3, 16, 25

 

The three girls—Alex, Sasha, and Grace—were buzzing with anticipation as they gathered in Alex’s apartment, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds. Tonight was the biggest party of the summer, a chaotic mash-up celebrating the third anniversary of the Stumbling Fillies, the sixteenth of Stanmaps, and the twenty-fifth of Dunsel. The air smelled of fresh laundry and Alex’s vanilla candle, a calm before the storm. “Okay, let’s keep it chill while we get ready,” Grace said, adjusting her glasses as she perched on the edge of the bed, her voice steady. “No disasters before we even leave.”

The vibe shifted when Alex spotted a bottle of red wine on the counter. “Oh, come on, we need a toast,” she said, pouring it into mismatched glasses. “To epic nights!” Sasha clinked her dlasses against Alex’s. “To epic fights,” she added with a smirk. Grace joined in, cautious but game. “To surviving,” she said softly. One toast became two, then three, the bong gurgling and the pipe glowing as they laughed louder, voices loosening. “This wine’s awful,” Sasha giggled, spilling some on the rug. “Tastes like victory,” Alex shot back, smudging lipstick across her mouth. Grace, cheeks flushed, adjusted her big black sunglasses. “We’re going to be late,” she said, but her words slurred into a chuckle.

“Yeah, sure,” Alex replied, her bleach-blond hair already escaping its clip as she rummaged through a drawer. She pulled out a sleek glass bong, its curves catching the light. “But this’ll help us relax. One rip each, that’s it.” Sasha, lounging on a chair with her brunette curls spilling over her shoulders, raised an eyebrow. “One? You’re dreaming. But fine, I’m in.” She reached for a small metal pipe on the coffee table, twirling it in her fingers. “I’ll stick with this, though—bong hits are too much work.”

Grace frowned, pushing her glasses up. “We said we’d stay sharp for the party. It’s a big deal—three anniversaries!” Alex grinned, filling the bong with water. “Exactly why we need this. All three love intoxicated women. Come on, Grace, live a little.” She lit it, took a deep pull, and exhaled a thick cloud, coughing lightly. “See? Smooth.” Sasha followed, sparking the pipe and letting out a lazy plume. “Your turn, G.” Grace hesitated, then sighed. “Fine, but just one.” She leaned over the bong, fumbling with the lighter until Alex guided her hand. The hit was clumsy, and she sputtered, waving smoke from her face. “God, that’s strong,” she wheezed, but a small smile crept in.

They started dressing, passing the bong and pipe back and forth despite their “one and done” pact. Alex slipped into a leather dress—black, tight, and edgy, custom-made for the Stumbling Fillies’ third anniversary. It hugged her black bra, panties, and garter, the material creaking as she zipped it up. “This is badass,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror. “Three years of chaos deserves leather.” Sasha pulled on an emerald dress, its rich green shimmering over her matching bra-pantie-garter set, a nod to Stanmaps’ sixteenth. “Sixteen years of that weird art collective calls for something bold,” she said, adjusting the hem. “This color’s perfect.” Grace chose a silver dress for Dunsel’s twenty-fifth, the metallic fabric draping over her white lace half-cup bra and garters, catching the light like liquid starlight. “Twenty-five years is a milestone,” she murmured, smoothing it down. “Silver feels right.”

By the time they stumbled out the door, they were well past tipsy. “Cab!” Sasha yelled, waving her arms as Alex dropped her keys for the third time. “No way we’re driving,” Grace agreed, clutching her purse. They piled into the backseat, a mess of leather, emerald, and silver, the cab reeking of old smoke and pine air freshener. “You girls okay back there?” the driver asked, eyeing them in the rearview. “Never better,” Alex slurred, her leather dress riding up as she sprawled across the seat. “We’re celebrating—Stumbling Fillies, three years!” Sasha leaned forward, rose sunglasses crooked. “And Stanmaps, sixteen! Green’s my vibe.” Grace hiccupped, silver dress glinting. “Dunsel, twenty-five. Big deal.” The driver just nodded, turning up the radio as they rambled over each other, the city lights smearing past.

The party was a full-on riot when they arrived—a sprawling house throbbing with bass, bodies everywhere. Alex burst in, leather dress gleaming, shouting, “Fillies represent!” as she stumbled into the crowd. Sasha followed, emerald dress catching the strobes, snagging a drink and yelling, “Stanmaps, baby!” Grace drifted in, silver dress shimmering, black sunglasses hiding her glazed eyes as she muttered, “Dunsel’s the OG.” Like the countless other women, they quickly each had a glass of champagne in hand.

Alex hit the dance floor, leather creaking as she flailed, garter flashing, screaming, “Three years of this shit!” to no one in particular. Sasha propped herself against a wall, emerald dress wrinkled, flirting with a guy. Grace ended up in the kitchen, silver dress dulled with sweat, sipping something neon and babbling, “Twenty-five’s a quarter century, right?” to a stranger who nodded. The night dissolved into a blur—Alex losing a heel, Sasha’s sunglasses vanishing, Grace’s dress snagging on a chair. They found each other, lost each other, screamed lyrics they didn’t know.

When it wound down, they collapsed on a couch—Alex’s leather scuffed, lipstick on her neck; Sasha’s emerald dress unzipped, one earring gone; Grace’s silver dress torn, sunglasses cracked. “Fucking legendary,” Alex rasped, voice shot. “Epic as hell,” Sasha mumbled, kicking off her remaining shoe. Grace grinned, head lolling. “We did it.” Trashed, triumphant, and tangled in leather, emerald, and silver, they’d owned the night—Stumbling Fillies, Stanmaps, and Dunsel making em proud.