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Luckily for me, the TTC worked in my favor. As I opened the condo door, I was terrified of running into Rob. I knew he’d be at work until at least the early afternoon, so I had an hour to shower, grab my dress, and head off again to meet Beth downtown. My role tonight was support, plain and simple: to keep people organized and on track, to make sure the decorations were up, to check off the guest lists, and do anything else she needed.
The apartment was almost exactly as I had left it. Our tree was still up. Unlit, it looked out of place, like it had realized that the season had come to an end and no one needed it to be festive any longer. Heading into our bedroom, I couldn’t help but notice that our bed was impeccably made—crisp white sheets, pillows placed exactly right—as if Rob hadn’t even slept there either. I didn’t want to think about it. Shower, hair, makeup—the routine was second nature, and I had it down to an art form. Pulling out an old garment bag of Rob’s, I tossed my shoes into the bottom and then zipped it up around my dress.
Halfway out the door, I changed my mind and stopped to leave Rob a note.
Heading out to Beth’s gig. I hope you have a good New Year’s with the boys. I hope I can see you late, late, late for the midnight kiss that I’ll miss. Sorry doesn’t even begin to make up for what happened. A note isn’t enough.
Outside, on Queen Street, I was lucky enough to find a cab—a miracle on New Year’s Eve. A part of me was relieved not to have seen Rob. Relieved not to have had to find the words I wasn’t even sure were there yet. Relieved not to have had to explain how I was feeling or not feeling—that might have been the most honest way to describe the mess that was in my mind.
Scanning my messages, I saw that Beth had already sent me a handful of texts worrying about the details of the party. I sent one blanket reply letting her know I’d be there in about fifteen minutes if the cab cooperated. We were good at our jobs. I had confidence that all our hard work and preparations would pay off.
Our high-profile guests were scheduled to arrive at nine or shortly thereafter, making an entrance along a red carpet set up at the Bloor Street entrance of the Royal Ontario Museum. Their personal publicists and managers had all confirmed, and many of them were having dinner beforehand with Siobhan and other senior members of our company.
I could feel the city slowly waking up to the excitement of the biggest night of the year. People were scattered around the sidewalks already, heading to early dinner reservations or racing home to get ready for a party at a friend’s. Ever since I’d gotten together with Rob, New Year’s had been my favorite holiday. With the stress of Christmas finally over, I could leave it all behind. We’d head out to dinner and a show. Sometimes we’d celebrate intimately, just the two of us at home with a bottle of champagne and a great film that he would do his best to enjoy for my sake. Some of my fondest memories were of us packed into the Horseshoe with hundreds of other people, dancing like mad to a great band. The focus and energy of a New Year’s party were addictive; everyone rode the crest of good fortune to make it to another year. Every minute was filled with the potential of the new year, not bogged down by failed resolutions or the stress of the everyday workweek.
By the time I arrived at the museum, the velvet ropes were already up, and the carpet was already down. The weather had held; it was cold but not snowing. I crossed my fingers that it would stay like that, saving our shoes and ensuring a full house.
Beth was upstairs where the restaurant was, holding court. The room had an amazing view of the city from inside the Crystal, the bizarre-looking section of the building that jutted out of the older architecture like a massive, windowed Rubik’s Cube. The venue was close to the office, and we threw a lot of parties there, especially when we needed to impress our American counterparts and make a statement to the industry. Beth was looking over a clipboard, surrounded by some of our co-workers. She looked calm and in control, and just seeing her made me want to burst into tears. Marianne was nowhere to be seen. I was so relieved I didn’t have to face her just yet.
“What can I do?” I asked, approaching Beth.
She threw her arms around me and clutched me and the clipboard tight together. “I am so happy you’re here. It’s been a nightmare. The food’s behind—the kitchen couldn’t get in until an hour ago—so we’re having cold hors d’oeuvres to start, and the signage was all wrong, so I had to have one of the juniors head back to the office to quickly print up some new ones that look terrible but will have to do, and—”
“What can I do?” I repeated, laughing. “It’s all going to be fine. We’ve got three hours. Have you had anything to eat?”
“Not hungry.”
“That’s what I’m going to do first—let me stash my stuff and then I’ll head across the street and get a couple of burritos.”
“Just hearing the word burrito makes me nervous—last thing I need tonight is to be gassy.”
“Gassy?” I said.
“Gassy.”
“But so delicious.” I nudged Beth gently with my hip. “You need to eat or this night will wear you down completely.”
She sighed and conceded. “I need a burrito.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Hey!” Beth shouted over at one of our assistants. “Don’t stack those glasses there—there’s no champagne flute tower tonight. Please, get some trays and sort it out in the kitchen. We’ll serve champagne at quarter to twelve and no sooner—I don’t want people mistaking this for a wedding reception circa 1985.” She rolled her eyes at me. “How can they be so inexperienced?”
“They’re young. We were once too.”
“You’re too kind.” Beth pushed her hair off her forehead. “Fuck, they’d better get the climate under control in here. If it’s this hot right now, it’ll be a sauna by the time everyone gets here.”
“I’m going to dump my stuff. I’ll be ten minutes, and then you need to eat. You’re getting hangry.”
“I’m not—holy shit, is that anice sculpture?”
I left Beth to deal with the massive unwanted ice sculpture that someone from the museum had just rolled out of the elevator. I narrowly avoided Marianne squeaking into the room behind it and the delivery guy. She was busy giving him directions about where to put the sculpture, while Beth was trying to send them both back downstairs, convinced they had confused the order with another event taking place on the lower floors that evening, some sort of hospital fundraiser. Finally, Beth shouted, “Marianne,listen to what I am saying. We did not order an ice sculpture; it’s not something Siobhan approved last minute. You do not know what’s going on, so please shut the hell up for once and let me do my job.”
Beth turned to the delivery guy, who wore a cute smirk on his face. “Please take it downstairs. There’s another party in the main area of the museum, some benefit—this feels very benefit-y to me.”
Safe in the elevator without Marianne spotting me, I tapped my toes and wondered if getting stuck in it wouldn’t be the best way to spend tonight. Eventually, she would find me. Eventually, she’d give me a piece of her mind. Eventually, I’d have to tell Beth the whole sordid story of the past few days. I desperately wanted to talk to Rob at that moment, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him.
