Page 94 of The New Year's Party
“So sad.”
Bennett sat on the edge of the bed and bounced lightly. “It did make me think... it could be good to see everyone again. You know?”
“We’re in the middle of a pandemic.”
“We need something to look forward to. Come on. New Year’s is six months away. The numbers are totally going down. It’ll be over by the fall.”
Olivia carefully probed the edges of this idea in her mind. Their house was big enough to host... It would be a totally different kind of party—no drugs, no drama... They could send the kids to her parents’ house for the night...
“I don’t know, Bennett. I don’t think anyone wants to relive what happened.”
“But we had nine awesome parties before that. We can’t let the last one have the last word. These are still our friends. Anyway, it won’t be the same at all. We’ll do super tame stuff.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Making hats and eating salmon was pretty tame—”
“—and Phelps has already agreed to cook, as long as he’s not hosting, and Will actually said he would come, and guess what Phelps found? Remember that old game we did with the secret wish in the bottle? And we promised to open them five years later, but we forgot, and then Phelps thought he lost the bottles...”
“Bennett,no. We should destroy those bottles.”
“Well, let’s at least think about it. I’m picturing a ‘just us’ year. Keep it small. Phelps, Hellie, Bunny, Will, Ted, Allie—”
“Allie?”
“She went through all that stuff with us too.”
“She wouldn’t want to come.” Olivia didn’t even want to go.
“Probably not. But it would be a nice gesture.”
“And I don’t think Ted should come. Ireallydon’t want hard drugs in the house.”
“Okaaaaay,” said Bennett, nodding slowly. “I can understand your hesitation on that count... but we don’t have to finalize the guest list today, right? We can think about it?”
“Ifthere’s a party.”
“If there’s a party,” repeated Bennett with a grin.
Olivia pursed her lips. “We’ll think about it.” Anyway, Bennett was delusional. There was no way the pandemic would be over by Christmas.
There was a cry from somewhere in the house.
“I’d better check on that,” said Bennett, standing. He glanced at the computer, sitting closed on Olivia’s lap. “Hey—work going okay?”
She’d gotten a ton more freelance work in the past few months, to the point where she’d actually had to turn downjobs for the first time. It was a little weird to be thriving during a pandemic that was hurting so many others, but for her mental health, she’d had to decide that wasn’t her guilt to bear.
“Fine,” she said, blowing Bennett a kiss as he exited.
Once the door was closed again, she opened her laptop and faced the email she’d been working on for the past six months.
She’d rewritten it so many times.
First, she told her whole story, every detail she could remember. The email ended up being twenty pages long, and when she reread it, Olivia felt like she’d thrown up all over the computer. She trashed it. The second time, she went right to the core, stripping the story down to the simple facts. She hated that version just as much. She rewrote. Rewrote again, trying to understand not only what the story was, but how much of it was hers, and how much of it could—should?—belong to someone else. It was painful work. Emotionally draining work. Necessary work.
Bennett knew she was writing it. He just didn’t know she was going to send it today.
She’d tell him tonight. And then, they’d toast, she decided. In a minute, she would get up and put the bottle of champagne in to chill, the bottle she’d bought in January when she decided she had to do this. What had happened to her was nothing to celebrate. But moving forward in courage was. It had taken her long enough—seventeen years, at this point. But like the wintering corn, it wasn’t too late.
She skimmed it one final time.
