. . . a house party
‘Date number two!’
Noah cheers as he strolls through my door triumphantly, wielding a bottle of beer and a plastic cup of cheap wine. Then he saunters over to the bed, smoothing down a small corner before perching himself lightly on it.
It’s no surprise that the thirty-seven-euro single room lacks certain amenities, like a desk, a chair and any walkable floor space, but I was not going to let that stop me from inviting Noah in for a pre-party briefing.
Tonight is too important to get dressed without friend approval and Noah is the closest thing that I have to a jury of my peers.
‘Not necessarily! I’m still trying to figure that out.’ I hold my arms out and turn for emphasis, prompting a friendly smile as he studies me carefully.
‘I like it.’ He passes me my cup.
‘But is it enough?’ I huff, turning again. ‘I need something that’s carefree, cute and sexy in a low-key way. I can’t look like I’ve tried.’
I take a swig from the glass and am pleasantly surprised. Sweet, but strong. Not bad for the cheapest bottle I requested Noah find in a store.
‘Turn again,’ he says. I oblige. ‘Yeah, I think it hits the mark.’
I look to the mirror – wide-leg jeans, corset top, dainty necklace and hoops. It’s a classic – basic for all the right reasons. But is it enough for a potential date with an incredibly gorgeous girl? I storm into the bathroom to change.
‘So, why don’t you think it’s a date?’
He raises his voice so it carries through to my makeshift changing room. I shimmy out of my jeans, letting out a long sigh as I attempt to put the situation into words.
‘I tend to be pretty bad at gauging whether someone is into me in general, but I find it even harder with girls,’ I explain through the wall.
‘She was smiley and touchy-feely, and really welcoming, but she could have equally asked me out or just been a super-friendly straight girl who could tell I needed a friend.’
‘You have a friend,’ he says, a smattering of hurt in his voice.
I poke my head out of the bathroom to spot him clutching his beer and pouting.
‘I can have more than one friend,’ I say, before hurrying back into the bathroom and pulling the T-shirt dress over my head.
I wait for him to object, but as I emerge in outfit number two I see his face has settled into a much gentler smile. Clearly my statement was the confirmation he needed that we are, indeed, friends after all.
‘I preferred number one,’ he says.
‘But do you think she would?’ I ask, twisting as I stare at myself in the mirror.
‘I don’t know her. But she should be so lucky to have you in any form.’
My heart skips a little faster. It’s dangerous.
‘That isn’t helpful!’ I scream at him before running back into the bathroom.
Outfit number three is a little bolder – a black miniskirt, the corset top from before, my black leather blazer and a pair of gorgeous dangly oval earrings I stole from Sara. I rush out of the room, telling him to hold all his opinions until I’ve finished donning my black thigh-high boots.
‘That’s the one,’ he says as soon as I’m done.
‘Are you saying it because you mean it or because you’re sick of me playing dress-up?’ I ask.
‘No, you look hot. If she wasn’t into you before, she for sure will be now.’
It’s the second look-based compliment in under five minutes and while I know that’s the point of the try-on, it feels different coming from him.
‘This isn’t weird for you, right?’ I ask hesitantly.
His features freeze briefly, before slipping into something more quizzical.
‘Why would this be weird?’ he asks slowly.
‘Because . . .’ I trail off, growing shy.
This shouldn’t be that awkward. This can’t be awkward. We’re in this together now. But still, I feel the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me unable to look him in the eye.
‘Because we kissed?’ he asks.
I can hear the smile in his voice, undoubtedly feeding off my awkwardness. I nod softly, trying to keep my face blank as I look away. It’s no use – I absolutely reek of nerves.
He chuckles lightly.
‘Did you find our kiss weird?’
I risk a glance upwards to find him leaning back against the wall, smirking. It stills my breath instantly and I mutter a reply. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then why are you being so strange?’
He moves from the wall over towards me, leaning close, his lip curled. ‘Want to kiss again so you can confirm?’
My breath leaves my body, eyes widening. Just the thought of his lips on mine again has sent my temperature through the roof. This cannot be normal. Why on earth would he even . . .
‘I’m joking,’ he says, breaking into a laugh. ‘But the look on your face is only a little offensive.’
‘Terrible joke aside, maybe we should add to the ground rules.’ I say, trying to regain composure. I avoid his eyes completely as I saunter over to the bed, reaching straight for my laptop and opening up the document with haste.
8. No referencing that one time we kissed.
‘Works for me.’ He nods, reading over my shoulder.
‘And maybe we can find you someone at the party too!’ I say.
‘Well, yeah, I’d assumed so. That’s why you invited me, right?’
I feel my breath hitch at the thought of him going tonight just to find a new girl.
It makes sense, of course; it’s what he’s set out to do and I literally promised to help him do it.
He should absolutely assume that’s why I invited him .
. . it’s why I should have invited him. It should have nothing to do with my inexplicable want to have him around.
I give him a brisk nod before rummaging in my suitcase for the one semi-smart handbag I brought with me – the same small black leather shoulder bag I’ve owned since I was eighteen.
When Paige bought it for me as my ‘first baby designer purchase’, I barely registered how significant it was and treated it no differently to any of my twenty-pound high-street handbags.
I’m reminded of that as I take in the tarnished gold and worn leather, and vague stickiness from the tales of nights out past. I unclasp it and move my hand around the inside, attempting to puff it back into its formerly structured shape.
Then, once I’ve accepted it’s the best it will get, I chuck in my phone, purse, mirror, keys and chewing gum, and we head out.
The tram ends up taking longer than we anticipated due to some aggressive bystander holding it up, so by the time we get to her door we are far more than fashionably late.
I frantically check the time on the walk up, worried we’ll have missed the peak of the party, but we hear the music before we’ve even turned the corner and I know we’ll be just fine.
‘Hallo! Hoe is het?’
The people who open the door are loud and drunk and, though welcoming, there’s a distinct worry in their voices as they stare down the two strangers in front of them. Even more so as we stare back blankly at them.
‘Anglais?’ Noah replies clunkily.
It’s not even remotely the same language and is relayed in a more British accent than I’ve heard from him so far. But they nod understandingly nonetheless, smiling at the confused English speakers in front of them.
‘Who do you know?’ one asks slowly, in a thick Dutch accent.
‘Er, Amelie? She invited me earlier this week,’ I say, babbling.
Their faces shift instantly from confusion to excitement as they move to unblock the entrance.
‘Ah, of course! Come in.’
We follow them through the doorway and into the barrage of people waiting inside.
It’s moderately sized, probably more than enough space on an average day but significantly cramped and quite stuffy on a night like tonight.
People lurk everywhere, from the walls to the sofas to the floor, spilling out through the double doors at the back.
But nobody seems to mind the lack of space or the packed-in bodies.
They all sway to the music, sip their wine and regale each other with their stories.
It’s different to the house parties I frequent back at home – more subdued, with an air of serenity among the noise.
‘Do you see her?’ Noah whispers, lips pressed against my ear.
I scan the room as fast as possible, scared that I’ll see her too quickly or make eye contact for too long and kill the vibe before it’s even really started.
Then I don’t see her at all and feel my stomach sink at the thought of coming all this way to never even find out if she liked me.
We start to make our way towards the kitchen to grab some plastic cups for the supermarket wine we bought on the way, but as we get closer I feel a delicate hand lock itself around my wrist and twist me towards them.
‘Amorie!’ Amelie drops my hand to embrace me in an ecstatic hug.
She pulls me tightly to her, hair cascading over my face and bringing with it a waft of her strawberry perfume.
‘You made it!’ she squeals, finally pulling away. ‘And you look amazing. Love the boots.’
I squeak a reply. ‘Thank you.’
She pauses, a demure smile on her face as she locks eyes with me expectantly. My heart jumps as I realise far too late that she’s waiting for a compliment back.
‘You look great too,’ I manage to say. It’s very stilted. She can tell.
She coos, going with it anyway. ‘Thanks.’
I look her over from top to bottom, trying to fathom the words to describe just how beautiful she looks.
She clearly also went for the hot, sexy, carefree vibe, but, unlike me, she managed to deliver it effortlessly.
Her hair still flows down her back in its crinkled beach waves, the top parts clipped in two butterfly clips either side of her head, and her outfit makes her look like she just skipped out of a Hollister magazine ad.
She went for a white lacy crop top, her pale, toned stomach and belly-button piercing on show, patterned flowy trousers and a pair of metallic sandals.
I feel incredibly overdressed and significantly less toned.
I cross my arms around the slither of belly peeking out under my corset.
‘And nice house,’ I continue, feeling more awkward than last time and with an intonation that implies I have more to follow.