THE PARTY

By Clare O’Brien

Models: Persia Nezhad, Zahrah Butler, Christina Liew; HMUAs: Mariam Ali, Skyler Burk; Photographer: Kim Pagtama; Stylist: Skyler Burk

Crazy.

That’s what I was: crazy, for agreeing to go to Ruthie’s engagement party. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a big deal if the party had been scheduled for a month ago, when Mark and I were still together. Now it was simply embarrassing, shameful, having to show up alone. 

Ruthie never had any trouble keeping her man—she and Stanley had been high school sweethearts, going steady since they were paired together for an experiment in ninth grade science class. The two of them had been exchanging glances and coy smiles for months. We used to joke, Ruthie and I, that she was learning about chemistry in more ways than one! 

Anyway, now they were engaged to be married, and I had to go to their fancy cocktail soirée to celebrate, and all our classmates from high school would be there. And frankly, I was anxious about the whole thing. 

The party was in Ruthie’s parents’ backyard, and it had been meticulously decorated—white floral garlands wrapped around the columns of the gazebo, glass tables brimming with hors d’oeuvres and desserts. Perfect, just like Ruthie.

Speaking of—

“My darling!” She gushed, running toward me in her satin kitten heels, holding up the hem of her cream lace dress with one hand and embracing me with the other. “Oh, I’m so glad you could make it—what a shame Mark couldn’t join you, though. We had a plate saved for him and everything.”

“Yes, well.” As much as I considered Ruthie my best friend, it was just like her to rub it in my face that she had a fiancée and I did not.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to Stanley’s college friends. I think you’ll like them.”

I reluctantly followed Ruthie into the tent, where a murder of tall, nerdy men stood in the corner, murmuring to each other, every so often inadvertently sloshing their cocktails onto the dance floor when they made gestures with their arms. 

“Boys,” announced Ruthie, “this is my very dear friend, Alice. Alice, this is Frank, Walter, Paul, and Don. Now, she’s come alone tonight, so I hope at least one of you will show her a nice time while I’m busy entertaining the other guests.” She patted me on the shoulder and winked before sauntering away.

I stood there staring at my toes while the men stared at me, none of us sure what to do or say. Finally, one of them, a gawky one with unruly hair and a wrinkled burgundy suit, struck out his palm.

“Care to dance?” He offered.

I placed my hand in his. “Sure.”

We ambled toward the center of the floor. He hesitantly put his arms around my waist, and we swayed to the music.

“So. Uh, Alice, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Paul. Stan’s friend. At least, one of them. Haha.”

I nodded. “That’s nice.”

“So, what’s your story? A nice girl like you, all alone?”

I let go of my grip around his neck. “I’d really rather not get into that.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject.”

“It’s fine.” I smoothed down my skirt. “It’s hot in here, with the lights and all, don’t you think? I’m going to grab some fresh air.”

He reached for me. “Do you want me to join you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be just a moment.”

I fanned my face as I exited the tent, feeling a wave of grief and shame wash over me. What a failure I was. How could I have thought that this would be a good idea? Attending an engagement party with my freshly broken heart and newly acquired singlehood? I felt tears well up behind my eyes, threatening to push through. 

But above all other things, I was stubborn. And I refused to let a man make me cry.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, a deep, opaque indigo flecked with silver stars. I closed my eyes, letting the commotion of the party fade away. And then, without realizing I was doing it at first, I let my lips part into a smile. 

To hell with it all, I thought. To hell with Mark. With Paul. With Ruthie.

To hell with the notion that I can’t be content on my own.

And I thought, for the very first time, that perhaps I don’t need a man in order to be happy. Perhaps I don’t even want one. Perhaps, just perhaps, I can make my own happiness, all by myself.