Page 54 of Fun at Parties
A drop of water lands on the windshield. Another follows, then another. Nate angles his head to look at the clouds above us, which are thicker and darker than they were at the rest stop. “I’d been trying to figure out yourdeal that whole weekend. You were outgoing, you talked to everyone, you were always game for what they wanted to do. But when you thought no one was paying attention, you seemed drained. At first I thought it was nerves, since you were still getting to know Bailey. But then on the porch, it started to make sense.”
“That I was lonely as hell and desperate for friendship?”
“That you were fighting for a fresh start.”
“So you’re saying we never would’ve become friends if it weren’t for Pizza Girl. I hope life is good for her, wherever she is.”
“She brought us together,” he agrees, pressing his fingertip to a raindrop on the outside of his window. “You just seemed so fucking sad I stopped worrying about being a loser for a little while. You’d been—not putting on a show but—being careful about what you showed of yourself all weekend, and it seemed exhausting. I could at least give you the space to take a break from that. That’s why I brought you to the pool.”
“Ah, yes.” I nod solemnly. “The pool. You were like the cute brooding boy from every teen TV show, and you opened up to me to make me feel better. Which I appreciated, by the way.”
“Don’t appreciate it too much,” he says. “I was also thinking about your ass.”
I jab a finger at him. “Youweregoing to kiss me!”
The rain is audible now, tapping in a soothing pattern. Nate’s eyes match the storm clouds, and they’re equally full of lightning. “I wanted to.” His low voice sounds like a fingernail down my spine. “Like I said, I forgot I was supposed to be a loser.”
“You weren’t a loser,” I say. “There was definitely a vibe between us. But I couldn’t let anything happen. Bailey and Giana had been complaining about girls only wanting to hang out with them to get to you guys and then acting like they were invisible. I promised not to hook up with anyone that weekend.”
“Bailey had to come first,” he says without resentment.
As pathetic as it sounds, Bailey was the only person I had. Later, over the course of that first year of college, I made other friends. But Bailey and I stayed closest. We lived together until graduation, then I did most of the visiting and care-package-sending when she was in med school and residency. When she got her fellowship in Philly, we were supposed to be roommates again. I found us a new apartment down the street from my old one, we signed a lease, she moved in. Then, before we even got our first utility bill, Tracy called, and I left her in the dust.
We’re supposed to put our careers first. Hustle, work hard, lean in. If a friendship is strong, it’ll survive. But looking back, I don’t feel good about it.
“Things have been off with us,” I say. “I haven’t done a good job keeping in touch, and she keeps saying she’s going to visit without picking dates. She never used to do that.”
The wipers pick up speed. Nate frowns. “It’s hard when you don’t see each other often. I consider Logan one of my best friends, but whenever one of us visits the other, it takes a little while for it to feel right. Like, when we’re apart, we’re different versions of ourselves, so we have to find our way back. In Tahoe, we never got there.”His mouth twists with regret. “I’m sure once everyone is together, things with Bailey will feel like they always do.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I wish someone could move Los Angeles and Seapoint a few thousand miles closer together.”
After that, neither of us says anything for a long time.
Chapter 18
Lawrence, Kansas-1,226 miles to Seapoint
“You can’t be serious.” It’simpossible to keep my exasperation off my face.
“The passholders need to be present for me to release your guest bracelets.” The Sunflower Sound VIP concierge flattens her mouth in a practiced expression of sympathy.
I scrape back the strands of wet hair plastered to my forehead. “Their flight is delayed.”
Nate’s waterlogged sneaker squelches as he steps forward. “We can FaceTime them. They’ll show you their IDs.”
The concierge smooths her embroidered Western button-down, which is dry, and clasps her hands atop her wood-paneled desk, which is also dry, like everything else under this tidy white canopy other than us. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait for the passholders.”
“They won’t be here until tomorrow.” Desperation turns my voice ragged. “We walked forever to get here. Carried all our stuff. Where else can we go? We don’t have a tent.”
The flat line of her mouth tightens. I’m not getting anywhere, I know, but we’ve come so far. Five hundred fifty miles on the road with the rain chasing us across half the state. Then a mile-long trudge from the farthest parking lot, after an attendant told us we couldn’t park in VIP without Livvie and Kyla. He didn’t mention that we wouldn’t be able to get inat allunless they were with us. My legs are simultaneously stiff from the car ride and fatigued from wading a mile through soggy fields. Our shoes are fucked. The soaked hem of my jeans clings to my ankles.
Right over the concierge’s shoulder sit orderly rows of luxury RVs and fancy tents. There’s a covered central area with wicker furniture and large potted plants on one side, giant Jenga sets and cornhole boards on the other. To the right, a row of golf carts waits to ferry people to the stages.
Nobody on the other side of this desk is getting trench foot.
“I can give you general admission tickets and a sticker for the car camping lot.” The concierge slides a white envelope toward me. “You won’t need a tent to sleep there. When your friends arrive tomorrow, meet them here and you’ll be able to enjoy the amenities.”
I concede with a weak smile. “Thanks.”
