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“Ruby, you’re here! You’re wearing jeans.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact.
“Yeah, it’s a compromise,” I tell her. “And it’s also genuine advertising. My top is strappy though, it’s kind of fancy like you like.”
“I do like it,” she says. “There are a lot of single guys here, you know.”
“So I heard. It’s all you though, Olivia. I’ll be your wingman, but I’m going to have to sit this one out. I don’t think Garrett’s friends would be my type, anyway.”
“Jake wasn’t your type either,” she says nudging me.
It’s still too soon, and I wince a little when she mentions his name. “Still a little fresh,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” she tells me.
It’s okay. I know what her intentions are. She can be a little awkward like I can sometimes, but in the loud way, whereas I am in a quiet way. She trips over her own feet and her tongue sometimes. It’s endearing once you get to know her.
After a while, I slip into a state of almost comfort. I feel somewhat normal there with my friends and these well-dressed strangers, laughing. Laughing feels so foreign that it almost hurts. I realize how much I have missed it. Eventually, I notice I’m happy, and I didn’t think I’d be able to feel that way so soon, and then I’m dancing. It’s surprising that I’m the same person who, a couple of weeks ago, could barely force myself do to what I had to do to get through the day. It’s almost like everything will be okay.
And there it is. I’m feeling genuine optimism in the light of something ordinary. After 3 therapy sessions, am I cured? Probably not.
We continue to laugh and drink and smoke, mostly Olivia and I, while Evie makes her rounds playing hostess. It turns out I am a decent wingman, which was great for Olivia, because she did end up meeting a cute guy—at least for the night. But midnight creeps up on us quickly and once I start seeing everyone coupling up for their first kiss of the new year, I feel my mood sinking. If I were full before, then it’s like someone pulled the plug and I am starting to drain. It isn’t a new feeling; it’s what happens when you use band-aids when what you really needed was stitches.
I excuse myself onto the balcony and let the cold air fill my lungs. I exhale and try to release the tightening feeling in my chest. There should be a pill for this.
I hear the countdown to midnight behind me and wait for it to be over. “New year, same fucking me,” I say out loud, throwing back the rest of my drink. Fireworks start to explode over the water and as the sky fills with color, I hear people cheering from the streets below and from the windows of surrounding units. It’s admittedly beautiful and sort of a reminder of how interconnected we all are. I almost take the time to consciously revel in the predictable beauty of it all, as part of my ‘fake it until I make it’ therapy protocol, but I’m interrupted.
“What’s wrong with the same fucking you?” a man asks. He was with that guy I’d left Olivia with, so I assume he’s one of Garrett’s friends, but I haven’t seen him before. He embodies tall, dark, and handsome, with a smile that must have a million teeth and perfect eyebrows. I have a thing for eyebrows. A lesser Ruby would have called it a night right now and taken him home. A better Ruby would have done it, too. Unfortunately, I wasn't either of those people right now. I’m a watered-down, less palatable version of both, and it’s something I don’t really feel like explaining.
“She fucks everything up, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake that never saw it coming. Figurative bodies, she doesn’t do murders. Just to be clear,” I tell him.
“That should deter me, but I’ve got to admit, it’s doing the opposite. I’m intrigued.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “By what part exactly?”
“How someone so adorable can be in the middle of something like this and be out here alone, thinking about dead bodies. It’s almost like I need to find out from experience.”
“You’re cute,” I tell him. “You remind me of someone. Generally, I’d be interested, but I’m fresh off a breakup and just getting into psychotherapy. Plus, I’ve got this legal thing going on. I have some court days coming up.”
“Not you, too! God, why is it that every girl I meet in this city is an insane convict? Can’t I just meet a nice girl?”
“Did you really look at me and think you were about to meet a nice girl?”
“Yeah, I did,” he says. “I saw you laughing and dancing with your friend in there. You looked like a nice girl.”
I’m not sure how to respond, but luckily, I’m interrupted by Garrett clinking a glass and asking for everyone’s attention. “Maybe some other time,” I tell him and start to head back inside.
“I’m Jordan,” he says, “in case you change your mind.”
“Ruby,” I say over my shoulder, making my way through the doors and the crowd and back over to Olivia.
“Where’d you go?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Evie and I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight and for being a part of our lives. As many of you know, after three years, last week I finally convinced this girl to move in with me,” Garrett says, pausing for cheers from the crowd. “In light of that, I just want to take the time to let this woman know how much she means to me so—Evie, can you come up here?”
Evie, who has never been afraid to be the center of attention, joins him, but seems a little out of her element. “Evie,” he continues, “you’re tough as nails. You’re stubborn. You know what you want, and you aren’t afraid to ask for it. You’re patient. You’re kind. You’re a good friend. You humble me and make me want to be better, and just ask any of my friends, before I met you—I didn’t think I could possibly get any better.”
Everyone laughs. It’s not that funny. He’s still arrogant, but she does put him in his place.
