Page 40 of The New Year's Party
Phelps towered over them. “This is my house. My party. For one night, we are all going to get along.” His voice was grimly instructive. “The restaurant is gone. It has been for five years. And you know what? Old Eddie Duszynski died in that fire. So let’s not go around flinging accusations of so-and-so burning the place down. It was an accident, and it wasruledan accident. End of story.” He picked up his wineglass, slowly, calmly. Though—was that a tiny tremble in his hand? “Time for another toast. To Eddie, who owned an incredible diner and made the best goddamn hash browns I’ve ever tasted.” He raised his glass higher and addressed the ceiling. “Eddie, if you can hear me above the sound of the heavenly harps, cheers to a life well-lived.”
“We love you, man,” said Doug, lifting his water glass high.
“To Eddie,” everyone murmured.
Hellie yelped as some of her wine spilled. They all drank.
Phelps lowered his glass. “Now we’re going to get back into the party spirit. I’m going to serve the chocolate mousse. We’re going to reminisce about better times and wax nostalgic and indulge ingoodfeelings. Bennett, I’m tasking you with starting us off on a different topic, like—”
“That new virus!” said Bunny. “Haven’t you guys heard? It was in the—”
“Not that,” said Phelps.
“Star Wars,” said Bennett, rolling up his shirtsleeves and planting his hands on the table, and Olivia had to admire the confident way her husband was taking the reins. “The Rise of Skywalker, your hottest take, go, and you all better have seen it.”
Some light laughter followed. Jenn was looking down at her plate, but Ted was grinning, like it was no big deal to him to move on after throwing his bomb.
And it was a bomb. Purely destructive. It would be utter nonsense for Jennifer Bernanke—at the time, mother of twokids, one of them a newborn—to ask someone to burn down a restaurant. Like Jenn said, she and Will had invested in the venture. Why would Tedsaysuch a thing? Then again, maybe the wordswhyandTeddidn’t belong in the same sentence. A national finalist in Speech and Debate who turned to drug dealing for no apparent reason? Who could be that smart and that stupid? Ted didn’t make sense. End of story.
Just minutes ago, Olivia had felt euphoric. Now, she looked around the table at them all. Dressed up. Looking kind of old. Kind of sad. An assembly of poor choices, pretending it was all still okay, like their mistakes hadn’t defined their lives in irreversible ways.
That’s what youth didn’t get. What young Olivia didn’t get at the first party, when they’d all been so enthusiastic about each other, themselves, and their friendship. The irreversibility of it all. The tragedy of choice. The length of its arm, and the sharpness of its nails.
“I’ll help you bring the dessert in, Phelps,” said Olivia, suddenly desperate to get up and do something.
“Me too,” said Bunny.
The three of them went to the kitchen. Phelps held the streamers aside for both her and Bunny to pass through.
“And someone turn on some damn music!” shouted Phelps before letting the streamers fall back into place.
“On it,” Doug shouted back. “Hellie, is your phone working here?”
Phelps took a minute leaning against the counter in the kitchen, his arms braced, his head hanging. Bunny and Olivia didn’t move. “Tonight, Tonight” started playing from the dining room, faintly, and Olivia registered Doug’s voice saying, “Cheap move, right? I mean, come on, Palpatine? Again?”
Olivia flashed a look at Bunny, who was looking at her, but quickly looked away. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so she didn’t say anything.
“If someone set that fire, they murdered Old Eddie,” Phelps finally said without looking at them. He took off his party hat and carefully set it on the counter. “But that’s not what happened. The fire was accidental.”
Olivia swallowed. Bunny didn’t say anything either, but she shook her head quietly.
Finally, Phelps straightened up. He clapped his hands together.
“Okay. Dessert time.” He moved to the fridge and passed out the first dainty glasses filled with mousse and whipped cream, with a red sauce drizzled over top. Bunny took them and bounced off to the dining room.
As Phelps handed Olivia a glass, he didn’t let go when she tried to pull her hand away. She laughed nervously and tugged, but he tugged back, forcing her to take a wobbling step toward him.
“Hey. Why did you tell Bennett that we slept together?” he said quietly.
A beat of numbness, then adrenaline, filled Olivia’s body. After their conversation earlier fizzled, she’d thought that Phelps didn’t want to talk about it. By dinner, she’d made her peace with that. It was behind them. Crisis averted. And now...
“No!” Bennett’s voice, loud with jocular intensity, coming from the dining room. “Kylo didn’t deserve to live! Have we all forgotten the slaughter of the villagers?”
“I wanted him to know,” Olivia whispered back. Her legs felt weak. Her head felt fuzzy, her tongue thick. She couldn’t breathe. “He—he deserved to know. But it’s okay. It wasn’t a surprise, actually. He already knew.”
Phelps pulled on the mousse-filled glass, tugging Olivia even closer. Their faces were inches away, concealed from whoever might come into the kitchen by the fridge door. His voice was intense.
“I’m confused. How did healready know, exactly?”
