Page 4 of The New Year's Party
There will be a craft involving glue guns, various games and capers, with opportunities for embarrassing spontaneous musical performances, and—one hopes—drunken revelations of various and sundry dark secrets.
The menu will be as follows:
Appetizers
Fig spread on crackers
Charcuterie board with local honey
and stone-ground mustard
Salad
Seared scallops
on a bed of arugula with a miso glaze
Main
Filet of salmon
with a side of roasted vegetables
Multigrain dinner rolls
Dessert
Chocolate mousse with whipped cream
and raspberry sauce
Formal attire suggested, high spirits required.
Please RSVP by 12/15/2019 with a text to the host.
Sincerely,
Nathaniel S. Phelps
Host, Chef, Master of Ceremonies and Secrets
P.S. No children and no excuses. BE THERE MOTHERFUCKERS!
Chapter 1
Bennett
December 31, 8:30 a.m.
“So... New Year’s Eve. It’s finally here.” Bennett looked at Olivia, who despite the early-ish hour was chopping scallions at the kitchen counter barefoot, in a pencil skirt, her blouse untucked, her dark curly hair gathered back in a clip. She didn’t respond right away, but he knew she heard him because she shifted her weight. She always shifted her weight when she was thinking.
Damn, he loved looking at his wife. He had ever since he walked into Art History 101 and sat behind the pale girl with the stormy hair and the stunning shoulders. Phelps had scoffed.Really? You moved all the way to Bloomington, Indiana, and you’re spending thousands of dollars so you can look at the back of this chick’s neck while some asshole tells you that da Vinci was apretty talentedguy?
Whatever. Phelps took it all back when Bennett finally introduced him to Olivia—incidentally, at their first New Year’s party, back in 2005. Phelps pulled Bennett aside, handed him a shot, and said,Welldone, Son of the Rust Belt.
“It is indeed December thirty-first,” Olivia finally said, deadpan. Her chopping increased in intensity.
Bennett cleared his throat. Olivia had a way of... well... killing a conversation. Decapitating it, actually. Of course, shehad pointed out recently thathewas in the habit of making statements that didn’t require an answer. He supposed what he’d really meant to do was coax some expression of enthusiasm from her about tonight. But he rallied. He had learned, after twelve years of marriage, to always rally.
