weekend.”
“We were very thorough students.”
“I bet you were.” She hands me a plate. “So…” She pauses, “it’s been two weeks.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She’s not looking at me. “Because I’ve been losing my mind.”
My stomach flips.
“David asked why I keep taking long showers.” She rinses another plate. “I told him the new showerhead has better water pressure.”
I nearly drop what I’m holding. “Emily -”
“I don’t know if I can wait until St. Barths.” She steps closer. “Four days. All of us together.”
The water’s still running. We’re standing too close.
“That’s a lot of time,” I manage.
“Not nearly enough.” Her hand finds mine under the water. Just for a second. “I keep thinking about your mouth.”
“Emily.”
“What? We’re just doing dishes.” But her fingers are still touching mine.
From the living room, Miranda’s laugh carries through the apartment.
Emily pulls her hand back. Turns off the tap. “We should get back.”
We migrate back to the living room. Miranda’s already opened another bottle.
“So,” Jess says. “St. Barths!”
Giselle’s already pulling out her laptop. She flips the screen toward us. A villa. White walls. Teak furniture. A pool that disappears into the ocean.
“It’s perfect,” Emily says.
“My treat,” Giselle says. “Engagement present to myself. I want us all there.”
“Giselle - “ Miranda starts.
“Not negotiating.” She’s already booking it.
“You know what I love?” Miranda says, refilling her glass. “That we’re all doing this. That we have this.”
“It’s pretty great,” Giselle agrees.
“No, but really. Like, most people don’t have this. Most people just... settle into boring lives with boring friends and boring everything.”
I realise that somewhere between the Perrier-Jouët and Chablis she crossed a line and there’s no glass of water that will pull her back to shore.
“We are soo lucky to have these relationships,” Miranda says. “Like, Giselle, you’re getting married. That’s huge. That’s everything.”
“Although,” Miranda continues. “It’s also terrifying, right? Like, I remember planning our wedding and I was just... I was a mess. Constantly. My mother was insane. The venue was a nightmare. And Alex was so calm through all of it, which was actually extremely annoying. I didn’t need a meditation coach, I needed someone to spiral with, you know?”
“And then the day of, I was convinced something would go wrong. Like, genuinely convinced. I made Alex check the flowers three times. The flowers. Like they were going to spontaneously combust.”
“But it was perfect,” Miranda continues. “The whole day was perfect. Even though I was freaking out the entire morning. I was so anxious my make up was melting off and I kicked my mom out of the hotel room. Alex had to literally talk me off a ledge. I almost told everyone to go home. Remember, baby?”
“Uh huh,” I say.
“So Giselle, if you’re nervous, that’s totally normal. Everyone’s nervous. It’s a huge thing. Life-changing. And you’ll never know if you’re making the right choice. You just have to jump. Although honestly, the wedding is the easy part. It’s everything that comes after that’s hard.”
Giselle’s face does something careful. “I’m not that nervous. Mostly just excited.”
“Oh, you will be,” Miranda says. “Trust me. When it gets closer, you’ll be a wreck. Everyone is.”
“I think Giselle will be fine,” Carmen says.
“I’m just saying, from experience—”
“We should do a toast,” Jess interrupts, raising her glass. “To Giselle. And Ethan. And love that shows up even in the rain.”
“To Giselle,” we all say.
Miranda joins the toast but I can feel that the energy has changed. There is a new tight politeness to the conversation.
By eleven, people start leaving. Jess has an early morning. Carmen has a fitting. Emily needs to get home.
At the door, everyone’s hugging goodbye. Carmen and Jess are already in the hallway. Miranda turns, talking at Giselle.
Emily pulls me into a hug. Her mouth brushes my neck. Just below my ear.
It’s barely a kiss. Over in a second. But I feel it everywhere.
In the car home, Miranda scrolls through her phone.
“That was great. God, I love them,” she says. “I’m so happy for Giselle’s - Ethan finally came through. It’s all happening for her.”
“It is.”
“Although, like, she has no idea what she’s in for. Marriage is hard.”
I don’t say anything.
“I wasn’t being negative darling,” Miranda continues. “I was just being real. No one talks about how hard wedding planning is. I was trying to help.”
“I know.”
“You think she was upset?”
“No,” I lie.
“Good. Because I don’t want to upset her. Although I don’t know why she would be upset about me sharing my experience.” She leans against my shoulder. “We should plan something special for her. Before the wedding.”
“Great idea.”
At home, Miranda’s drunkenly messy. She pulls off her linen trousers and leaves them on the floor. The silk camisole gets tossed on the chair.
“Baby, come to bed and tell me something nice about me.”
My jaw tightens. I think about our first conversation with Dr. Chen and Miranda’s nervous system. When her anxiety starts to set in, she asks for compliments.
“In a minute.”
She’s asleep before I finish brushing my teeth.
I climb into bed beside her. Lie there in the dark listening to her gentle snores. My mind’s still racing from the night. Emily’s mouth on my neck. The kitchen. The way she looked at me across the table.
I’m almost asleep when my phone buzzes.
A voice note from Emily.
I grab it fast, screen brightness turned down. A voice note from Emily.
I look at Miranda. She’s completely out. Mouth slightly open. Dead to the world.
I grab my earbuds from the nightstand. Untangle the cord as quietly as possible.
Press play.
At first there’s nothing. Just silence. I think she sent it by accident.
Then I hear her breathing.
Soft. Steady. Then a shift.
My heart starts pounding.
A small sound. Barely audible. Then another.
I realize what I’m hearing.
Emily’s breath catches. Just slightly. A tiny inhale that makes my stomach flip.
I can hear rustling. Movement. She’s touching herself.
Jesus Christ.
Another sound. Longer this time. A soft moan she’s trying to keep quiet.
I press the earbud in deeper, like I can get closer to her.
Her breathing gets faster. Shallower. I can picture exactly what she’s doing. Her hand between her legs. Her head tilted back. Maybe she’s in bed. Maybe David’s asleep next to her the same way Miranda’s asleep next to me.
The thought makes me wet instantly.
Another moan. This one louder. Less controlled.
My free hand slides down my stomach.
She makes this sound, this desperate little gasp, and I can tell she’s getting close.
I glance at Miranda. She hasn’t moved.
My hand slides into my underwear.
I’m soaked.
Quick inhales. That breathing that means she’s right there.
I circle my clit slowly. Barely touching. Making myself wait.
“Alex,” she whispers. So quiet I almost miss it.
My whole body responds. Heat flooding through me. My hips lifting slightly off the mattress.
I hear the exact moment she comes. This broken gasp. A moan she can’t quite suppress. Her breath catching over and over.
Then silence.
The note ends.
I lie there in the dark, breathing hard, my hand still between my legs.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure Miranda can hear it.
I hit play again.
This time I know what’s coming. I can anticipate every sound. Every breath.
When Emily says my name, I slide two fingers inside myself.
I think about Emily in her bed. David asleep. Her hand between her legs. Thinking about me.
I think about her mouth on mine in the closet on July 4th. The way she looked at me across the table tonight.
I think about St. Barths. Four days.
Emily’s voice in my ear. “Alex.”
I bite down on my bottom lip to stay quiet. It crashes through me in waves. My back arching slightly off the bed. My free hand gripping the sheet.
Miranda shifts next to me. Mutters something I can’t understand.
I freeze.
She settles back into sleep.
I lie there, my hand still between my legs, voice note still open on my screen.
My heart is pounding. My whole body buzzing.
I should feel guilty.
I don’t.
I feel alive.
Keep Reading: Chapter 11
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.