Everything is coming together beautifully, but there’s still one giant dark cloud looming over everything.
Quinton.
I was hoping I’d have a chance to apologize to him face-to-face after Sunday’s game. But when the Mustangs were up by over 20 in the fourth quarter and Vonnie offered me a ride home early, I couldn’t refuse.
It wasn’t at all because I chickened out and was looking for a hasty exit.
Nope, not at all.
Now I just have to hope I can avoid him until after the event and when I do finally see him, he’ll be so thankful for how amazing it was that he won’t have any other option but to forgive me.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask Hannah, not because I don’t have a hundred other things to do, but because I’m obsessed with the balloon sculptures she creates and I want to learn from the master.
“Sure! We need to move these toward the entry.” She always sounds as if she’s just finished drinking espresso shots, giddy and energetic. But I guess that’s just what happy people sound like? Weird.
She stands up from behind the balloon structure. It’s so massive that her legs physically cannot just climb over the balloons to get to me, she has to walk around it instead.
She’s walking toward me, pointing a bright pink fingernail near where I’m standing. “See that gold balloon? You should be able to feel some string beneath it—just grab that and lift.”
I lean in, wincing as I go, so afraid that I’m going to pop a balloon and ruin this magnificent creation.
“Don’t worry, I’ve never popped a balloon doing the transfer,” Hannah says. She must have seen the look of terror on my face. “It will be fine.”
I want to believe her, but she must not be aware of my aptitude to fuck shit up.
“I think she’s just worried it will be too heavy for her,” a deep voice says from over my shoulder.
Because why would my hope for Quinton staying away until after the event happen? Oh, that’s right, because that’s how my life always works!
But at least he’s joking? I mean, it is at my expense, but it’s a joke and I feel like that means he doesn’t hate me still?
“Hardy har har.” I look at Hannah, who is suddenly sporting very rosy cheeks, and roll my eyes. “He thinks he’s a comedian, don’t mind him.”
He looks like he’s about to grab some balloons too when Brynn calls him over. “Howard!” she shouts across the room. “Get your ass over here and come have one of these lame-ass vodka drinks you made me make.”
I guess Brynn likes to get extra creative when she does a gig outside of HERS and wanted to explore her creativity during this event. So, when she invited Quinton over to her and Maxwell’s house for dinner and a cocktail tasting (something I was HIGHLY upset not to be included in) and he told her he thought they’d just have wine and maybe a vodka tonic (his drink of choice apparently), she did not handle it well. I feel like she’s already super creative at HERS. But when she was telling me the story, she seemed super annoyed and I didn’t want to get yelled at, so I kept my opinion to myself.
This resulted in her forcing me to sample cocktails too, because much to Maxwell’s dismay, she decided to ignore Quinton and do what she wanted. Which is why she told me she’d be handing him a cocktail when he came in and breaking the news to him that way. Wasted effort because I’m ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t care one way or another.
“Do you boss Maxwell around like this? Or am I just special?” he yells back before dropping his backpack by my feet and heading her way.
“Oh, trust me, Maxwell loves it when I boss him around,” she says loud and proud and for everyone around us to hear.
“Oh my god,” Hannah—poor, sweet, innocent Hannah—gasps from beside me, her cheeks no longer rosy and instead fire-engine red as Quinton’s deep laughter fades away as he crosses the room.
I’m holding the string like she instructed, but I’m still afraid it’s going to pop in my hand. “Sorry about that, not the most professional setting,” I apologize in hopes of getting her moving.
“Right!” She claps, no doubt still trying to erase the last five minutes from her memory. “Let’s get working.”
Carefully, Hannah and I weave through the different vendors walking around and setting up. By the time we make it to the front, my nerves are tattered and driblets of sweat I’ve been too afraid to swipe are trickling down the back of my neck, but no balloons have popped. Also, it has diverted me fully from any future career switch to anything revolving around balloons. So, wins all around!
“Thanks for your help.” Hannah—who I’m pretty sure is not thankful for my help, and is just relieved that my anxiety will no longer be rubbing off on her—waves me off as her assistant takes my place beneath the balloons.
I turn to take everything in and see that the tablecloths are now being laid on the tables. Wanting it to feel more like a cocktail party than a formal event, but still wanting to give guests a place to sit, we decided on having smaller tables scattered throughout the room with no seating arrangement. It was the best compromise we could come up with and we’re hoping that it invites an atmosphere of community and getting to know one another.
I head in the direction of the acrylic chairs that are stacked in the corner to start placing them around the tables when I see Quinton headed my way with his eyes directly on me.
Well crap.
I guess there’s no way to avoid this conversation any longer.
“Hey.” My awkward wave reveals the killer butterflies attacking my
