326 Days #2
In the past eight years, Rhea Darby had attended twenty-three baby showers.
She had gotten disturbingly good at guessing how many pastel M she was not a parent, and standing in front of everyone, racking her brain to think of wisdom she did not possess, perpetually challenged her ability to feign having a blast. One of the lovely things about this baby shower was the lack of “Parenting Advice” cards, since this was Zoe’s second child and she presumably no longer needed them.
The other lovely thing about this baby shower was the location; a party at Tiny’s house always meant an abundance of fancy food and alcohol.
But although Rhea had just finished her third Clase Azul margarita and was embarking upon her second plate of grass-fed brisket, she could not shake the feelings of isolation and otherness.
No matter how many times she attended weddings and baby showers without a plus-one, the loneliness still stung, and instead of dulling over time, it sharpened.
Rhea knew she did not have to be alone; she could track down one of her friends and help them wrangle their toddlers or pretend to have an adult conversation while they kept one eye and half their brain focused on their offspring.
She could force Tiny to leave the group of mommies-to-be she was standing in, but she just wanted to find a single, nonpregnant woman to talk to about anything other than marriage or motherhood.
The only woman who fit that description was Zoe’s fourteen-year-old niece, and Rhea considered it, but the girl’s eyes were chained to her phone.
Rhea had no choice but to do the very scary thing she had been avoiding: ditch her giant plate of meat and find Cute Guy.
As she stealthily searched, she overheard a group of moms complaining about lack of sleep and a group of dads bragging about their child’s height percentile.
She walked by a couple holding hands, admiring the artwork on Tiny’s wall, wondering aloud if they were actually in the presence of an authentic Hockney; they were.
Just as Rhea was about to start asking strangers if they had seen the cute guy wearing a hat with Zoe getting her first tattoo on it, she spotted him in conversation with an unknown man.
She gathered all her courage, took a deep breath, and…
slowly walked past him. She stepped behind a corner and resisted the urge to peek out and see if she had successfully pulled his attention.
She waited a few minutes before deciding to do one more lap.
This time, she moved so close to him that their arms brushed, but she smoothly kept walking.
After a few more minutes of hiding behind another corner, she feared Cute Guy was not falling for her bold mating dance. There was a high probability that he had not been flirting with her and genuinely just wanted a hat; this thought was too depressing to bear.
Her only option was to interrupt his conversation and witness whether his face fell in disappointment or lit up with delight; the thought of doing so made her hands cramp.
She needed another drink before she could barge in and force herself on the poor guy.
She ordered a margarita and decided to head outside and drink it all by herself to highlight the fact that she was alone in the world.
She found a spot in the backyard that overlooked Tiny’s stunning new vegetable garden and sat down in the immaculate grass.
The sun was kissing her face, trying to cheer her up, but she ignored the persistent warmth and sank further into her funk, consoled only by her incredible margarita, which she was now sadly one swallow away from finishing and then being truly friendless.
“Rhea?” a low voice said, and Rhea turned to find Cute Guy standing over her.
Her mouth was full of margarita, so she could only say, “Mmhmm.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Rhea scooted over. She absolutely hated herself for scooting over. She was sitting on an enormous mound of grass; there was at least an acre of room for him to sit down, and yet she scooted over. Fortunately, he did not seem to notice and sat next to her.
“Good news for you. This is the best spot in the house,” she said. Tequila had thankfully lubricated her earlier awkwardness. Her tongue felt loose with tipsy flirtation.
“Really?”
“Oh, definitely, look at that.” She pointed to half a dozen elevated garden beds bursting with life.
Eggplant and zucchini gleamed in the sun.
Plump tomatoes weighed down their vines.
Trellises held green beans and squash while butterflies and bees hovered above the whole overwhelming display of abundance.
“Ah, you picked this spot for the view,” he said.
“Well, yeah, but the whole thing looks fake…’cause it is.”
“You don’t think those are real vegetables?”
“No, no, they are, but neither Tiny nor Jason planted them. I guarantee they paid a small fortune to have some company come in and install this whole charade to make them look like they have a green thumb. That, my friend, is a bullshit garden.”
He laughed. “So cynical.”
“I just know Tiny better than she knows herself.”
“How did you guys meet?”
“High school.”
“Which one?”
“Auburn Sinclair,” she said with an apology in her tone.
“Ah, I see—”
“No, you don’t see—”
“I don’t?”
“No, ’cause you’re thinking, ‘Oh, Auburn Sinclair, this lady grew up super rich just like Tiny, ’cause she went to an impossibly expensive L.A. private school.’ ”
“And being rich is a bad thing?”
“Well, no, not necessarily, but I wasn’t rich,” she said while poking a drunken finger into his shoulder, which pushed back in a surprisingly muscular kind of way.
Although Rhea used Celine sweaters to create an image of wealth, she did not want people to assume she grew up with that wealth.
She knew the judgment the children of the rich received for being born on third base, and since she was born in the backseat on the way to the game, she wanted credit for having earned her successful-adult status all by herself.
“Well, I actually have a one hundred percent foolproof test to find out if someone grew up rich,” he said.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Have you ever been camping?”
She paused, and he laughed.
“See? Wealthy kids do not go camping, it’s just a fact.”
“Well…actually no, I have never been camping.”
“No camping and Auburn Sinclair? It’s okay, just come clean.”
“Wait! You’ve got me all wrong. It’s just that my childhood was too…complicated for camping.”
“Then how did you end up at Auburn Sinclair?”
“I had a rich aunt.”
“She paid for your private school? Dang, my aunt only knits me scarves.”
“Good scarves?” Rhea asked with a tipsy smile.
“Well, I’ve never shown them to anyone because my instinct is that they’re terrible scarves, but I’d love to get your opinion….”
“Don’t worry, I work in fashion, I’ll sort this whole thing out,” she said, sounding impressively casual about the fact that he may have just asked her on a date.
“Thank God, what if I’ve been keeping amazing scarves in a box under my bed for thirty years?”
Rhea laughed. They locked eyes; his were a shade of brown that reminded Rhea of a redwood tree. When he smiled, the skin around them crinkled in a way that made her feel wholly safe and in way over her head.
“So, your aunt paid for your private school?” he prompted, waiting to hear more.
Was he reasking her a question? Rhea found that men usually did not ask her a question even once, much less twice.
Besides her closest friends, who were genuinely interested in her, she moved through the world listening.
She learned at a young age that most people love talking about themselves and loathe listening to other people.
She thought the world was greatly imbalanced, for if everyone is a speaker and no one is a listener, then to whom do the speakers speak?
So, she decided to fill the vacant slot of listener and became quite good at it.
She was so unused to being asked questions that this cute guy’s genuine interest was jarring.
He was making her feel like an entire person and not just a pair of ears waiting to absorb endless stories.
But the answer to that particular question was going to bring down the vibe too much, so she just said, “It’s a long story. ”
Before he could respond, the entire party began encroaching on their private area.
Tiny had hired a photographer who, unbeknownst to Rhea and Danny, had been setting up and precariously climbing a fifty-foot ladder behind them.
All the revelers were now filling the backyard and smooshing together to get into one giant group photo.
Rhea and Danny quickly picked up their drinks to avoid being trampled, and just as Danny was about to ask Rhea… something, Ada screamed her name.
“I probably have to go stand with them,” Rhea said quickly.
“Of course, it was nice meeting you—” Danny said as several people pushed in between them to get closer to the camera, and the crowd carried them apart.
—