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"I needed to be sure,the scientific method and all that."
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Want some?" she asked, pouring out another cup.
"No thanks, I'm good," I said.
"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug, before downing the entire cup of punch in one go.
"I would be interested in a pastel. If you have any with you," I said.
"How do you know about that?"
"I got talking to your lovely Hippie friend at your party. She told me all about them."
"Ah, Lavender, she can be quite - interesting."
"Lavender?" I asked, not sure I heard her right.
"Lavender Moon," Kristen said, taking another swig of punch.
"I'm guessing that’s not her given name," I said.
"Oh, it is."
"It is?"
"Yeah, saw her driver’s license and everything because I didn’t believe it either at first. She's like a third generation Wiccan or something. They all have names like that. Her dad is something like Wolf Birch and her mom is Raven Sage."
"Cool."
"I think I still have some," Kristen said, finishing off her eight glass of punch.
She looked through her clutch-like pocketbook and sure enough, she had a small metal tin about half full of pastels in there. Checking to see if anyone was looking, she popped open the container and let me take two out before getting them back into her pocket.
I popped them both in my mouth at the same time. Lavender was right: they were chewy, like gummy bears and they didn't taste too bad either. I was just being taken over with an abiding sense of calm when my phone rang.
"Hello," I said, turning away from Kristen, who was in the process of pouring yet another glass of punch.
"Hey princess," Logan said from the other end.
"Hi," I said, unsure how to respond.
"How's the reunion?"
"Like watching paint dry. Kristen is the most interesting person here. I have resorted to drugs. Well, kind of."
"Kind of drugs?"
"Yeah."
"What kind of drugs, specifically?"
"Some health food thing," I said, vaguely, since I still didn’t know, myself.
"Oh, yeah, those. Get them from Kristen and her hippie friend?"
"Yeah," I said, guessing that Ms. Moon had tried to sell him on them before, too.
"Would you like to come over after?"
"To your place?"
"Yeah, we can listen to records or something."
"Sure," I said.
"Great, call me when you want me to send a limo around."
"Sarah or Timothy?" I asked, meaning the driver.
"Whichever you want," he said.
I definitely wanted Sarah. She had taken good care of me both times she had to drive me home and honestly didn't seem to pass any judgement. The closet thing to a prying question she asked was if I wanted to see a doctor after my first sex adventure at Logan's place. I must have looked a lot worse than I felt.
Kristen and I danced to some cheesy music that was popular when we graduated. We did our best to make small talk with our old classmates, but it proved difficult.
Then the reunion finally started winding down and I helped Kristen into an Uber; she been far too drunk to drive.
After I helped her into the back seat, she gave me a big hug and said, “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“Hopefully not for another five years, at least,” I joked.
“Love you. Have a nood gight.”
“Love you too, drunkie,” I told her, shutting the door and waving my thanks to her skeptical-looking Uber driver.
When the car was out of sight, I got my phone out of my coat and hit redial.
"Sarah," I said, when Logan picked up.
As the limo maneuvered up the road, my mind raced, tying to figure out just what the hell I was doing. Not that it really mattered. It was already far too late. I had made my decision and would have to live with it.
"Do you know the way?" Sarah asked, as I got out.
"I think so," I said.
“Okay, have a good night.”
Sarah closed the back door and drove off as I started up the stairs. My shoes were flats so I didn't have nearly the same trouble scaling the mini mountain of marble. Grandpa Logan must have been really compensating for something.
Going mostly on pretty vague memory, I found my way to the parlor. Logan was sitting on the couch, wearing a mostly deconstructed version of his signature suit, a timber of vodka in his hand.
Morrissey was on the stereo, crooning about how he is human and needs to be loved.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, not turning to face me.
I froze in the doorway, not sure what to do.
"It's okay," he said, patting the seat next to him.
Cautiously, I went over and sat down next to him. The fine leather was creaking under me.
"Sorry for my appearance; I was at the club with the boys. Figured I would drink something decent."
That certainly explained the 'sweetheart' stuff; Logan was clearly as hammered as a nail.
"Oh, no, that just won't do,” he said, looking over at me and seeing my dress.
