Page 44 of The New Year's Party
“I’ve never shot anything,” said Olivia, gathering her knee up in a feline move, as if she expected she might be allowed to stay put. “How cold is it? Do you think we need our coats?”
“It’s easy. You’ll be great,” said Hellie encouragingly.
“I’ll get your coat,” said Bennett, making for the front entry.
“Isn’t it too dark?” said Jenn, looking concerned. “I’m just thinking about safety...”
“Safety should be the least of your concerns,” said Phelps, rising. “You should be worried aboutwinning, Jennifer. Because,Doug excepted, the loser is going to be drunk as hell. I’m going to see to it personally.” He pointed at Doug. “Pepsi for you.”
“She always wins,” said Will suddenly. He thrust an arm around Jenn’s neck, tugged her close, and planted a kiss on her head. “Weshouldplace bets. My money’s on her.”
“Stop it,” said Jenn playfully, wriggling to escape Will’s arm.
“Aw, you guys are so cute,” said Allie.
“No betting on the competition!” said Phelps, feeling a mad current enter his body. No more of this morose, downer energy. Time for a move, time for a change. Time to turn this fucking party around. “It’s every man for himself.”
Chapter 22
Jenn
We head to the backyard through the sliding glass door off the kitchen, down the deck stairs, and into what’s basically a mud pit from the earlier sleet. I’m in my fancy red peacoat with the brass buttons. As we squelch our way across the yard to the back of the property, with everyone’s phone flashlights scattering beams into the darkness, I force myself to accept that my heels are pretty much going to be ruined. But there are bigger things at play tonight than shoes.
Phelps is in the lead, carrying two battery-powered camping lanterns, and Bennett’s behind him carrying a yellow crate full of china plates that Phelps picked up at Goodwill for the sole purpose of destroying. There’s a little wind picking up. It rustles through the pines at the edge of the backyard.
“Okay, folks, this is where the fun begins,” says Phelps as he positions the lanterns on either side of a battered red-and-blue kid-size plastic picnic table. He grabs a plate and tries to lean it between the bench seat and the table. Unsurprisingly, the gap is too big. “Huh,” says Phelps.
“Oh, this is gonna be awesome,” says Ted, who carried the tequila for Phelps and is now pulling shot glasses from his coat pockets. Nope, I am not touching anything Ted has touched.
“Are those Santa plates?” says Hellie, setting a can of DietPepsi down on the table, looking small in her oversized army green puffer coat. “We can’t break Santa!”
“Santa is the original criminal,” says Doug, the only one of us still wearing his party hat. He breaks into a faux-rap. “Stalking you all year with a belly full of beer, checkin’ to see if you’re naughty or nice, his list is exhaustive and precise, Santa’s ruthless, and toothless, dude’sold, so cold, living in the North fucking Pole—”
“Oh, my God, you’re right!” says Bunny. “So creepy, when you think about it. Coming down the chimney, right? Breaking and entering—”
“Landing in the fire,” Doug picks up, “he’s sweltering, sheltering in your house, quiet as a mouse, he’ll grin in the pyre ’cause he ain’t gonna grouse—”
Will beatboxes with his mouth, which he is not very skilled at. Doug goes on for way too many verses. Also,numberdoesn’t rhyme withfumble. They finish in some kind of rapper pose and laugh. Olivia and Bunny clap. Allie whistles and Hellie hugs Doug from behind. Phelps is still struggling to figure out how to put the stupid plates on the stupid bench. Children, I swear.
Okay, maybe that was mean. Still. The adulting vibes are not vibing tonight. Then again, have they ever with this group?Willthey ever?
“Okay, okay, okay,” says Phelps. “So while I figure out how to line up these plates so we have something to aim at, let me tell you the rules.” He explains about taking shots if you miss, which, by the way, I am absolutely not participating in, and it’s not just the Ted germs all over the shot glasses. Drunkenness might appeal to some. Not to me. I’ve seen how it can destroy a life, and I don’t just mean Doug’s. Why would you ever imbibe a substance that makes you not only act like an idiot but come back for more? It’s common sense. Also, the fact that we’re all drinking in front of an alcoholic? I think we could be a little more supportive of Doug.
I hate how recklessness is so applauded in our culture. People are always talking about women who are “controlling,” like it’s a bad thing. A trait of our sex that makes us insufferable. The phrase “loosen up”? I can’t stand it. Loosening up means beingoutof control. Which is just stupid.
Speaking of stupid, I could easily solve their ridiculous plate problem. Phelps, Bennett, and now Will are all trying to find a way to set them up. I could solve it in a second, tell them to put the plates ontopof the table, into the gap between the plastic boards, but since I have no desire for this game to progress, I don’t.
In fact, in general, just because womencando something, doesn’t mean theyshould. I know this isn’t exactly a popular view in today’s day and age, but I signed up for a marriage where the man is the leader of the family. And trust me, I’d love nothing more than to submit. To respect Will and let him be the primary decision-maker.
My insides squeeze into a familiar fist. All I want is to be taken care of. The money Will threw at Phelps, five years ago, without even consulting me? It took a hit. All of a sudden, my grocery budget is cut inhalf. Oblivious Will even said, “Beans, again?” I’ll never forget it.Yes, beans again, babe.But the financial pinch was nothing compared to the pain of Will’s clear message to me:You are not my priority.He might as well have shouted it. Even now, remembering that hurt, it’s nearly as vivid as it used to be. Nearly as sharp. “Hey,” he said when I finally broke down after the beans comment. “I know it’s tighter than usual, but, babe, you’re strong, we’ll get through it.”Don’t you get it?I wanted to scream at him.I don’t want tohaveto be strong! I don’t want my strength to be the reason everyone is allowed toneglectme!But I held it in.
I’ve held a lot of things in.
Will was supposed to get his MBA, not end up as a middle manager forever. He was supposed to lead us in family devotions, not start doubting God’s very goodness. He was supposed to dedicate himself to the girls and me, not fritter away our time and money on the pit that is his “friends.” And then, of course, there’s the offense I can’t get over. The one that embarrasses me to even talk about. The one that sounds so ridiculous that the elder board at our church, who I shared Will’s behavior with so they couldhelpme, didn’t even take meseriously at first.
“Chilly, isn’t it?” Olivia gives me a little smile. We’ve both hung back as the boys—and now Hellie, she’s always been such a little tomboy—continue to struggle over their simple problem. Bunny, phone in hand, is now protesting that these plates sell on eBay for at least fifteen bucks apiece and Phelps is asking her if dildo sales are down this year.
“Muddy too,” I add. I have the sense that Olivia wants to talk to me, maybe? Good, because I want to talk to her too.
