They both end up hating me forever.
These are the only outcomes I can think of.
“Or we could stay in the kitchen! The whole night!” I add.
“No. I have a thing or two to say to your sister before the night is through.”
“What?”
Jason tries to give me one of those looks that locks from the inside. “I never had a chance with you because I never had a chance of getting your sister’s approval. And even though she won in the end, I’ve always regretted not putting up more of a fight. Your invitation seemed like the perfect opportunity. I mean, in two weeks I’ll be moving up to Boston for my internship, and then school. This is my farewell tour. Which means the gloves are off.”
Now I’m laughing. Completely bonkers nervous laughter.
“Really,” I say, “that’s not necessary. Guests are asked to keep their gloves on during a dinner party.”
“Everything you’ve ever done in your life, Sam, has been as an afterthought to what she’s done. If she’s the strong one, you get to be the weak one—and that, in your mind, absolves you of any responsibility over your own life. She gets away with it, and you get away with it, and the rest of us are just guilty bystanders.”
“SO WHAT?” I yell. I yank open a drawer and put my hand inside. “If you want, why don’t you just slam this drawer closed? Why be so indirect with the pain you want to inflict—why not just make me feel it.”
I don’t know what I’m doing or saying. I don’t know if I want him to slam this drawer closed or if I am being as melodramatic as I always accuse Ilsa of being.
“Come on,” Jason says gently. He reaches over and takes my hand out of the drawer. Before it can actually feel like he’s holding my hand, I pull away.
“Don’t try to help,” I tell him. “Don’t try to fix things. Just be a guest. Be a polite, friendly guest. Parker’s here, and some other people. Go mingle.”
“Did your sister know you were inviting Parker?”
“Nope. Surprise!”
“This I gotta see.”
He doesn’t ask me if I’m going to leave the kitchen with him; he just assumes I will. Which is smart, because if he’d asked, I probably would have said no.
“Here,” I tell him. “Carry something in for me.”
“You mean the chopped vegetables over here?”
“Liberté. Fraternité. Crudité.”
“Well, at least we have one of the three in this apartment.”
We head into the living room, and I turn a blind eye to the fact that Parker is already at Czarina’s bar, acquainting himself with her vodka.
“Oh, wonderful,” KK moans. “Rabbit food, delivered by the Mad Hatter and his teapot.”
“Horrible to see you, too, KK,” Jason says, putting down the tray.
“Where’s Ilsa?” I ask.
“Changing,” Parker answers.
KK snorts. “That’ll be the day. That leopard has permanent spots.”
Subway Boy walks over to Jason, extends his hand, and introduces himself. Jason shakes the hand, introduces himself back. Before this can move on to a second sentence, I jump in and say, “Oh, and you have to meet Frederyk and Caspian.”
The two of them step forward, and Caspian extends a pinkie.
“Very funny,” Jason says. Then he reaches over and shakes Caspian as if he were a hand.
Frederyk’s mouth remains closed, but Caspian screams: “Get off of me! You’re smothering me!”
KK roars with laughter. Li looks awkward, perhaps because her French maid outfit looks French Canadian next to KK’s. Parker holds a glass up to me in offering. Jason lets go of Caspian instantly.
“I’m so sorry,” Jason says.
“You just grabbed his face!” KK roars. “What kind of monster are you?”
Frederyk has to reach over and straighten Caspian so he is back in order. Both of them look aggrieved.
It’s only once his mouth is back in its proper place that Caspian says, “Apology accepted.”
Subway Boy smoothly steps in to change the subject. Unfortunately, he does this by turning to Jason and asking, “So how do you know Sam and Ilsa?”
“Oh, Sam broke my heart and Ilsa gave him the hammer to do it with. How about you?”
Subway Boy blinks. “We’ve traveled together.”
Li steps forward to get a celery stick.
“What did I tell you?” KK snaps. “Not within ten feet!”
KK, of course, lives just upstairs. It would be easy enough for her to change. She’s so rich she could probably text her closet to prepare a new outfit before she even gets there.
Li looks both miserable and murderous.
“This is going so well!” Parker chirps. “Aren’t parties at Sam and Ilsa’s such a blast? Especially when KK is around to spread good cheer!”
“Honey, it’s not me, it’s you!” KK shoots back.
“If you’re going to be a bitch, at least find some new material. Nobody loves an unclever bitch. You have to elevate your meanness with the creativity of your phrasing. Otherwise, you’re just bitter.”
“Yawn, yawn, yawn,” KK replies.
Save me, I think. And then I broadcast it. SAVE ME. SAVE ME. SAVE ME.
I’m aiming it at Parker, because that’s where my instinct leads me. But he’s offering to make Li a drink and complimenting her on her dress, deliberately calling it a dress, I’m sure, to make her feel better.
My SAVE ME veers then, and as it curves toward Jason, I pull it back a little, and it lands instead on Subway Boy. He recognizes it, and I can recognize him recognizing it. Instead of letting it fully connect, I turn away. I can’t ask him to save me. He isn’t under any obligation.
“I have chips,” I mumble to no one in particular. “I’ll go get them.”
But instead of heading to the kitchen, I head in the direction of the guest room. The door is closed.
Like always, I knock.
“Don’t rush me, jerk!” Ilsa hollers. Two seconds later, she throws open the door. For a nanosecond, I see a genuine thrill in her eye. Then she drowns it.
“Who did you think was knocking?” I ask.
“The Secret Service.”
“What’s going on?” I look
