Bachelorette parties, Rosario had a suspicion, were even worse than weddings. (Not that she'd ever been invited to one; the closest she'd come was serving pancakes to gaggles of drunk bachelorettes at five in the morning. Most of her impressions were derived from booze-soaked hearsay and Hollywood. But they were strong impressions!)
But she suggested it anyway, because saying it helped to smooth over (though not wipe away) the twinge of hurt (she might've missed the wedding, but she could damn well still give Lyra a bachelorette's to remember), and because she knew saying it would uncurl the twist of guilt in Lyra's voice.
Rosario wasn't prepared, though, for the full intensity of Lyra's reaction, the way the eager light in Lyra's eyes turned almost immediately to a flood of tears, which turned almost immediately to bubbling, sobbing laughter.
Hell yes, she really meant it. If that was how much it meant to Lyra, then hell to the yes. She'd plan the shit out of a bachelorette party. She didn't know the first place to start, but she'd figure it out. She'd research it.
"We could afford some fancy cocktails, though," Rosario grinned, poking Lyra's shoulder. "Like, stupid obnoxious fancy. Hey, you want we could invite your cousin Addy?"