by Liza Palmer
All of this introspection evaporates later that afternoon while I’m trying to set up a meeting with Thornton and Hani to send Jiffy’s ads through final review. I notice a new addition to Thornton’s schedule. Mackenzie has set up a calendar invite for her birthday party the same Friday night as Reuben’s birthday party. There’s a party bus and something about a climbing wall, which feels a bit cavalier, but … eff those spinal injuries, hey, Mackenzie?
But this means that all us fringe dwellers have to look at Mackenzie’s birthday invite—and know that we weren’t invited—every time we want to schedule a meeting with someone who was.
Elise tries to ease my annoyance by saying that it was probably done like that because Mackenzie didn’t have anyone’s outside contact information, meaning that they’re actually not that close of friends. This was cold comfort, on top of the sharp pangs of feeling silly that it bumped me at all. Why do I care if I’m not invited to Mackenzie’s dumb party?
This inherent talent Bloom has for pushing every pubescent button is awe-inspiring. I’m hunting down a story that’ll bring back my career and here I am sending angry texts to my friends and monologuing at my family later that night about not getting invited to Mackenzie’s birthday party and what does she know, if she doesn’t see how great I am, then she’s not any kind of friend that I want. Mom tells me not to play with Mackenzie anymore and maybe I should get some sleep and eat an apple. I stomp to my room, flounce down on my bed, and find myself, once again, proclaiming that I’m gonna show ’em. I’m gonna show ’em all.
In the days before Reuben’s party, it’s as if time has lost all meaning. I get my coffee, I write new content for the website, I get some more coffee, I ride the bus, I dance to New Edition, I make myself nod breezy greetings to a busy and dismissive Chris Lawrence, I sleep, I “b-storm” with Jiffy, I almost tell Thornton what Chris said to me that day in his office about how he’d read up on me and was positive I wasn’t a threat, and I check my emails. The highlight of the three weeks is getting my first paycheck and being able to pay a few bills, give my parents money for food and rent, and actually go see a movie for the first time in months. I get popcorn and everything.
At work, I study the seating chart I’ve made of everyone at Bloom and try to find some method to the madness. Why are they sitting next to them and why are they sequestered all the way over there? And why is Bloom hiring sales and marketing people at such a rate that they’ve had to make onboarding an everyday thing to accommodate it?
On the Friday of Reuben’s party, Elise and I grab lunch at a sandwich place around the corner from Bloom. We asked Thornton if he wanted to come, but he was doing his own thing. Which was super great to hear. Hani asked us to bring back a market salad, with light lettuce.
As we walk over, our conversation is strained and exhausted. It’s been three weeks of dead ends. Some crime-solving band of misfits we turned out to be. I wish the heat of intrigue fueled us and we were staking out some server farm in the arctic waiting for Chris and Asher to snowmobile up wearing parkas made of baby seal fur. But we’re not. Instead, we’re asking some poor teenager what kinds of chips come with the sandwich special as a line of people shift and look at their phones behind us.
I have feelers out to a few connections I’ve worked with in the past. A retired cop who works security at a local bank, a bankruptcy attorney with a Lexis password who charges me $25 to see if anyone’s been sued, a woman who works at the DMV, and a real estate agent with whom I trade See’s Candies for property information.
I’ve heard back from the lawyer. Chris and Asher have not been sued, Bloom has not been sued, but he’ll do some more digging. The real estate agent is honeymooning on the Big Island and says she’ll get back to me first thing. For payment, she’d like a box of milk chocolate Bordeaux as well as whatever their seasonal candy is for spring. I haven’t been able to get in touch with the cop, but decide that I can stop by his bank if something urgent arises that he can help with. The woman at the DMV is a tricky one. She gives me the best information, but the last time I asked for something she made me go to a bunny museum with her—which turned out to be more of a person’s house who collected bunnies than an actual museum.
In a fit of desperation late one night, I almost texted Matt to see if he had any way of tracking down Meera Rao. I pulled up his phone number and was about to text, right up until I saw the last exchange we had. And when I say “exchange,” I mean my own series of unanswered texts that serves as a perfect epitaph for our relationship.
“saw a guy dressed as waldo crossing the street. We can all stop looking.”
“running late. be there in 5”
“left your key in the mailbox”
I exit out of our text thread with a sigh.
As Friday finally comes to an end, we all pack up our computers and head down into the main area where Elise is waiting for us to walk out. I hate seeing Hani so deflated and try to tell her that we are just laying the groundwork right now and that I swear it will pick up. She nods bravely as we thread through the hustle and bustle of a Friday night at Bloom.
“I want to get an orange soda for the drive home,” Hani says, pointing to the canteen. We all nod and settle in next to the front wall to wait. I watch as Mackenzie flits from desk to desk, asking if they’re super excited about her party. The people who weren’t invited act like they don’t hear, but one by one I see them turn up their music or pack up their stuff quickly and leave. We all thought we’d outgrown this kind of playground behavior. Mackenzie sees Thornton and immediately makes a beeline over to us. I sneak a glance over at him as she approaches and he’s unreadable. Always unreadable.
“Hey, you,” she says to him, completely ignoring Elise and me.
“Hey,” Thornton says. He turns to Elise and me. “You remember Joan and Elise?” Nuthin’.
“You never RSVPed to my party,” she says.
“Hey, Mackenzie. Happy birthday!” Hani says, leaping over to us with one orange soda in her hand and one in each of her jean pockets. “Cute shirt. And jacket. Wow, is that one of those enamel pins, is that a … who is that? Oh, it’s a sushi. Thought it was one of the Spice Girls. You know, I wish I lived an enamel pin life, but I just don’t have the right jean jacket for it maybe—”
“If you could just … I’m only over here to see if Thornton is coming on the party bus or if he is going to meet us at the rock climbing place,” Mackenzie says, raising her voice.
“Is this for a birthday party? You’re having a birthday party? Oh, I…” Hani stumbles and stutters as it dawns on her that she wasn’t invited. “I’ve never been on a party bus.”
I will kill you, Mackenzie.
“We’re going to an ’80s-themed birthday blowout over in Burbank,” I blurt. “Go-go boys, DJs, New Edition dance-offs … food. We rented out a whole place. Elks Lodge or something. It’s going to be huge.” Everyone looks over at me. “I was reminding Hani that we already had plans, so … sorry we can’t make it to your exercise party.” Hani’s eyes well up in tears. Elise puts her arm around Hani and pulls her in.
“I’ve always wanted to go to an ’80s-themed party,” Hani whispers.
“Uh … I didn’t invite you—”
“Good. Because we can not go,” I say, blowing out a long breath.
“Okay, good. Thornton, are you coming on the bus or meeting us there?”
“I’m going to the ’80s party, so I won’t be able to do either,” he says, stepping closer to Hani. “I should have RSVPed no earlier.”
“Maybe we’ll see you later then at the after party,” Mackenzie says.
“How many parties are you having?” Elise asks.
“I’m RSVPing no to all the parties, but thank you for inviting me,” Thornton says.
“You’re welcome.” Mackenzie is about to say something else.
“Yes, thank you for inviting us,” I say.
“Okay, well—” Mackenzie says, finally walking away. “I didn�
�t invite you!”
“Bye!” Elise yells.
“You guys are the best,” Hani says, tears streaming down her face, a little orange soda smile curling at the edges of her mouth.
“She’s the worst,” I say.
“Is there really an ’80s-themed party?” Hani asks. Elise and Thornton look to me with expressions that suggest that I better have an ’80s-themed birthday party or what kind of monster am I?
“Yes!” I say. Hani beams. Elise and Thornton exhale. “Do you want to come?” I ask.
“Do I get to wear a costume?” Hani asks.
“Hell, yeah,” I say.
“Then I’m in,” Hani says and then starts laughing. “I’m just kidding, I was going to be in whether I got to wear a costume or not, sheesh!” She takes a long drink of her orange soda. “You’ll text me the deets? I gotta get to finding this costume. This is the best—you know, I thought knowing that there were party buses out in the world was going to be the best part of my day, but then—boom, ’80s-themed party. Man. What a rollercoaster. Okay, see you guys there!” Hani skips out of the main area and right out the front door.
“You guys don’t have to come, but I couldn’t let Mackenzie … I just couldn’t—”
“What kind of person is mean to Hani? She’s literally the nicest, sweetest joy…” Elise trails off. Thornton and I give each other a knowing, slightly hopeful look. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there. Until then, I’d better scrounge up a costume.” Elise waves her goodbyes.
“You don’t have to come,” I repeat to Thornton.
“You kidding? A party with food? Where am I going to find something as rare and precious as that?” I smile. He gestures toward the front door and we walk in silence. He opens the door and waits for me to walk out first. I thank him and lunge toward the outside as quickly and conveniently as I can. We stand in front of Bloom in an expanding awkward silence.
“So, I’ll see you there,” I say.
“You need a ride or anything?”
“Oh, I’m all the way in Altadena.”
“I’m just in Echo Park, so it’s not that out of the way.”
“It’s totally out of the way.”
“Okay, fine. It’s out of the way. And yet I am still offering.”
“I hadn’t even thought about taking a bus in my whole costume and everything.” I look up. Thornton waits. “I would love a ride.”
“Good, I’ll pick you up at…”
“Eight thirty?” Thornton nods. “See you then, then.” There is a beat. Where both of us try to decipher if “See you then, then” is a real sentence. At about the same time, we both come to the same conclusion: it is not. “Let’s just not speak of it.” Thornton nods. I say my goodbyes and start walking to the bus stop. From behind me I hear Thornton yell.
“See you then, then.”
14
The Pumpkin Drop
“Wait, who’s coming to get you?” Billy yells down the hallway toward my room. I can hear him talking to someone in the kitchen and all I want is to get this costume on and go wait by the curb. Oh, no. What if Thornton gets here early and knocks on the door?
And has to sit with my family.
I text Lynn, Hugo, and Reuben to let them know that the three Bloom kids will be joining us tonight. Hugo and Reuben reply with a tidal wave of questions: Are they attending ironically? Will they be on their phones the whole time? Will they be in costume? Were they even born in the ’80s? Will they make me feel old? And then just a string of old man emojis.
Lynn replies with a simple and unpunctuated, “can’t wait to meet them.” Then I proceed to spend the remainder of the time I’m getting ready spinning Lynn’s one text into an entire indictment of my life choices. She probably thinks I’m inviting these three twentysomethings because my fragile ego needs a malleable set of child-friends to revere me as a wise sage. All Lynn asked was that I have the courage to connect and love my peers in an authentic way and in response I dove into the shallow, millennial-infested end of the pool. She probably doesn’t have the heart to tell me that I’m a silly coward who refuses to dig deeper into my own consciousness and will continue to remove myself from any and all adult relationships that challenge me.
Now in a full panic, I pull on my black Converse, grab my black scarf and gray sling bag, and run out into the kitchen.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Billy asks, holding up Poppy while Dad wipes whatever blended food was not to her liking off her entire body. “Don’t tell Mom or Anne anything you’re seeing, by the way.”
“I’m Allison Reynolds from The Breakfast Club.” They both look confused. I turn to Billy and speak sibling. I act out everything I’m saying. “The basketcase? From that ’80s John Hughes movie with the dancing and the pot and the running through the empty school?” I bend over, let my head fall, and tousle and shake my hair. It dawns on me that all of the basket case’s clothes were essentially already in my closet. The old black cardigan, the skirt, and the black Converse. This isn’t so much a costume as just another comfy work outfit for me.
“Ohhhhhh. That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Billy asks, peppering Poppy’s belly with raspberries. Poppy lunges over to Dad and he scoops her up and flies her around the kitchen.
“Where are Mom and Anne?” I ask.
“Seeing a movie with Sylvia,” Billy says.
“Oh, you’ll never believe it. Apparently, Sylvia and Greg are getting a divorce,” Dad says. I immediately look over at Billy. He just rolls his eyes.
“Did they give a reason?” I ask, tying the black scarf loose around my neck.
“I’m sure your mom’ll get it out of her tonight,” Dad says, giving Poppy a raspberry on her belly.
“I’ll be curious to hear,” I say, eyeing Billy. “Verrrrrrry curious.”
“So, who’s picking you up?” Billy asks, changing the subject.
“It’s someone from work and I’m going to wait by the curb so you don’t embarrass me,” I say.
“Is it a boy?” Billy asks, drawing out the word “booooooooyyyyyyyyyy.” Dad tickles Poppy, but I can see that he’s listening. “A gentleman caller, mayhap?”
“Oh my god,” I say, transferring the contents from my workbag over to the gray sling bag—also from my closet.
“Does this work colleague have a name?” Dad asks.
“Thornton Yu.”
“And is Thornton Yu your new booooooooooyyyyyyyfriend?” Billy asks.
“No, but you’re going to be my new”—my mind rifles through a quick succession of options, finally blurting out—“deadfriend.”
“That’s just embarrassing,” Billy says, pulling a couple of beers out of the refrigerator. He cracks them both open, sets one on the table for Dad, takes a long swig of his beer, and stifles a giant burp.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to shut up about Thornton Yu or else I’m gonna—” A knock on the door. A giant smile breaks across Billy’s face. He slowly sets his beer on the table. We lock eyes. And then all hell breaks loose as we fight and claw and shove at each other trying to get to the door first. Billy dives into the door and pulls it open. I am panting and sweaty. And there’s Thornton. Standing at my front door. Dressed as Maverick from Top Gun.
“Hey, Mav,” Billy says, opening the door wide. Thornton’s aviator sunglasses are tucked into the collar of his flight suit. His black hair is slicked back. “Please! Come on in!” Thornton looks from Billy to me, smiles, and steps inside my house. I keep the door open. We won’t be staying long. Billy reaches around, shoulders past me, and closes the door.
“Thornton, this is my brother, Billy,” I say, trying to get in front of this. They shake hands. So far so good.
“Nice to meet you,” Thornton says.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Billy says, clapping Thornton on the back and downright pushing him into the kitchen. “Come on in.”
“We’re actually in a hurry, so…” I rush past Billy and Thornton
and grab my gray sling bag off the kitchen table. “Welp, it was nice—”
“Thornton Yu,” Thornton says, extending his hand to my dad. Poppy leans down and rests the side of her face on Thornton’s forearm.
“William Dixon, and this is Poppy,” Dad says. Poppy puts her arms out toward Thornton. We are all ready to jump in, but Thornton doesn’t hesitate. He loops his hands under Poppy’s arms and brings her in close.
“I have nieces,” he says as we all stand watching Poppy place a dimpled hand on the side of his face. She “casually” flicks her eyes down to Thornton’s collar and acts like “Oh, I hadn’t seen these super-cool sunglasses hanging there. What a surprise!” Thornton is quick, though. He distracts her for mere milliseconds with a noisy kiss on the top of her head, and deftly loops the sunglasses off his collar, slipping them into the flight suit’s pocket. By the time Poppy looks back over at Thornton’s collar, they’re gone. She looks back up at him, her eyes slow-blinking in wonder.
Thornton paces around the kitchen, rocking a sleepier and sleepier Poppy. He talks to her in a low lullaby of a voice. As Billy, Dad, and I look on, Thornton asks Poppy how her day was, what she thinks she’ll do tomorrow, and, eyeing Mom’s kitchen herb garden on the windowsill, lists each herb and which dishes he thinks they’d be delicious in.
“I know what those herbs are too,” Billy says. “Just sayin’.” He sniffs, picks up his beer, and won’t look at me.
“Looks like someone has a new best friend,” Dad says, settling back in at the kitchen table. Billy grunts out an assent through gritted teeth.
“I’m so glad you invited Thornton in,” I say to Billy. He takes a long drink of his beer. Yes, I’m gloating. By the time Thornton circles back to us, Poppy is draped over his shoulder, fast asleep. Billy stands up and Thornton hands over the little ragdoll of a girl. Billy offers Thornton a respectful nod while Thornton disentangles himself.