Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 10

I'm surrounded by red and gold balloons, by streamers that say "Welcome Back Class of 2008," holding a plastic champagne glass filled with sparkling grape juice (because no drinking on school property), stuck in a conversation with Abigail Wedgwood (now Abigail Smart), a woman I barely remember from ninth-grade health class. My eyes scan the sparse crowd for Mark. I'm not happy about it, but they do it anyway. I don't see him anywhere, and I desperately want him to show up so this party can finally get interesting.

Some time during my visual search, Abigail pulled out her phone. She's scrolling through Facebook photos one after the other, and my eyes struggle to stay focused. She's diving deep on the Disney vacation pictures of her, her husband, and their five kids in matching "Be Smart, Go to Disneyland" T-shirts with Mickey Mouse. How does she have five kids? She must literally have spent her entire adult life pregnant.

"Traveling on a plane with a baby is not easy, let me tell you what," she says. "I brought a small bag of candy for the rows around us. I read about a family who did that on a mommy blog. I thought it was just so smart."

She giggles at the use of her married name in a sentence. I imagine matching jerseys at her kids' sports games that say "Play Smarter, Not Harder!" or the whole family pretending to read books in a holiday card, "A Smart Christmas." I smile at my own interior monologue and she thinks I'm smiling at her.

"Next time you should bring them tiny bottles of alcohol," I suggest. It's a semi-innocent suggestion, I swear, but she does not take it well. Her answering frown says it all.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" she asks, quickly gaining the upper hand in whatever battle I've just waged against her. I watch her adjust the sparkly diamond band on her ring finger along with her honking Zales diamond.

I take a deep breath. "Not at the moment, no."

My eyes flick away — someone save me. They land on Roxy. Standing ten former classmates away, rolling her eyes at Sharon Digby, former All-State Champion who has maintained her runner's physique. My attention lingers a moment too long because Roxy turns, makes eye contact, and smirks.

"You're so pretty," I hear Abigail say, as I snap my eyes away from Roxy. "I'm surprised no one's snatched you up yet. Don't worry, you have plenty of time." Her voice is syrupy sweet.

I almost snort fake champagne through my nose. I'd forgotten that Midwest time passes in dog years. I'm basically middle-aged. The clock is ticking, and one thing that does not improve with age is a female's reproductive organs.

She adds insult to injury: "You should get one of those apps. Kindling? Bumblebee? Or whatever they're called..." She rotates her ring again.

It's a not-so-subtle hint that she's happily married and has been since before those dating apps were a thing. My lips pinch closed. It will be a chilly day in Hell when I download a dating app. Vic is obsessed with all of them and Tina has dabbled. As far as I can tell, they only result in the occasional hookup or disastrous date with men obsessed with feet or "plant medicine" (also known as drugs).

"Oh, what a great idea." I lay it on thick. I down the rest of my non-alcoholic bubbly and pretend it's real. The DJ kicks up the music like it's time to dance. Is it time to dance? I look out at a group of people who are shadows of their former high school selves.

"Time to turn back the clock, y'all!" The DJ puts on an old 2000s favorite. A few shrieks come from happy customers who have taken one too many trips to the virgin punch bowl and think they're virgins again.