“Is she coming?” Nico asked.

 

“She said she’s coming,” I said. My heart palpitated. It always did when someone mentioned her. It was going to be her first time meeting my friends, which in my mind meant a lot. Meeting the friends has to mean something, doesn't it? 

 

He took a sip of rum and coke. “I have a good feeling about tonight,” he said. He was unconditionally supportive of me which meant that his optimism was often misguided.

​

Another friend came into the kitchen for a refill and ended up joining our conversation. “What you talking about ladies?” he asked.

 

“You know…” I said with resignation.

 

“You’re still on that?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yes, I’m still on that,” I said.

 

“Dude, you know I love you but it’s been like a year… don’t you think something would’ve happened by now already?”

​

My friend was probably right, but Nico wouldn’t have it. He pointed at him with his index finger. “You know what your problem is?” He took a long puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke right in his face. “You see women as walking vaginas, you don’t know the first thing about…about… slow-cooked romance.” This last part he said mimicking a poet, so we knew he was half joking. The three of us laughed. 

 

“I’ll tell her today,” I said.

​

My tall and handsome friend who was standing by the entrance must have heard someone knock on the door because I saw him open it slowly. It was Mary. I was afraid she would like him because all girls do. I had even considered not inviting him. She looked surprised, I guess she didn’t expect there to be so many people.

 

I looked at Nico as if waiting for advice. “Go say hi,” he said. Before I could leave he grabbed me and stared into my eyes. “Too many mind. No mind.”  

 

I approached her with a hug. “Hi Mr Gatsby,” she said and laughed at her own joke. Or maybe she laughed because she saw me. We always laughed at the sight of each other.

 

“Hi Mrs Daisy, glad you made it,” I replied. We air kissed on both cheeks pretending to be fancy people. I grabbed the wine she had brought and we walked together to the kitchen.

​

“I didn’t know you were this popular,” she said.

 

“Oh, it’s all politics,” I said. “Let me introduce you to some people. Have you met The Archbishop of Rotterdam?” I said in an accent. I called Nico with my hand. When she saw him coming she squinted subtly, as if she were trying to place him, but didn’t say anything. I asked him to introduce her to the rest of my friends while I resumed my hosting duties which included fixing pretty cocktails for the girls (the guys only drank rum and coke), making sure that smokers had ashtrays and that my clumsiest friend and his even clumsier girlfriend didn’t put their glasses on the balcony’s handrail. 

 

Mary came up to me while I was in the kitchen playing bartender. “Can you show me where the bathroom is?” She asked.

 

“It’s right at the end of the corridor,” I said.

 

“But can you show me?” She said with a smile. Wars have been fought over lesser smiles. Empires have fallen. I stood no chance.

 

I walked her to the guest bathroom. “I have to go too,” I said. “Use this one and I’ll use the one in my room.” I entered my room and closed the door behind me. I checked myself in the mirror. I didn’t love my hair that day but there was nothing I could do about it. I went to the bathroom and peed. I zipped up and stayed in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror again. I really didn’t like my hair. “Maybe if I put more curl cream,” I thought. 

 

I heard my room door open. “Are you here?” Mary asked.

 

I got out. Dream scenario.  “Yes,” I said.

 

“What were you doing in there?” she asked.

 

“Fixing my foundation obviously,” I said. 

 

“You missed a spot,” she said. 

 

“I wasn’t finished,” I said. 

 

“Let me help you,” she said. She took out her foundation, pushed a drop into the tip of her index and rubbed it in gentle circles on my right cheek. “There!” She said and smiled. “Go see if you like it,” she added.

 

I re-entered the bathroom and she followed me. The bathroom was small, so her body was pressed against mine. “It’s perfect,” I said. 

 

“Did you notice we’re matching?” she said.

 

I was wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that read Paris in red fuzzy letters. She was wearing a black denim skirt and a white T-shirt that read London in the same tone of red. “True! I hadn’t noticed,” I said.

 

She reached for her phone to take a mirror selfie. I hugged her shoulders and she hugged my waist. Our cheeks were touching. I wanted to kiss her but I chickened out. We went back to the party. On the way back, in the corridor, she said “your tall friend is hot.” I replied “I know.”