Page 4 of She’s a Doll

Another sprinkling of laughter, high and sweet. It sounded almost practiced.

Everything about this situation made me think of the mechanics inside a cuckoo clock. Stiff, aesthetic, coordinated, controlled. I’d never felt more out of place, standing in the middle of the room, my pants too small and my bow tie too big.

But that was OK. It was fine.

I’d expected a bigger, bouncier, boozier party, but that didn’t matter. This would be fun too. Actually, this would be better. Something new. Something nice. I hadn’t been to many nice things before.

I held on to that thought as the tide of people carried me toward the table. I picked up a teacup when everyone else picked up a teacup, and shuffled along the line until I reached the teapots. They were vintage, or made to look vintage. Vintagesque. Porcelain with flowers painted along the sides. Each had a small cardboard label set in front of it.

Calming Chamomile. Gracious Green. Darjeeling Detox. Bountiful Boysenberry. Generous Ginger.

I went with that last one. It came out technicolor yellow with large flakes of brown floating in it. That was normal, right? Probably. I had no idea. I’d only ever had Grandma’s tea before, which came in papery bags and was made with water boiled in an electric kettle. Earl Grey, except when English Breakfast was cheaper.

Someone elbowed me gently in the ribs.

“Sorry,” I said, grabbing my cup and stepping back. “Didn’t mean to be in the way.”

“You’re not in the way,” said a person with a face familiar enough that I was sure we’d been in high school together but wasn’t sure if we’d ever shared a class. One of the smart kids.

She had long brown hair, a galactic spray of freckles, and sloped sleepy eyes, like Marilyn Monroe. Her smile was like Marilyn Monroe’s too. Not the big one she’d worn when she was standing on the air vent, but the one Andy Warhol made famous. Small but knowing.

“You look cool,” she said.

“Oh. Um. Thanks. You look⁠—”

“Basic,” she said, tugging at the purple skirt of her dress. It was satin, the waist cinched in with an oversize ribbon, the bodice artfully ruffled.

“That’s basic?”

“Fifty bucks,” she said with a shrug. “That’s pretty basic around here.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“What kind of dog does Willy Wonka have?” she asked.

“Oh. Um. I’m not Wi⁠—”

“A chocolate lab.”

I stood there, holding my tea.

“Get it?” she asked.

“Yeah. Um. That’s hilarious.” I forced out another fake laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Ginger asked, appearing at my other side.

“Nothing,” I said.

And just like that, Marilyn Monroe’s smile was gone.

Which . . . shit. That was . . . that wasn’t good. I tried desperately to scrounge for the words that would make this situation right. Or, at the very least, a little less awkward. But before I could find them, she turned and retreated back into the room.

“Don’t worry,” Ginger whispered in my ear. “Nicola’s shy. Sometimes, you’ll talk to her, and she won’t respond at all.”

“She seems nice.”

“Oh, she is. I love her. But she’s weird. Just like you.”