He pauses, placing his knife and fork together on his empty plate. ‘Maybe you and I can go. Without them.’
Hey gal! It’s my birthday next week, and I’ve
decided to go paintballing tomorrow because
there are no events on, and everyone can
come. You in?
The little voice that lives in the back of my head that sounds like Bee scoffs at the idea of paintball: a bit juvenile, yeah? But it’s getting easier to put that voice on mute when it’s so hard to catch the real thing these days.
Bee and William have apparently discovered the untold benefits of dating by themselves and have been going without me and Arthur more often than not (Spin did, in fact, prove to be good for something).
A new voice has entered the chat, and she can only list the pros. Pro: someone (Nicole) actually invited me to something. Pro: this suggests she and I have successfully made the transition from work friends to at least friendly acquaintances, ifnot outright friends. Pro: in my mission to say yes more, I have something to actually say yes to (because it’s all well and good to make such a resolution, but it is predicated on someone actually asking the question in the first place. No, it hasn’t even occurred to me that I could do the asking. Not a real-world proposition). Pro: even if all aforementioned pros were not a factor, this is an infinitely better option than sitting at home by myself.
Potential con, she whispers. I was asked out of politeness. Evidence suggests that this is unlikely, but not impossible.
Regardless, a response requires the perfect balance of enthusiasm and nonchalance, like this happens to me every day.
That sounds great!
That isn’t a useful text. That’s a wordier equivalent of ‘k’. It’s the thumbs-up emoji of responses.
What time?
And where?
What do I wear to paintball?
Okay, now I look deranged. Quadruple text? Fuck off, Gertrude.
Nicole is kind enough not to comment. Maybe she attributes the bad texting form to my extreme old age—twenty-two and twenty-eight being an absolute chasm at her age.
My house at 8 tomorrow! We have a bus!
Wear something you’re not attached to!! See
you then!!!
Should I be using more exclamation marks?
She already has a bus organised, which could suggest I’m a last-minute invite to fill a spot.
Or did Nicole really decide to do this last minute and just use her ample resources to get what she wants because booking a last-minute birthday on the fly is actually possible when one has said resources? I don’t really want to know, but have enough self-awareness to realise I am absolutely going to say something unsubtle to someone in an attempt to try to find out how long they’ve known about the event.
Or maybe I could take a leaf out of Nicole’s book and just do life with more exclamation points.
‘Where are you going?’ Bee asks as we pass each other in the hallway, both dressed in activewear.
I don’t want to tell her it’s paintball. ‘Nicole’s birthday party,’ I say.
No response.
‘Nicole from work.’
After a few seconds, she raises an eyebrow. ‘How nice. You’ve certainly been busy with all of them lately.’
In the end I spend most of the day acting like a child high on red cordial, because it’s not even an exaggeration to say it’s one of my favourite days. It feels like every children’s birthday party—every sleepover, bowling party, makeover party, Macca’s party—that I have never been invited to, much less had of my own, wrapped up in one day.
