Page 96 of In For a Penny
“I swear to God, ifChloe forgets the wine again, I’m gonna murder her,” I say, about to have an anxiety attack. “We should’ve gotten one to drink between the two of us while we cooked today so we could have at least secured our own buzz,” I say to Jane as I open the oven door to baste the turkey.
It’s been a couple of weeks since her birthday, and things seem to have settled down a bit between Josh and me. We swept the whole notebook thing under the rug and were even able to finish our presentation for Strategic Management early, like we planned. Six weeks ago, I would have thought that would be great, because more time for fun! Right? Except it wasn’t, because it’s become harder and harder to find ways to see and hang out with him outside of class, and it’s left more time open for me to pine over him.
Even though we agreed that EVERYTHING IS OKAY between us and we can move on from this, the reality of the situation is that EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY. Spending time with Josh has become this sort of contradiction. When I’m not with him, I crave his company to the point of it hurting. But then when we’re together, the pain in my chest and the twisting in my stomach leaves me breathless. Needless to say, I’ve been a bit miserable, but I know that I’m doing the right thing by him. The last thing Josh needs right now is to get romantically involved with someone as complicated and messy as me. Josh deserves sweet and simple. Until I work more on myself, there’s no way I can be good for anyone, let alone him.
Oliver, on the other hand, is still a little pissed at Josh and his overreaction to seeing us both leaving Jane’s bedroom at her party. But I suspect it will all go away after a few glasses of wine have been had. I know them both pretty well, and they care too much about each other to let this argument go on any longer. They’re a couple of softies.
I’ve been acting like everything has been freaking peachy up here in PennyLand, and I’ve been very convincing, actually. The unsolicited visits and the uninspired excuses behind them have come to a full stop. My friends only hang out with me now when they want to and vice versa.
I was able to thank them all in person at Jane’s party individually. They were pivotal to my recovery, but after a while, they became a constant reminder, and I just couldn’t have that. I needed to find a way to move on with my life. Thankfully, no one took offense, and they understood. As a thank you, I offered to host a Friendsgiving at my apartment, which is why I am currently about to lose my mind.
“There’s no way we would’ve been able to get half the things done for this number of people with a buzz,” Jane snorts. “No possible way.”
I groan. “I know, but still!” Initially, I was going to keep it to six of my closest friends, but news spread, and I am now hosting a Thanksgiving dinner in my tiny apartment for twenty-two people! I even had to invite the weird guy from the Air Force since he overheard us talking about it after class last week. I couldn’t say no to a fellow American!
And then, Allie’s jet-setting boyfriend broke up with her and canceled their trip to Gstaad, so that was an extra person added to the dinner. Though, of course I don’t really mind because she’s obviously amazing, and I mean, itisher apartment too, to be fair. I just don’t want her to feel awkward around all these people she doesn’t know and then get overwhelmed by the mess. I even told her to stay in her room while we set everything up.
Eventually, the whole thing snowballed to a point where it had to be at least part potluck, part cooked by me, and part catered. I am doing the turkey, Josh is picking up the catered sides from Whole Foods, and then other people are bringing additional sides, alcohol, and desserts for after dinner.
Jane had come over earlier to help with the prep and the arrangements, but even with her assistance, I still haven’t been able to get dressed for the night. I’m just a sweaty, messy-haired, unmade-up mess trying to cook and organize a dinner for too many people.
I am annoyed, that’s for sure. I’ve never understood how anyone would think it’s okay to invite themselves to another person’s home. I mean, I understand that Brits don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but it’s kind of a big deal to us, and they know it. “Oh, you’re hosting a Thanksgiving dinner. How nice! I’d love to come.” I think most of the non-Americans were kind of fascinated by the idea of being part of a holiday that has essentially turned into an excuse to eat obscene amounts of food all while celebrating a horrific and controversial part of American history. They saw a chance to be a part of it, and they took it.
Ugh.
Jane quickly wipes down the kitchen table and throws a tablecloth over it. I rush over with fancy disposable plastic forks, knives, plates, and glasses and try to arrange the table as prettily as possible. There is no fucking way I’m doing twenty-two people’s worth of dishes. Our original plan was to have a sit-down dinner, all smushed together, but the table will now have to be used as a buffet, and dinner will be eaten on the couch, chairs, or standing up.
Deal with it, people.
We both hear the obnoxious buzzer alerting us to the first people to arrive.
“That better be the alcohol,” I practically growl. “Can you get that? I need to get dressed,” I say, looking down at my pajama bottoms. Jane nods with a grin, and I run into the bedroom to get dressed before someone catches me in my current state of disarray.
I’ve finally done my hair and makeup and am picking out what to wear when the door to my bedroom swings open, and someone quickly slips in. I practically throw myself into my closet, covering my body with scraps of fabric, and see a smirking Oliver standing by my bed.
“Dude, I amnude,” I say, aghast. “What are you doing in here?”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “You’re notnude—I’ve definitely seen you in far less. Is that a new lingerie set? I’ve never seen it on you.”
I roll my eyes, wrapping whatever I’m holding tighter to my body, fully aware that he’s right, that he has seen me naked more times than I can count. But things are different now. I’m different now.
“I need to speak to you before you go out there,” he says gravely.
I sigh, exasperated. “Fine, but can you please turn around so I can get dressed?” Oliver turns to face the closed door while I extricate myself from my closet and search for an outfit to wear tonight. “What do you need to talk to me about?”
I find a mod-inspired black dress with bell sleeves and a pom-pom trim which should go great with my cat-eye makeup and the half-up-half-down subtle bouffant I miraculously managed to execute in under fifteen minutes.
Oliver takes a breath and says, “So, Josh brought Eloise as a date tonight.”
My stomach drops all the way to China, and I suddenly feel an immense urge to throw up.
“Huh. Good for him,” I try to say as casually as possible. “Zip me up?”
I turn around, back facing Oliver, and watch him over my shoulder as he walks cautiously toward me, as if he’s afraid to startle me.
“You’re fine with this?” he asks, moving my hair out of the way so it doesn’t get caught in the zipper.
I try to remain expressionless, but I can feel myself wincing, hoping Oliver can’t see. “Yes. I’m okay with this in the sense that I’m glad that he’s moving on.” He finishes zipping me up and fastening the hook, so I turn to look at him. “Am Ihappyabout who he’s with? No. I think he could do way better, but whatever.”
