[Quote Aesthetic of the Chapterish]

EIGHTIES, BABY

"Alright, everyone ready? OK. Come on, Nate, sit down." Trix says, exasperated.

She's cordoned us all into the kitchen. Brooks was right. There are bags and bags on the countertop behind her. An old radio boom box is present company as well. Cam is absentmindedly scrolling through text threads on her phone and Jack is flipping pancakes on the griddle. A stack of sweet confectionaries is piled high on the counter next to the maple syrup.

I refill my coffee mug with the dregs left in the bottom of the pot.

"So. I wanted a theme night. And since this is my mini-pre bachelorette party –whatever," Trix says, waving her hands. "We're doing what I want. And what I want is an Eighties Night!"

"An '80s night?" I ask.

"Yea –what?" Meg echos.

Trix spins on her heels, a sheet of long red hair fanning out behind her. The bags crinkle under her rummaging hands until finally she withdraws them holding a can of hairspray and a neon color sweat suit.

"You heard me," Trix squeals with delight. "These bags are filled with costumes and make up and John Hughes movies."

"And I made these," Travis admits, holding up a stack of old CD cases. "Inspired by the '80s mix."

Nate takes the top CD off Travis's stack; his eyes scanning down the back of the case. "Some of these are jams."

"Some?" Travis sounds insulted.

"So, everyone pick through what they want. There're plenty of choices. Only requirement is everyone dresses up!" Trix warns us.

Lauren shimmies around the marble island and sticks her hand into the closest bag. She laughs pulling out a permed hair wig. "Oh, I am so in."

"Party starts at 8 PM." Trix finishes her announcement. "Oh and one rule: NO PHONES!"

"What!?" I ask.

"Seriously. You're banning our phones?" Alex asks.

"You heard me. They weren't engrossed in their portable internet phones back then, and neither will we be! Leave your phones in your room," Trix says, fake stern voice on point. "Please and thank you."

Not like it matters. Anyone I would want to talk to is here right now anyway. Well, apart from the parents and Zöe. Zero other friends.

...

I've never seen so many themed outfits in two plastic bags before. We raided them after dinner and let the guys go their separate way to get ready. Not that men need the time to prepare like Trix says the women do. She's not wrong.

We get ready in Trix's room where an array of retro goods is already spread across the floor: neon headbands, chunking jewelry, and tons of glittering make up. I'm reminded of last New Years, of the three of us getting ready in my hotel room pre-speakeasy.

I squirm stepping into my shiny patent heels; the polyester of the razor blue jumpsuit is already itching my skin. But damn if it doesn't look fine as hell.

"Um, excuse me," Trix says, turning me to face myself in the mirror. Her face looks almost as horrified as her voice sounds.

"What?" I ask, innocently raising my eyebrow.

My jaw almost drops to the floor when I see Trix. She legit looks like some '80s model in a black leotard onsie with a big-shoulder metallic top and chunky belt wrapped around her waist.

"Oh my god," I say, girl-crushing.

"I know," Trix smirks, coy. "I look stellar. But you're half-assing it, babe. Come on." Trix sighs, shaking her head, and reaching for the hairspray canister.

I take it from her, rolling my eyes as I do so. She blows a mini kiss at me and it's the first time I'm noticing her magenta lip color and how perfectly it matches the lightening bolt earrings dangling from her lobes.

"Heavier on the rouge," Trix says. "And more shadow, please. Try that color." She points to an electric blue circle on my eye shadow palette. It matches my outfit to a T.

"You don't think this is all –extra?" I dare speak.

"Oh it's extra, alright. Have you met Trix?" Meg walks up behind us in the mirror.

"Meg you simply NAILED it," Trix exclaims, face glowing with pride at Meg's transformation.

"Thanks," Meg grins. "Went for more of a Joan Jett vibe. More my wheelhouse."

Meg takes a step back and moves her arms down her body as to show off her outfit. My eyes rake over the holed T-shirt tucked into black jeans, noting her metal chokers and leather wrist-cuff. She even teased the top of her dark hair to get a faux mullet.

"You did nail it. 100 percent punk rock grunge." I tell Meg.

"I just love themed parties. Themed anything, really," Trix says, feathering her big hair.

"You would theme your life if you could," Meg says, laughing.

"I would," Trix agrees.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear your wedding would be themed." I blot my lips in the mirror.

"Wedding, no. But rehearsal..." Trix trails off, coy. "There's just something about dressing up. You can be anything. Be retro. Be vintage. Be the vintage you want to see in movies."

"Well, when you put it like that–" I reach for the silver liquid liner. "Better add some more of this."

Twenty minutes later I follow Trix and Meg down the hallway into the kitchen foyer, complete with my big hair and the can and a half of hairspray in it. Feeling as electric as my blue jumpsuit right now. Thanks to the pregame shots we took post eye shadow.

Don't feel ridiculous at all.

Brody is the first person I see in the kitchen. I stifle a laugh just looking at him in his salmon slacks and white and teal striped polo. He looks like human Ken, which is fitting when I see Lauren wearing shredded spandex and an off-the-shoulder workout top. Her long blonde hair is piled high on her head, spilling over her forehead like crimped bangs.

I walk up to them, already feeling at home in my blue one-piece.

"Leg warmers were a nice touch," I say, eyeing up her ankles.

"Thanks," she grins. "You look like you want to go clubbing about thirty years ago. It's fantastic!"

"It is pretty awesome, huh? The hair was all Trix," I say, playing with the silver barrette that's holding the ride side of my big hair back.

"Fab. Is this what every party is like?" Lauren asks, lowering her voice so only I can hear.

I think about last new years first and then remind myself of the nights spent at Back Bay and the endless beach bonfires. Non-themed. "Not every party."

Cam and Whit are talking in front of the fireplace. Whit is wearing high-waisted acid wash jeans with a band crop-top. Definitely more Meg's vibe. Cam on the other hand is dressed in leather pants with a sheer leopard print blouse and gold chain necklaces and her crimped hair is pulled into a tight pony on top of her head.

"OK. Who's ready?"

Nate slides into the room on his socks. Everyone laughs at the oversize button-down barely covering his boxers. Shades are pushed up off his forehead, disheveling his spikey brown hair.

"Oh I knew someone would go Risky Business," Trix squeals, clearly pleased.

Travis and Brooks walk in behind Nate and I cannot curb the laughter. I'm laughing at Travis's basketball short-shorts and his matching T-shirt. I'm laughing at Brooks's purple rain tracksuit and aviator glasses. Their matching sweat headbands are the cherry on top.

"Babe," I say, smirking up at Brooks. "You look spot on '80s."

"Yea?" Brooks asks, raising his eyebrow.

"Total heartthrob status." I peck his cheek.

"Yea, yea. Newest members of the Brat Pack," Travis admits, clapping Brooks on the shoulder.

"Brat Pack wannabes, maybe," Meg jabs.

"And aren't you ladies a sight for sore eyes." Alex joins the group. "A+ on the outfits."

"You too," I say, examining Alex's rock star persona. So. Much. Leather. Who said guyliner was only for pirates?

The room –wow.

"T you really did a number on this shit," I say, my eyes scanning around the great room.

A giant Pan-Man poster hangs above the mantel, reveling in all its vintage arcade-y glory. The TV is already on and playing some old school movie and it's hard to miss the stack of DVDs piled on top of the coffee table. But even the heap of '80s flicks is nothing compared to the never-ending CDs spread across the counter top.

"Shall we see what's up first on the playlist tonight?" Trix smirks, holding a clear CD case between her fingers.

"I'll do the honors." Travis takes the silver disc and opens the radio/boom box/disc changer crossover.

A techno beat blasts from the box and fills our ears, the vibe in the room electrifying as immediately as Travis pressed play.

"I already regret how drunk I'm going to get," Meg says standing next to me.

"Agreed." I nod.