Oliver’s eyes stay locked on mine for several seconds, but any emotion is hard to read beneath the thick layers of effects makeup. “Well, it’s just one night,” he finally replies. “You get to see my hair and face any old day.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not drunk just any old day,” I counter. “My drunk face misses your real face.”
Oliver laughs. “Well, you got me there. I’ll see if Wren is okay with me taking it all off.”
“Yay!” I squeal. “Ooh, can I come with y’all to wash it off? I want to talk to Wren again.”
“Of course!”
With a grunt, Oliver heaves himself to his feet and makes his way to Wren. They exchange a few words, and Wren glances at me. I wave to them, and Wren smiles and waves back.
Oliver returns, helps me up off the couch, and together we head into Grace’s bedroom down the hall. The change in atmosphere is almost disorienting—the music and chatter are muffled, and the lights are a soft, warm white. I take a seat at the foot of Grace’s bed while Wren takes a few more headshots of Oliver, then of their own face, before moving into the adjoining bathroom, where the de-uglification begins.
After several minutes of peeling, scrubbing, and rinsing, Oliver reemerges from the bathroom in all his lovely, golden retriever glory. He’s wearing black gym shorts and a gray sleeveless T-shirt, the neckline still damp from washing his face. His hair, pulled back, is frizzier than usual after a few hours under a bald cap, but otherwise he’s as adorable as ever. He flashes me a smile. “Better?”
I nod emphatically. “So much better.”
Wren joins us soon after. Without the wig and makeup, I can clearly see how much we have in common. It makes sense now that Oliver clocked me as nonbinary right away. “You’re so cool,” I mutter.
“Hm?” Wren asks.
Oops. “I, uh, I just said you’re cool,” I repeat, blushing furiously now.
Wren smiles. “Thanks, Jude. So are you.”
Oliver snorts. “I knew you guys would get along. Not just because you’re both nonbinary, but I don’t know. You’re both awesome people.”
“Good call, Olli-pops,” Wren teases, stepping back to the bathroom to gather their things.
An unfamiliar annoyance turns my stomach. Olli-pops? That’s such a cute nickname. Why don’t I have a cute nickname for Oliver?
Before I can place or act on the strange emotion, there’s a knock at the cracked bedroom door. “Jude?” Max pokes his head in.
“Come in,” I call out.
Max steps through the doorway. “There you are. Celeste and I weren’t sure where you went. You good?”
“All good,” I reply. “Look! Oliver’s himself again!”
Max chuckles and grins at Oliver. “Welcome back to the land of the living, babe!” He looks back at me. “Y’all coming back to the party or what?”
“I’m down,” Oliver answers. “Jude?”
I hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to. Parties tend to be a bit overstimulating, and this party has been no exception. The alcohol has helped, but not completely.
“Actually, it’s nice in here,” Max remarks before I can answer, stepping further into the bedroom and joining Oliver and me at the edge of the bed. “A couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Wren interjects from the bathroom, startling Max. “But I might camp out here for a while longer.”
“Oh, my god, hi!” Max waves at Wren. “So that’s what you really look like! What an icon!”
Wren grins widely. “Right back at you, King.”
“What about Nikki?” Oliver asks me softly. “Shouldn’t we go back out there before she gets worried?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “She probably hasn’t even noticed I’m missing yet. She’s been networking.”
Oliver frowns, then looks at Max.
