God, I felt her in my damn bones. I was angry for her, angry that someone would bring pain to her door, to a woman who had never so much as frowned at a stranger. The notion of her huge cocked Scotsman turning out to be such a disappointment just rocked my whole idea of Patty – of huge cocked Scotsmen in general. Her wonderland of a perfect life that I’d resented her for had been a lie.
There was a lesson in that somewhere. I was too messed up to catch it, but it was there.
We rounded the corner back onto Central Square and something struck me. I couldn’t tell you where it came from – a desire to help, maybe even to step out of the cave I’d been in and spend time with another human being, but the words were out before I knew I’d said them. “I’m actually planning on having a get-together, Christmas dinner party sort of thing – and I’d love to have you come.”
She smiled at me, and for the first time that day, it was a true smile. “Really? When is it?”
I searched my nonexistent schedule and picked a day. “Next Saturday actually.”
She hemmed and hawed a second about her own schedule, but the tone was clear. She accepted. Suddenly, I had a dinner party to plan.
I forgot to ring the doorbell at Stellan’s and simply walked in out of habit. It’s hard to remember to behave indignantly all the time, friends. We found Stellan in the living room. He launched out of the chair, heading straight for me. He must have heard us outside earlier and was waiting anxiously for what I carried under my arm.
When he had a project to work on, he didn’t like to be kept waiting. Stellan was patient as Job - unless it really mattered. Then whatever it was couldn’t come soon enough.
I handed the satchel over to a solid and sincere, ‘Thank you.’
I actually smiled at him.
Patty tried to scoot past us in the front hallway, but Stellan stopped her. “Hey, here lady.”
He handed her an envelope and turned for the basement door. I glanced her way, trying to decipher if I was meant to follow Stell.
She stifled a strange noise. “What is this?”
There was a shrillness to her voice, like she was holding something hot in her mouth.
“Today was tuition day at Ninpo, so I thought I’d take care of a couple months in one go while I had the cash.”
He waved to me, and I hustled to catch up as Patty protested from the living room, her voice still shaky. I shot her a look, silently asking what was up.
Her face crinkled in a strange, happy frown. “This is more than two months’ worth, Ste -”
“Three months then, whatever it will cover.”
He was on the basement steps and gone before she could protest. She shook her head at me, her mouth open, but no words came out. I watched her plop down into a chair and press the envelope to her forehead to cover her face.
I left Patty to her thoughts.
I followed Stellan downstairs. He went to his screens, and I plopped right onto his bed. Something about that walk with Patty, that full day of sketching, had left me feeling almost incapable of disdain. I mean, I had it. I definitely could muster it if the troops needed to be rallied, but by default, I was just sort of there.
He brought up the files and chuckled at the first panel he opened. “You’re a fucking machine, woman.”
I shrugged on the bed, slumping back against the wall. “Naw, just kinda fell into a rhythm.”
“Well, I love your rhythm.”
I laughed. He started working, inspecting each panel as he opened them. I listened like a child at the top of the staircase after bed time, hoping to catch a sharper inhale or a chuckle with every one he opened. Of the twenty two panels, I got at least a dozen chuckles and one ‘Fuck Yeah!’ I was content.
“You need me for anything specific?” I asked, finally.
He shook his head. “No, why? You leaving?”
When he turned to look at me, I was struck by the disappointment on his face. I’d fixated so thoroughly on the tension, on the trouble between us, that I never thought he might still want my company as a friend. “Well, I don’t have to. Just figured if you were working, I might leave you to it.”
He spun his chair halfway back and then shifted there a minute. “Well, it’s up to you. I guess I will be preoccupied.”
Despite that, he didn’t spin the chair the rest of the way. He was waiting for my decision. I remembered the comfort we’d once shared, the capacity to do separate nothings, together. It was something I missed every day.
“Ok, I’ll hang out for a while. Can I see the game now? Is it on your phone?”
He turned back to his screens. “Negatory. Yes, it is on my phone, no you may not see it.”
I groaned at him. “What the hell, man?”
He flashed a grin over his shoulder. “It isn’t done, damn it. Slow your roll!”
“I don’t want to slow my roll!”
He turned back to his screens. “Hush up. Daddy’s working.”
I laughed. Kitchen cupboards rattled upstairs, and I remembered Patty. “Oh, hey. So I’m apparently having a Christmas party.”
The click clack of his fingers hitting keys stopped. “What’s this now?”
“Yeah, seriously. Not sure what I was thinking, but I guess I’m having a dinner party next Saturday night.”
“You animal.”
I chuckled. “I know, right? Get some thirty-somethings together with some red wine and reindeer sweaters and see what debauchery unfolds. Right up your alley.”
“No doubt.”
I shifted forward on the bed, resting my weight on my knees. “Will you come?”
Without hesitation. “Of course.”
I nodded, muttering my approval and grabbed the remote for the talking wall, finding an episode of Spaced on Netflix. I then pulled my phone from my pocket, shooting a mass text to the usual suspects.
Don’t call the cops or anything, but I’m having a Christmas Party next Saturday. Seven sharp. Reindeer sweaters optional, booze is not.
I sent the text off to Jackie and Meghan, then added Evan as a shot in the dark. I sat there letting Simon Pegg’s accent work its sultry magic on me until I made the decision to copy the text to another contact – Cole.
By midafternoon, I’d watched half the season of Spaced and said maybe seven words to Stellan. He was working, but still the time felt well spent. I’d forgotten how easily he and I could just be. During that time I’d heard Patty finish up and leave the house, and received acceptance texts from Evan and Meghan - Evan announcing grandly that he wouldn’t miss it for the world, which I then relayed to Meghan who blew up my phone with interrogation. The only other text was a quick response from Jackie, asking if Kevin was also invited. Of course he was.
I asked Stellan during that time if there was anyone else I should invite, and we both came up empty handed. We’re kinda picky about the people we fraternize with.
I headed out in a surprisingly good mood, picking through the catalog of recipes I had in my mind, planning for the party. Though I’d sent out a follow up text that it was pot-luck, I still planned to do a little cooking. I rarely bypassed the opportunity, oddly enough. Might be why I’m still nursing those twenty pounds.
I got home and was surprised to find my mother staring at the front wall from behind the couch, smiling and preening. I turned to see what she was fawning over. The painting was impossible to miss – an impressionist landscape of gold, green and blue now taking up almost the entirety of the front wall. I was impressed at its size as much as its skill. It was spectacular. I inspected the signature at the corner.
Mom beamed at me. “My first Bertrand Fuller.”
I took it in, appreciatively. “Oh, no way. You were right, it’s gorgeous.”
She stood behind the couch, taking a few more steps back into the hallway, all the while staring at the painting. “It’s just a masterpiece, isn’t it?”
I joined her. “I’m very impressed.”
“He has such a gift. I have to call the insurance agency this afternoon to see about having some come down.”
At this I furrowed my brow and turned to her. “Really? You have to insure it? How much did it cost?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Forty grand.”
My jaw dropped. “Holy fuck.”
“I know!”
I shook my head as though I was shooing off a fly. “You spent forty grand on a painting? Where the hell did you get forty grand, mom!?”
She smiled and shot me a sneaky glance before turning her eyes back to the painting.
She handed me a small note card. I flipped it open to find a familiar scrawl. I’d received many inappropriate notes in this very handwriting throughout Chemistry class, junior year.
Pamela,
I couldn’t agree more. His work is exceptional. As I recall, this was your favorite.
Take care,
Evan
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
My mom beamed. “I know!”
“Excuse me.”
I turned for the kitchen and despite my mother’s jovial protests from the living room, called to harangue Evan. He answered on the second ring.
I had two words for him. “You dick!”
“My secret identity! Who told?”
“I’m so mad at you.”
“What did I do?”
I took a few minutes to berate him, demand he buy me a small island if he wants to throw his money around, then quickly had to convince him I was kidding, please don’t buy me a small island. The conversation settled onto the subject of my impromptu dinner party.
Evan was in full sarcastic glory today. “Very exciting news. I’ll get to enjoy that awkward silence between you and Stell again. Looking forward to it.”
“Actually, we were pretty alright today.”
Evan sighed. “Thank god. Seriously, you’re both idiots.”
“Screw you!”
“So what shall I bring to this gala? Other than my devastating good looks.”
I chuckled. “Humility. And I don’t know, whatever you can grab – or can have one of your minions grab.”
“Yes, yes. My minions.” Evan let out as maniacal a laugh as he could before yelling off to some imaginary servant. “Dance monkey! Dance!”
I was always a little unnerved by how well Evan could laugh maniacally. If there were ever a comic book caliber super villain waiting to happen, Evan had the right stuff. I suddenly had an idea for a comic strip of a billionaire super villain whose idea of evil was to redesign Facebook - again. I wondered whether Evan would be honored or insulted. He made further demands of the imaginary minion and I decided the answer was honored.
My mother slipped into the kitchen past me. “What’s he bringing to what?”
I turned into the phone. “I gotta go nut job, but I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Fuck yeah you will. Kisses.”
I laughed and made a puckering sound before putting down the phone. My mother ogled me a moment, appraising the innocent gesture between old friends. I shook my head at her. “I actually decided to have a get together. Bit of a dinner party.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice? You haven’t done that in a long while.”
“I know. Trying to remember how I used to go about it.”
She scoffed. “Oh, you’re a master at that sort of thing. You take after Grammy.”
My phone buzzed on the counter – Cole. I ignored it for the moment, but was surprised to find my mother apparently knew his ringtone. “So you and Cole are on speaking terms again?”
I grew tense, instantly. “Yes.”
She pulled a mug out of the cupboard and began filling the kettle. “Are you -”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips as though she might hum, and nodded. “Well, that’s nice.”
I didn’t move or speak for a long moment. When the spell broke, I shrugged.
She glanced toward me, but did not make eye contact. We discussed dishes I might make for the party, and she laughed when I asked if she still had any puff paint style Christmas sweatshirts from the eighties. She assured me she did not and headed upstairs to read. I finally ventured toward my phone.
Cole - I might be willing to do that. Are you free tonight?
I glanced around the kitchen, trying to decide if I had prior engagements. Or more aptly, was there a movie on cable I might enjoy watching alone. I decided that though there might be, Cole and I needed tending and that tending wouldn’t get done if we weren’t together.
I grabbed my coat and my keys and headed out for the night.
CHAPTER NineTeen
I stayed with Cole a few times that week, letting him touch me each night – albeit in the dark. That was nothing new.
I enjoyed the vegging out on the couch time, the ordering Chinese food. It all seemed to be falling back into place. Stellan and my getting along again wasn’t hurting the situation, strangely enough. We were also texting again, not at a constant clip, but often enough for me to silence my phone when I was at Cole’s place to avoid any chance of getting the hairy eyeball.
By Friday afternoon, Stellan had gotten me to work on a few more sketches, told me I was a genius a few times, and threatened to send pictures of his bowel movements when I didn’t accept the compliment.
I was meandering through Crosby’s Supermarket during just one such conversation when my phone went off with an alert I’d almost forgotten – my work email. It fired off in the produce section, and I was so startled by it, I almost dropped a bag of Cortland Apples.
I scrambled to my pocket for my phone and found the alert text – Dennis Shay.
I leaned against the counter with my heart pounding against my ribs.
Ms. Jensen,
My apologies for the delay, but I’m sure you know how these things can get. I have an early Christmas present for you. The position has officially opened, which gives me the opportunity (finally) to offer it to you. If you accept, you’d start the second week of the New Year.
Please get back to me as soon as you can to let me know if you’re still interested.
We’re so looking forward to having you join the group – and thank you for your patience.
Dennis Shay
Head of Marketing, Chalice Enterprises
I stared at that email with the stem of an apple pushing a divot into my left butt cheek for at least five minutes, reading the words over and over again. I didn’t move until an older woman excused herself to reach past me for a Fuji.
I was in shock. I’d been disappointed for so long, this felt like someone popped a brown paper bag next to my ear to cure hiccups. I paid for my groceries with my mother’s bank card and proceeded to sit in a catatonic state in the driver’s seat of my car for another twenty minutes.
I didn’t call anyone, text anyone, nothing. I just sat there.
It wasn’t until I pulled into my driveway that I finally called Dennis and accepted the position.
I decided to save the announcement for my party – turn the shindig into a celebration of sorts. I could tell everyone, we could toast, maybe get plastered, play a few games, and all would be right with the world. Keeping it to myself made sleep just about impossible that night, so I spent much of it cooking. It was similar to Thanksgiving – pies and more pies, my usual suspects. For Christmas, though, I switched it up - gingerbread whoopee pies with pumpkin frosting, and my own version of fruitcake, made with lemons, blueberries, and a sugar glaze. I wasn’t messing around, ladies and gentlemen. I also whipped up three batches of my grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies and placed them with red tissue paper into holiday tins to be given as prizes.
Yes, prizes.
Yes, I have games at my parties, is that a problem?
What? You don’t like fun?
I knew my friends well – Stellan would most likely bring Sam Adams and then devour the entire S
wedish Apple Pie by himself, Evan would bring whiskey, Meghan would bring wine, and Jackie would bring some extravagant baked good to shame mine by appearance alone, but I’d love her for it. Patty and Cole were the only wild cards. I couldn’t imagine them bringing a grand array of savory dishes, so I’d accepted that responsibility as well – French bread, brie and grapes, a platter of bruschetta with basil I kept growing in the kitchen window, and tuna croquettes.
Yes, I said croquettes, whatever. And I said it in my best Julia Child impersonation, I assure you.
I finally rounded out the pretentious spread with a bowl of lays chips and a big ol’ tub of onion dip. I’d most likely drown myself in that bad boy before the end of the night.
I spent Saturday finishing up the last few dishes, stuffing the fridge with prepared platters, setting out the table in the living room and decorating it. Then I spent the late afternoon preparing the games, with sporadic last minute cleaning spurts in between.
My mother made comment of how lovely the house looked just before heading out for the evening – a dinner date with a college friend. I knew she’d made the plan deliberately in order to leave me the house for the evening, and though I would have loved her company, I appreciated it.
Jackie, as expected, was the first to arrive, offering my favorite chocolate raspberry Porte at the door. Kevin carried an industrial sized cake carrier in behind her. I took the bottle to the kitchen while she started setting up. I came back to the living room to find Jackie’s baking proclivities had veered into cake decorating. She was unveiling a three tier Christmas tree cake on the table. It was immaculate, with fondant ornaments and rice crispy treat presents frosted and tied with bows.
I naturally called her a whore.
She beamed at me. “I’ve been trying.”
I glared at her. “Trying my ass, it’s gorgeous!”
She shrugged. “My first attempts weren’t great -”
“They were delicious!” Kevin called from the kitchen.
“-but I think I’m getting there.”
Not long thereafter, Meghan arrived with the expected bottle of Merlot, barreling past me to toss her coat into the closet and demand I appraise her outfit. She was wearing a fitted red dress that one might expect on Marilyn Monroe, a flower in her hair to match. She looked almost as stunning as Jackie’s cake.
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