The stretches of time between thoughts of her get longer and longer. My mind is totally immersed in the spectrography results from my latest experiment as I check my mail, and my first thought when I flip through the bills and advertisements to the heavyweight matte black envelope is it must be a new kind of spam mail.
But then I see her name in gold.
And my stomach flips.
I drop the rest of the mail and carefully open the envelope.
You are cordially invited to the thirty-ninth birthday party of Morgan Hunter…
My heart seems at risk of pounding out of my chest. Hope and dread war within me.
I guess I’m not over her.
My forebrain claws to the front and reminds me I’m now a… professional acquaintance of Morgan’s. As fancy as the invitation is… it’s not personalized. So it’s just… business.
The party’s in two weeks. I don’t think I’m going to go.
#
The next day, Eileen and I are getting our usual coffee.
“Oh!” she says. “I almost forgot. Do you know what you’re wearing to Morgan’s party? I know the invitation says casual, but it’sMorgancasual, so like… not at all.”
My brain short-circuits thinking about Morgan again. “Uh…”
Eileen’s brow furrows. “Youdidget your invitation, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good.” Eileen presses a hand to her chest. “I was in charge of addresses, so it’s my ass on the line. Do you want to wear your new suit?” Her eyebrows give a teasing wiggle.
I try to sound casual. “I’m… not sure I’m going. It’s beenreally busy with my new project…”
Eileen doesn’t even blink. “Do you have a funeral?”
“Uh, no.”
“Wedding?”
“No…”
She gives a firm nod. “Then you’re going.”
“Are you sure that…”
“Please don’t leave me hanging,” Eileen pleads. “It’s going to be, like,allhigh society types. I need at least one other humble Starbucks drinker there.”
“You can always make friends with the catering staff?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.Please… Prettiest pretty please with a thousand cherries on top?” Eileen is, apparently, a master of puppy dog eyes.
My resolve slips. “I’m just not sure…”
“I never did get to see your whole outfit together. So... you owe me.”
It’s hanging in my closet with the dry cleaning receipt still attached. I haven’t touched it since I unpacked.
My mind scrambles for an excuse but comes up empty.
