15
“SURPRISE!”
“Pia’s not here yet. More to the point, Sam’s not here yet.”
“I’m practicing, and I’m, I’m—Oh, gotta go. Nervous pee.”
I’m sitting on the sofa reading an old issue of W— because I can’t afford the new one right now—while Jules and Coco snipe at each other in an affectionate sisterly way and put the last touches on the dining table for Pia’s so-called surprise dinner party.
Pia’s birthday is the same day as mine, and it’s not for ages. Our mothers met in the maternity ward, for Pete’s sake; they became friends so we became friends. But I’m glad everyone’s forgotten. I don’t want a big deal about a birthday that I always thought would be a huge milestone of adulthood and is turning out to be a reminder that I’m failing my twenties.
Madeleine screams from upstairs. “The freaking hot water is gone again!”
“Give it twenty minutes!” Julia shouts back.
“I don’t have twenty minutes!”
Coco skips back into the room. Her face is unusually flushed.
“Are you okay?” I say to her.
“I’m great!” she exclaims. “I’m so excited. I asked this guy Ethan I met at my friend from work’s birthday drinks? He’s her roommate’s friend from college’s coworker? He’s nice! He’s said yes.”
“Have you been drinking already?” I look at her closely.
“I pregamed!” She stands up and does a twirl. “WOO!”
I think the pressure of throwing a party is getting to all of us, but we’ve managed to prepare perfectly. Coco has been cooking individual chicken pot pies all day. I picked up some cheeses from Stinky. Pia bought Brooklyn Blackout from Steve’s Ice Cream. Madeleine has been cleaning all day, including vacuuming the inside corners of the sofa and Q-tipping the fridge. Julia bought a bunch of early hydrangeas, her favorite flower, to put on the side table in the front hall. And we’ve invited one “date” each, to make it seem “totally normal.”
“Like a trash-or-treasure party!” Julia said. “Bring a dude you haven’t ever been involved with, and he might be perfect for someone else!”
Coco defied Julia’s trash-or-treasure rules and invited this Ethan guy she’s crushing on, Madeleine asked Heff, a guitar player from the band she sings with, and Jules asked Lev, some coworker from the bank. I literally could not think of a single man to bring that I haven’t ever been involved with. (How depressing is that?) So I just decided my contribution is Sam. Whoever wants him can take him.
Julia is frantically polishing the wineglasses. “These things are refuckingvolting! How do you clean ancient glass? This one has lipstick marks from, like, before I was born.”
“Baking soda and vinegar!” says Coco, running out of the room again. “Soak and scrub!”
“That seems like a lot of work.” Julia puts the glass down.
I look over at her for the first time tonight. “What the what are you wearing? Those pants are wrong on, like, eight levels. Were you drunk when you bought them?”
“No! I was fifteen. Fuck! What should I wear then, fucking fashion guru of awesomeness? I hate all my clothes.”
“Come on. I’ll find you something.”
Julia stomps behind me, up to my room. God, she’s tense. She must really like Sam. Is he genuinely that good-looking?
I open my closet and frown as I skim the racks. “Let’s see, you’re bigger than me in the boob department—”
“And the ass department—”
“This is killer.” I pull out a little black dress that I got from the Brooklyn Flea. “Black tights, borrow these shoes. And take your hair out of that damn ponytail.”
Julia takes the clothes obediently. “Turn around. I don’t do the public nudity thing like you and Pia. And I like my ponytail. I get a headache when I take it out.”
“That’s your hair follicles going, ooo, finally! We can stretch!” With my back to Julia while she changes, I do an imitation of hair follicles stretching, and she
“SURPRISE!”
“Pia’s not here yet. More to the point, Sam’s not here yet.”
“I’m practicing, and I’m, I’m—Oh, gotta go. Nervous pee.”
I’m sitting on the sofa reading an old issue of W— because I can’t afford the new one right now—while Jules and Coco snipe at each other in an affectionate sisterly way and put the last touches on the dining table for Pia’s so-called surprise dinner party.
Pia’s birthday is the same day as mine, and it’s not for ages. Our mothers met in the maternity ward, for Pete’s sake; they became friends so we became friends. But I’m glad everyone’s forgotten. I don’t want a big deal about a birthday that I always thought would be a huge milestone of adulthood and is turning out to be a reminder that I’m failing my twenties.
Madeleine screams from upstairs. “The freaking hot water is gone again!”
“Give it twenty minutes!” Julia shouts back.
“I don’t have twenty minutes!”
Coco skips back into the room. Her face is unusually flushed.
“Are you okay?” I say to her.
“I’m great!” she exclaims. “I’m so excited. I asked this guy Ethan I met at my friend from work’s birthday drinks? He’s her roommate’s friend from college’s coworker? He’s nice! He’s said yes.”
“Have you been drinking already?” I look at her closely.
“I pregamed!” She stands up and does a twirl. “WOO!”
I think the pressure of throwing a party is getting to all of us, but we’ve managed to prepare perfectly. Coco has been cooking individual chicken pot pies all day. I picked up some cheeses from Stinky. Pia bought Brooklyn Blackout from Steve’s Ice Cream. Madeleine has been cleaning all day, including vacuuming the inside corners of the sofa and Q-tipping the fridge. Julia bought a bunch of early hydrangeas, her favorite flower, to put on the side table in the front hall. And we’ve invited one “date” each, to make it seem “totally normal.”
“Like a trash-or-treasure party!” Julia said. “Bring a dude you haven’t ever been involved with, and he might be perfect for someone else!”
Coco defied Julia’s trash-or-treasure rules and invited this Ethan guy she’s crushing on, Madeleine asked Heff, a guitar player from the band she sings with, and Jules asked Lev, some coworker from the bank. I literally could not think of a single man to bring that I haven’t ever been involved with. (How depressing is that?) So I just decided my contribution is Sam. Whoever wants him can take him.
Julia is frantically polishing the wineglasses. “These things are refuckingvolting! How do you clean ancient glass? This one has lipstick marks from, like, before I was born.”
“Baking soda and vinegar!” says Coco, running out of the room again. “Soak and scrub!”
“That seems like a lot of work.” Julia puts the glass down.
I look over at her for the first time tonight. “What the what are you wearing? Those pants are wrong on, like, eight levels. Were you drunk when you bought them?”
“No! I was fifteen. Fuck! What should I wear then, fucking fashion guru of awesomeness? I hate all my clothes.”
“Come on. I’ll find you something.”
Julia stomps behind me, up to my room. God, she’s tense. She must really like Sam. Is he genuinely that good-looking?
I open my closet and frown as I skim the racks. “Let’s see, you’re bigger than me in the boob department—”
“And the ass department—”
“This is killer.” I pull out a little black dress that I got from the Brooklyn Flea. “Black tights, borrow these shoes. And take your hair out of that damn ponytail.”
Julia takes the clothes obediently. “Turn around. I don’t do the public nudity thing like you and Pia. And I like my ponytail. I get a headache when I take it out.”
“That’s your hair follicles going, ooo, finally! We can stretch!” With my back to Julia while she changes, I do an imitation of hair follicles stretching, and she
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