Page 95 of Fun at Parties
“Tim!” I hug them each in turn.
“Hey, Quinn.”
“Congrats,” I whisper.
I can’t see his face, but he pats me on the shoulder warmly, gestures toward the makeshift bar, and wanders off.
“Tim was going to come down tomorrow to get the car,” she explains. “But Bailey and I texted a lot during your trip to compare notes on how you were doing, and she kept resending me the invitation. I thought,Why not?It seemed fun, and I suddenly have a lot of free time. So howareyou?”
A few weeks ago, I would’ve been embarrassed to learn that they were consulting each other about my well-being—to learn that my well-being was even in question. But now, knowing that both of them cared enough to do that? It moves me. So does the accessory on Michelle’s head, a nod to the flying object that knocked Tai out in the movie: a headband with a shoe glued on top. A tiny, adorablebabyshoe.
“Michelle,” I whisper, grabbing her by the shoulders and leaning in. “You’re pregnant.”
“Holy shit, Quinn. It soundsweirdwhen you say it!”
“I’m so happy for you two. And for me, because I finally have a reason to buy someone the sparkly red Dorothy shoes I always wanted as a child.”
She shudders. “You’re going to be on a strict glitter limit when it comes to my kid. I hate vacuuming.”
“Yourkid,” I say. “You’re having a kid.”
We hug again, and I think for the first time ever I catch the glint of tears in her eyes, which sets me off. Tim comes back with an IPA for himself and a glass of water for her. He stops short at the sight of us, me blubbering and Michelle doing her version of blubbering. She takes her drink and whispers something in his ear, and he heads for the chip-and-dip table.
Once we compose ourselves, she asks again, “How are you?”
“Not good.”
“Oh, thank god.”
I laugh in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re telling the truth. It means maybe now we can actually get somewhere,” she says.
The room is filling up, but everyone is milling around, saying hello, and scoping out the food selection. No one is sitting at the long row of picnic-style tables along the back wall, so I tilt my head and Michelle follows me to the one in the corner.
“I’m giving you the CliffsNotes,” I warn. Across the room, Bailey shrieks, stretching out her arms to gesture wildly at a couple in impressively gruesome Red Wedding attire. “This is a really special night. All my favorite people are in the same place, and that makes me so happy it feels like I’m going to drown in it. After this, we’re going to have fun.”
“Of course we are,” Michelle says. “This band is incredible.”
I run my finger along the initials some M.G. carved into the table. “I’m dreading going back to work,” I say. “Itfeels like I’m trapped, and the worst part is I’m not, but I’m going back anyway. The past few weeks have been…horrible, and confusing, and wonderful. I fell in love—or maybe I was always in love, I don’t know, but it came to the surface—and now I’m heartbroken. Bailey and I talked, and I understand why we’ve grown apart. I know how to fix it, but I’m worried I’ll fall back into my old ways instead. I think I’m a bad feminist and I worry that I’ve turned into my mother and no matter which direction I turn, I’m making a mistake, and I’m giving up something I don’t want to lose. And on top of all that, I’m addicted to Diet Coke again.”
“Quinn.” She grabs my hands across the table and squeezes. “That’s huge.”
I drop my head. “I know. Yesterday the Freestyle machine at Wawa was out of regular Diet, so I got caffeine-free.Caffeine-free Diet Coke.That means I just like the taste of chemicals.”
“Shut up about the soda. You’re being honest with yourself about work. You had a difficult conversation with a friend. You fell inlove.”
Yeah. And all of those things have rubbed me as emotionally raw as my thighs in Tahoe.
“How do I make it okay?” My voice is ragged.
Bailey shrieks again. This time when I look up, it’s not a false alarm. Logan struts in, his white linen shirt unbuttoned to his navel like Jordan Belfort in the Hamptons. And behind him is Nate, whose eyes immediately snap to mine, like that’s where they belong. My cheeks tremble as I smile and flinch at the same time.
Michelle sighs. “Oh, Quinn.”
Unsure how to play it, I give Nate space while he grabs a drink and says hello to people. When Giana drags me away from my spot in the corner to meet a friend who just bought a CycleLove bike, we end up standing nearly back-to-back, he and Logan chatting with a couple of old classmates while I answer questions about tailbone pain and padded underwear.
When the new cyclist walks away, Giana pokes Logan in the shoulder and asks, “Did you wax your chest for this?” and I’m suddenly standing next to Nate in a circle of seven people.
