by Holly Jacobs
"Take off your glasses," Gina ordered.
"Yeah!" Sunny agreed.
"You're not hungover?" Morgan asked.
Nikki pushed the glasses up onto her head and exposed her very bright, clear eyes. "I gave up excess drinking a couple years ago. I hated losing my Sundays to a hangover."
"She needs the time because she's working on a book," Tessa shared.
"A book?" everyone else at the table repeated together, Nikki now the total focus of the morning.
Nikki shot a few daggers at Tessa with her eyes, then slowly nodded. "I've taken some of my favorite columns and expanded on them. I was going to call it A Single Girl's Dating Guide, but thanks to Morgan and her mom, I've changed the working title to Confessions of a Party Crasher."
All her friends started laughing, and Sunny went so far as to clap. They all talked at once, assuring Nikki of her brilliance, and her successful future as a writer. The noise level rose, and everyone showered her with praise and support. . .except from Tessa's corner of the table. She'd gotten very quiet as she stared beyond Morgan at something, a slow smile playing on her face.
Morgan turned. Her mother had walked into the diner with an older guy and Conner in tow.
"Hi, girls." Annabelle looked positively gleeful. Her mom being that happy made Morgan nervous.
Very nervous.
Her mom being here with Conner? Even more nervous than that.
Morgan frowned as her mother pulled a chair up to the table. Her gentleman friend followed suit. Then Morgan gazed at Conner, but he made no sign so she was at a loss as to what that was about.
"I know we're crashing your brunch, but I wasn't going to miss this for anything," Annabelle stage-whispered to the women.
CONNER DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING.
He couldn't.
He'd had a host of things he wanted to say to Morgan, had spent the night going over and over them, but all his preparation was amounting to nothing, because now that he was here in front of her, all those carefully planned words evaporated.
"Conner?" When he didn't respond, she repeated, "Conner, what did you want?"
Okay, what was first? Her name. Morgan. Even in his slightly dazed state he was sure he could get that out. "Morgan, I—"
"I heard him pull in at your place and hurried out. When I told him you weren't at home, he looked so disappointed. Then he said he had something to tell you. Well, of course, being the empathetic person I am, I offered to help him find you, and came along for the show. I brought Todd along. Say hi to Morgan's friends, Todd."
"Hi," the older gentleman said, a soft hint of the South in his voice. "Pleased to meet y'all. Especially you, Morgan. Your mama does nothing but sing your praises."
"I can't help it that my daughter is exceptional," Annabelle said. "And her friends, too, of course."
"Of course," Todd agreed.
Conner noticed that Morgan didn't seem to be paying any attention to her mother and Todd. Her eyes hadn't left him.
"Conner?" she repeated. "Aren't you supposed to be in D.C.?"
"I could counter by asking aren't you supposed to be in San Diego?" He nodded at the table. "If you'd all excuse us, I need to borrow Morgan for a minute."
"Oh, no you don't," Annabelle said. "I crashed this brunch in order to be a witness, and I know Morgan's friends would want to be as well."
"Mom," Morgan said.
"It's fine," Conner told her. "I got to D.C. and started at the paper. I realized it wasn't what I thought it would be. I remembered what you said, that sometimes what we think we want isn't what we want at all—"
"Actually, I said it first," Annabelle announced. "Just to keep the record straight."
"You've got a smart mother, Morgan. It's true, the last couple of years I've regretted turning down my big break at photojournalism. I wanted to see the world and tell its story. But when you saw my pictures in the darkroom, you pointed out that I'd been doing that all along, after a fashion. All those weddings. I captured this particular couple's story, shared in that very special event. You showed me though it's not breaking news, it's an important story to tell. Love matters. It counts. And the nature shots are just another way of telling the story—what we've done, are doing to the environment, and to the animals that share it with us. I've spent so much time lamenting the fact I wasn't involved in the big stories. But it struck me all at once that I had been doing just that—telling stories that mattered. And I'd been happy doing it. When this job came along, I took it because it's what I thought I wanted, what I did want once upon a time. But now. . ."
CONNER PAUSED AND MORGAN SUCKED in her breath. She looked around the table. Her friends leaned forward, as if not to miss a single word. Her mother sat next to the gray-haired, bushy-browed gentleman with the very kind eyes.
And Conner. Conner stood there looking so good. "And now?" she prompted when the pregnant pause had gone on far too long.
"Now," he said, taking her hand. "I realize that I want to be here, want to keep taking my nature photos, and even do the occasional wedding. That's why I'm back."
"For photography?" she asked, feeling more than slightly disappointed.
He nodded. "You see, I hear Oakland Chair and Dish Rental is in the process of expanding its party offerings, and I thought you might like to hire an experienced wedding photographer to help set up that portion of it."
"You want a job?" Her head felt thick, as if she were listening to him through pudding.
"That's secondary. What I really want is a chance with you. I think what we have, what we could have, deserves some time, don't you?"
Annabelle kicked her. "Say yes, honey."
Time. More time with Conner, exploring what they had? "Yes," Morgan said. "Yes."
Conner looked around the table, then back at her. "Remember what you told me at the last party you crashed?"
She nodded.
"Me, too."
"What did you say?" Sunny asked, to a chorus of yeah, tell us.
"Pittsburgh is home," Morgan replied.
"She did say that," Conner agreed. "But what I was referring to was when you said you loved me. Me, too."
"You love yourself?" Sunny frowned.
"I love Morgan," Conner clarified, smiling. "So, am I invited to brunch?"
Everyone said yes at once, Morgan's was loudest and another chair was located. The five friends, plus Morgan's mother and Todd, squished together to accommodate Conner.
He took Morgan's hand under the table as they all talked and talked—sharing, laughing.
This, Morgan thought. This was exactly what she wanted. Her family, her friends. . .and Conner. Always Conner.
Sometimes what you think you want isn't what you want after all, she reminded herself.
But sometimes. . .sometimes it was.
Epilogue
E.J., so there it is. I'm here in Pittsburgh, busy at the store, with my friends and Conner. Things are going well between us. Actually, each day with him is a gift. But I miss you. Any chance you'd like to come visit Pittsburgh? I know this great little diner on Fifth Avenue. We could do breakfast. And I could introduce you to my friends. Especially Nikki. I really think there's a chance you two could hit it off. She has a thing for doctors. I finally fixed up Tessa and Mark, and they're going strong. Maybe matchmaking is my true calling. Come visit and we'll see if I'm right.
And if I am? Well, we do have hospitals in Pittsburgh you could work at.
In the meantime, I'm happy. Oh, I'm not exactly doing what I thought I'd be doing, but you know, this is one case of my mother being right. Sometimes what you think you want, isn't what you want at all. But I finally figured out what I want and where I belong. I don't think life gets any better than that.
Confessions of a Party Crasher
BONUS FEATURES INSIDE
Party Crashing. . .The New Dating Scene?
Party Crashing. . .Advice for the Mature Woman
Party Crashing. . . The New Dating Scene?
by Ni
cole Hastings
(from Confessions of a Party Crasher)
Part Three of Six
Party-Crashing Etiquette 101
In part one and two of this series we've established why I started crashing parties, and gave you a list of types of parties that might easily be crashed and can involve eligible men. Now let's talk party-crashing etiquette.
Etiquette? you ask. Well, yes. Even if you're going to a party uninvited there's no reason to be rude about it. I've found three basic rules really make the entire party-crashing experience better for both the crasher and the crashees.
BIGGER IS BETTER: Look for parties that are big enough to absorb an extra guest without anyone noticing: wedding receptions, graduation parties, anniversary celebrations, even big family reunions (you can always be Uncle Jonas's secret love child). And all those big milestone parties: Bar Mitzvahs, Bat Mitzvahs, quinceañeras, sweet-sixteen parties. . . Anywhere where you can join in without standing out.
I went to a quinceañera a few weeks ago. Talk about fun. As dressy and formal as a wedding, but when the girl leaves, she doesn't have a husband in tow. . .just fond memories of a big party that was all about her. I had fond memories of the party, as well, namely Alejandro. Al was a perfect gentleman. . .while his mama was in the room. But later, when he walked me to my car? I knew I'd be crashing something again the next weekend.
MAKING AN ENTRANCE: Never, I mean, never, crash until after the food has been served. The meal has been planned for a certain number and you weren't one of that number. So, stop and eat at McDonald's, and crash the party late. The fact that you're crashing shouldn't cost the hosts anything but some dance-floor space. If they have an open bar, don't drink. But if you can pay for your own, have at it.
LEARN THE CUSTOMS: Once you have a target, do your homework. For a recently crashed Jewish wedding, I learned the Hava Nagila dance and how to say mazel tov. A Polish wedding? Definitely know the polka. And really, just about any wedding, regardless of the ethnicity, requires the ability to do the Electric Slide!
You see, even when breaking the rules, there are rules that should be followed.
Tomorrow's Column: Party Pimping
So you go fishing in the dating pool and find a nice man who doesn't really do it for you. Why throw him back? Pass him on to a friend. . .
Party-Crashing. . .Advice for the Mature Woman by Annabelle Miller
(from Confessions of a Party Crasher)
(As told during a speech to a Red Hat Society Group)
Thank you, for inviting me to be with you tonight. We're all women, something our daughters like to forget. At least, mine would. When she was little she thought I hung the moon. I'd say, I love you so much I could burst with it. I knew our relationship was changing the day I said it and she looked at me and replied, Just don't go bursting in front of my friends. That was the day my moon set. I was no longer amazing, I was embarrassing.
And embarrassed was how she felt when I took her out on the town. Granted, it wasn't quite a town. . .it was a wedding reception we crashed. But I was hoping she'd meet some man back here in Pittsburgh and stick around. I didn't want her to go back to San Diego. I missed her. What mother wouldn't miss her daughter and want her to move back home?
Finding her a new boyfriend here in town seemed like the logical solution. But how to introduce her to someone? Taking her clubbing. . . well, that wouldn't be very mommish. But a nice wedding reception? You see, years ago I met my husband crashing a reception. And I'll confess, getting my daughter a date by crashing that reception wasn't my only goal. . .I thought lightning might strike twice for me. After years happily on my own, I was ready for another relationship.
Well, long story short, my daughter did meet a man. Unfortunately, I didn't. It seems mature men don't go to wedding receptions unless they're with a woman who insists. There seems to be a plethora of men for the twenty-something crowd—even my daughter's friend managed to meet a man at crashed receptions. But the over fifty group? Not so much.
So, where can women of an age meet men?
I gave it a lot of thought.
One of my early tries was a wake. A good Irish wake. And there were eligible men my age there. But there's a downside to meeting men at wakes—they tend to be rather depressed. Not only that, you can depend on the fact that you are most definitely the rebound woman.
Cross off wakes.
Funerals, weddings. What other milestones are celebrated with parties big enough you can crash without being noticed?
Proms are out.
Graduation parties?
No.
Okay, nix parties. I tried a science-fiction convention. I did get drafted to serve on a ship by a very interesting captain. . .but unfortunately he found his role-playing more fun than playing with me.
So I borrowed my daughter's dog, Gilligan. Pet obedience classes. Maybe there'd be a nice older gentleman there. And there was. His name was Hershal and he brought along his prized toy poodle. We were getting along fine, until I realized I'd forgotten something. Back in his younger days, Gilligan had been a humper. I mean that dog humped anything and everything. But as he aged, arthritis set in and things quieted down on that front. But it seemed for Ms. Muffy, he'd made an attempt. Ms. Muffy was not impressed by poor Gilligan's attempts to resurrect his glory days, and my new friend wasn't either. I protested that the mutt wasn't even mine, which added insult to injury when Gilligan and I were kicked out of the obedience class for crashing.
So I thought about other types of classes. Maybe some kind of self-help?
I got a directory from my hospital. Parents Without Partners jumped out at me. Perfect. I was a parent. I didn't have a partner. Now, granted, my daughter is twenty-something, but still, it counts and I went. The meeting was mainly women, and the few men who joined were not only way too young, they were coping with raising kids and didn't seem to have time for a relationship.
Ladies, it was tough. Let me tell you.
The bar scene didn't work for me when I was a bar-scene age, so I had my doubts about it working now. I thought about a car-care class, but I figured the powers that be supplied me with a mechanic—someone to fix my cars. I had no interest in learning to fix them myself and didn't think I wanted a man my age who was just learning car care.
Grocery stores?
Bah. Same principle. I don't want a man who cooks, I want one who will take me out.
Then one day I happened upon an AA meeting. How I ended up there is a long story that involves a borrowed lab coat and an accusation of impersonating a doctor. We don't have time for it. But there I was with a room of people who used to drink and don't now, hanging out and talking about the fact they used to drink. A fun group if ever there was one.
And that's where I met my man. He has his ten-year pin. Ten years, no alcohol. I'd say that was a good bet. So, don't just sit back and hang out with each other. Self-help groups are wonderful. Oh, it might seem like people in a support group might not be the most upbeat, but some are.
And even though I'm off the market, I've been gathering suggestions from friends.
How about a gourmet club, a cigar bar? Maybe a gentleman's club. . .of course, you'd have to petition to be the first female member, but that would definitely garner you a bit of notice.
Maybe you could crash a biker club? I've noticed that a lot of older men, when they reach their midlife crisis, buy a bike. Might be the place to find a few. Church suppers, lawn-bowling banquet, the policeman's ball. I mean, who doesn't love uniforms? Speaking of uniforms, I've noticed a lot of reenactors' groups have sprouted up in western Pennsylvania. . .what about crashing one of their shindigs? Men in uniforms and you'd get to wear a pretty hooped skirt.
There are those free screening days at hospitals and pharmacies. . .those are bound to bring in men of a certain age. The sky's the limit.
Now, I know you allotted me more time to talk, and while I'm so glad you invited me to your meeting, I think you've got the gist of what I have to
say. I know you have refreshments all laid out for when I finish, but there's an AA meeting down the hall. . .I bet they wouldn't notice a dozen ladies sneakin' in and sit at the back. Especially if those ladies bring along their own refreshments to share. . . .
If you enjoyed Confessions of a Party Crasher, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review. And don’t stop reading yet. I’ve included an excerpt from I Waxed My Legs for This?, then go one page further. . .I’ve got a list of other books available for your Kindle. As always, thank you for all your support!
Holly Jacobs
Excerpt from I Waxed My Legs for This?
Copyright Holly Jacobs
Chapter One
JACK TEMPLETON bounded up the stairs that led to Carrie Delany’s apartment, cursing her Bohemian spirit—the one that led her to lease a fifth-story loft in a building that had no elevator.
“Carrie.”
He beat his worry on the door with a quick succession of raps. When she called, Carrie had told him she was in trouble and to hurry.
For the entire fifteen-minute race through traffic he agonized about what type of trouble she could have gotten into this time.
“Coming,” she called.
He breathed a sigh of relief that whatever the trouble was, she didn’t sound bad.
The door slid open.
Half of Carrie’s blondish brown hair was in a ponytail, the other half trailed wisps down her neck. She was wearing a disreputable robe, peeking out beneath it was his old football jersey—a shirt she’d borrowed back in high school and had never returned.