Chapter 26 New Year’s Eve
I’m more than halfway through my living time allotment and I can’t believe how quickly it is going. The magical Christmas snow has melted, leaving only brown, slushy patches in the sidewalk’s shadows. A hundred stomping feet have leached all the sorcery out of it.
bird calendar, making my monthly countdown almost fun because the Ruby-crowned Kinglet, the Great Spotted
Woodpecker, and the Juniper Titmouse marks each of the next three months.
Jake and I are going to a New Year’s Eve party Jake’s parents insisted we attend.
We’re not thrilled, but to keep the peace, as Jake says, we’re going.
Jake uses so many war terms when dealing with his family.
All the references make me worry that something bigger is gathering just over the horizon, and we need to be prepared for some sort of flank attack.
“You promise this won’t be another Vogue party?” I ask. “I really don’t want to go if it is.”
“Definitely, it won’t be anything like that. There will be no random Danny running around accosting you,” he states emphatically. Jake had insisted on knowing the whole story, so a few weeks ago, I finally told him. He winced his way through every sordid detail.
“What you need to worry about is being bored to death. These people are miserable. Nothing’s worse than a bunch of Wall Street fat cats trying to make merry and ring in the New Year so they can continue to fleece America,” he snorts with a laugh.
Jake shrugs on his suit jacket and eyes the frosted window, looking miserable. My heart aches for him. He really hates everything about what his parents are forcing him into.
Glancing down, I smooth my new party dress.
Since I will never wear my maroon dress again, I bought this one at Barneys—on the discount rack; the cost wasn’t absurd—and my mother and I made the few adjustments needed, as there is no fancy fitting service for the discount rack.
The dress is black with silver piping around the edges with a little silver belt. My silver shoes go perfectly with it.
I consulted Vee for makeup help earlier, and she worked her magic from far away through FaceTime.
She had me reblend my eyeshadow twice, but overall, she gave me a big thumbs up by the end of the session.
Jake was very accommodating, holding the phone through the whole consultation, all the while peppering Vee with questions about what was going on with her.
She’s home now for good (fingers crossed) and attending AA meetings every day.
She sounded strong and upbeat. When we hang up, Jake peruses my face and nods his head approvingly, whispering, “Stunning,” almost to himself.
I feel my cheeks flush, and I glance in the mirror again, tilting my head at my reflection. Stunning echoes in my head.
We head down to our waiting taxi and jump into the backseat. As we drive to the party, I get a rush of excitement despite Jake’s description of the party.
A fancy New Year’s Eve party with my fiancé, who just said I was stunning. What could be better?
The party is in a large hotel ballroom, and champagne is flowing when we arrive.
I see immediately, this party is very different from the Vogue party.
You can hear yourself talk over the band that is playing off to one side.
They’re playing a swaying waltz and not the electronic pulsating beat that made my heart pound erratically and assaulted my eardrums. People are dressed up, but there are no angels walking around in the crowd.
We spot Carol and Oliver sitting at a table with two other couples on the far side of the ballroom. We introduce ourselves to the table and take the two available chairs. Oliver is all business and barely acknowledges us.
He waves over a server, “Bottle of Pappy’s bourbon for the table. Make it quick, I’m thirsty.”
George, the man at the table with a southern accent, claps Oliver on the back announcing loudly, “Now we’re talking! The best deals always happen with good bourbon.”
The server brings eight glasses, and all the women demur when offered a glass. Jake does the same, but when Oliver shoots him a look, he sighs and signals to the server that he will take a glass.
“And a side of water, too, please,” Jake says.
“I’d like water too, thank you!” I pipe up.
George does a little eye roll to Oliver who shrugs and mouths, “Amateurs.”
Once the bottle is set in the center of the table, Oliver grabs for it and pours generously.
Servers with food trays come by periodically, and Carol and the other two women keep declining while Jake and I are trying many delectable items.
Turning to the ladies, I gush, “This one is really good. You should try it. It’s shrimp and something else.”
Winnie replies drily, “Oh yes, I’m sure it is, but do you know how many calories are in one of those bites?”
Scrutinizing the little tidbit, I shake my head. Winnie doesn’t respond and I realize it was a rhetorical question. Winnie is pencil-thin, like Carol, and her face looks tight and drawn.
Jake leans toward me and whispers, “Eat it. Don’t listen to them. They haven’t been able to enjoy food for years.”
Studying the women, I see a weird similarity despite the obvious difference in height, coloring and facial features.
What is similar is how they all hold themselves rigidly, as if they aren’t breathing.
It’s like they are trying to hold themselves together, seemingly worried they may shatter into a million pieces at any moment, revealing their true selves to the harsh world.
Studying them, something dawns on me: I’m not looking to swap one box for another—especially not one so confining it tells you what to eat, what to wear, even how to think.
My box may be small, but now I realize there is room for joy within it.
We savor good and hearty Polish food without guilt, relishing every bite.
And as for work, I’ll gladly stick with my humble job helping feathered friends rather than spending my days feathering my nest. I giggle at my cleverness.
Jake elbows me and whispers, “What’s so funny?”
“A bird pun,” I say cheekily. “I’ll tell you later.”
Jake shoots back, “A bird pun? Now that I must hear.”
I shush him, reddening. The other man, whose name I forgot, glances over, shakes his head, and remarks snidely, “You and those birds.”
My face falls at his tone and I raise my eyebrows in surprise, as I didn’t think anyone even knew about my job. Carol or Oliver must have said something about it before we arrived. Although that seems unlikely, as this crowd presumes women don’t have jobs worth talking about.
Easing out of his chair, Jake takes my hand and says, “Be back shortly,” to the table.
Over the clink of glasses, no one pays us any attention.
We stroll around the ballroom together. Jake says hi to a few people and introduces me as his fiancée, which is met with appraising looks, and I try to meet their questioning stares with confidence and warmth.
It’s draining for both of us. We stumble upon a sumptuous buffet tucked in a corner and we dig in, loading up our plates with a selection of extravagant meat carvings and fancy side dishes.
We find ourselves a secluded tall table where we eat standing up.
I enjoy every bite; glad the women’s disapproving eyes are no longer drilling into me.
After we’ve eaten our fill, we wander over to a bar area and Jake orders us sparkling water that comes in fancy fluted glasses. We meander back to the table, knowing we must, as it would be rude to stay away too long.
George and Oliver are now talking loudly, both intent on one upping the other in telling stories of their less than scrupulous business dealings. They are both red-faced, and the bourbon bottle is almost empty. Carol has a pained look on her normally placid face.
When we sit down at the table, Oliver focuses his glassy eyes on Jake, exclaiming loudly, “There’s my boy.
Jake, where have you been? I’ve been telling George here how you are going to start working at the firm soon.
Can’t wait to have you on board. We need new thinking and fresh eyes.
I’m thinking, George, he may be your account manager if we seal our deal.
Jake is great. He just needs to get his head out of the clouds and start pulling his weight. ”
Jake smiles tightly and inclines his head in George’s direction.
Glancing at Jake’s watch, I see it’s 11:30 p.pm. I figure we have another hour before we can make our escape. As I’m making my calculations, Carol leans over to Jake and whispers something I can’t hear. Jake flashes his eyes towards Oliver and then back at Carol, who looks agitated.
Jake puts his arm around me and pulls me close to him. “We are going to try to get Oliver out of here without making a scene,” he whispers. “Oliver drunk can be pretty ugly. Okay?”
I nod quickly, glad we don’t need to hang out for another hour.
Suddenly, George shoves the table a bit and warns angrily, “Watch it, Oliver. Let’s not get nasty here. We’re all enjoying ourselves.”
Oliver’s face flushes red and spittle forms in the corners of his mouth as he struggles to come up with a retort. He violently pushes up from the table and his chair bangs over behind him.
Jake jumps up, grabs the chair, and says smoothly, “Oliver, let’s go make the rounds. You wanted to introduce me to some other folks here tonight, right?”
Oliver squints at Jake, looking a little confused, but Jake links arms with him and he allows himself to be led away.
Carol watches them go, then just as smoothly as her son says, “Well, it was a lovely evening. Such wonderful company. Happy New Year to you all. Emma, dear, come along.”