“Dude!” Eli said when I walked into the office. “Well fucking played, man.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kevin Kramer? Your parents’ party? Talk about taking one for the team.”
I set my food down on my desk. “I’m not going to their party.”
“Uh yes, you are,” Eli said, opening my lunch container and stealing a pierogi. He waved it at me. “Kevin Kramer just started that investment firm with the money he inherited from his great-uncle. He’s going to talk to you about investing in our vertical farms at your parents’ party.”
Eli held up his phone with my mom’s Facebook post. Under the post was a comment from Kevin saying he was glad I was going because he wanted to talk to me.
“Fucking hell.”
“He called over here too,” Eli said, cutting off a piece of the sausage.
I slapped his hand away, but he stuffed the food in his mouth.
“He wanted to confirm you would be there. I told him you would for sure. Sounds like someone ready to drop a ton of cash down.”
“Fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I do not want to deal with my parents, especially not at Christmas.”
“They’ll probably have a ton of people there,” Eli cajoled. “You can just avoid them. Talk to Kevin, get in, get out.”
“They’re probably going to try to set me up with one of their friends’ daughters.”
Eli shrugged and stole another pierogi. “So, bring a fake girlfriend.”
It would be selfish to bring Merrie to my parents’ awful party.
But if I went without her? She might be upset and think I was trying to hide something from her. Especially after she had me meet her parents. It would look like I wasn’t committed to her or to us.
To us? What us?
But there was an us, right?
It sure felt like there was.
67
Merrie
“This is going to be a disaster!”
“Calm, we are calm like a frozen lake,” Olivia said as I tried to breathe.
“They clearly hate me.”
“They saw you for five minutes.”
“I could tell his mom hates me. She doesn’t want me to be with her precious son. Oh my god, what am I going to wear? Did you see the invitation?”
“It was very extra.”
The invitation had arrived in a large square envelope with paper softer than any sheets I’d ever owned. Inside was an RSVP card that the courier had waited around for me to hastily fill out. The invitation also included a menu printed in French.
“This is a fancy party,” I reminded her, “like, a super-fancy party.”
“You need to go dress shopping,” Olivia said as she pawed through my duffle bag full of clothes that I needed to take to a laundromat. “You don’t have anything suitable in here to wear.”
