There was a certain type of celebration thrown by people who didn’t do parties and they were significantly worse than those organized by people who liked parties.
The difficulty with Salter & Rowson’s annual Christmas bash was it was conceived by two men in their sixties who never socialized beyond their golf clubs, trying to imagine what people in their thirties might do for a knees-up. It resulted in Greek restaurants with traditional dancing and taramasalata the color of bubble gum and baskets of dry pita corners. Or deafening-volume wine bars trying to moonlight as mass caterers, serving forty-five turkey risottos with a cranberry jus and parsnip tuiles.
This year was at the university; and with its wood paneling and organ and chandeliers, it looked pleasingly like the Hogwarts great hall. The plus, no karaoke. The drawback was that in order to make it profitable, it accommodated multiple companies and hundreds of people at the same time.
For all the elegance of the surroundings, it would’ve been tons nicer to have a lesser place to themselves. Heigh-ho. Or HO HO HO, as the giant illuminated letters on stage had it.
However, it wouldn’t have mattered if they threw tonight’s shebang in the Palace of Versailles, it only mattered to Laurie that Dan was taking Megan. This was confirmed by a message shortly after the company email, asking if it was OK. Wanker. Bastard. One of the worst things about you, Laurie decided, is I thought I was a good judge of character.
But Laurie, so soon after announcing them free agents, could hardly object, and it was face loss to care, anyway. The chutzpah of this woman too; Laurie couldn’t make the imaginative leap where she thought it was acceptable, let alone desirable, to sit at a table in the same room as Laurie.
“She’ll have rationalized: we didn’t do anything until they were over; if they were right they wouldn’t be over; and I’m the one with the baby, which is a complete and final answer to what matters here, so stand aside,” Emily said. “None of which makes her any less of a bitch.”
“Telling me.”
Laurie spent a small fortune on a fire-engine red, one-shouldered dress that pulled in tight at the waist and had a chiffon skirt that flared out in soft folds in a Strictly Come Dancing sort of way. Laurie felt as if she should be raised overhead in it by a ripped Eastern European hunk, to a big band reinterpretation of a Lady Gaga song. She wore her hair out and big, having gone for a blow-dry. And utilized the siren-red lipstick that Emily got her. The look was almost comically “Thank U, Next” defiant to an ex, and yet Laurie had no qualms about making an effort, not like her apprehension before the Ivy. Anything less than a pyrotechnical show of strength, when faced with your ex and his pregnant mistress, was unconscionable.
When she removed her outerwear at the coat check, Jamie said: “You look utterly, completely hot,” and seemed to mean it. Laurie could only give him a tense smile.
Jamie was in a black suit, white shirt, black tie. (“I look like a waiter or a Reservoir Dog but I’m not wearing a tuxedo. Unless you get one made, they never fit, and I’m not wearing a baggy hired one and feeling like I’m in Boyz II Men.”)
“It’s going to be OK,” he said quietly, taking her hand, as they entered the main hall.
“But we split up after tonight!” Laurie hissed at him with a smile. They’d reaffirmed that post-Christmas do, it was time to draw things to a close.
“True. This is so meta,” Jamie said.
They studied the seating plan and located their table, seeing they’d been put directly next to Michael and his date for the night, a nervy vape smoker called Sam.
Given the bile that Michael had sprayed at Jamie previously, Jamie was extremely gracious and solicitous to both him and Sam, while Michael looked stormy and murderous throughout.
Sam took to Jamie, the way most women did. Laurie noted that as soon as it was in danger of becoming obvious, Jamie found a way to refer back to Laurie and bring her into the conversation, so there was no danger of Michael claiming Jamie had flirted. Except Laurie was sure that Michael would claim that anyway. Once you despised someone with that sort of Old Testament fervor, you could always find the material.
They were cheek by jowl with lads from Experian, and a six-foot-something giant in a kilt called Angus insisted that, as he and Laurie were back to back, they had to introduce themselves to each other. She shook his hand and felt glad of the merry goodwill all around. However tempting, it would’ve been so wrong to stay away tonight.
Angus angled his chair toward Laurie and made conversation with her until the salmon mousse appeared.
As the starters were being swept away and the right combination of people were out of their seats at the same time to provide a direct line of sight, Laurie saw them.
Dan was in an old suit she remembered helping him choose, Megan, a small but prominent bump visible, was in a pale blue strappy dress, a shiny curtain of poker-straight red hair tucked behind her ears. Laurie gazed at the bump. Now it was in front of her, as simple fact, its power was considerably dispelled. It was nothing to do with her.
Megan didn’t appear to be interacting much with anyone, inclining her head to say something to Dan every so often. Then someone spoke to them, and she saw Megan place her hand on Dan’s knee in a proprietorial fashion. Laurie flinched, but after a moment’s analysis, realized it was a flinch at the strangeness of seeing this, not Megan’s rights over Dan. It felt disorientating and peculiar, like selling a piece of family furniture and seeing it in someone else’s house. But you knew it didn’t fit in your place anymore.
Megan leaned in, doing a cutesome and stagy head tilt, as if someone was taking a photograph of them, before bursting into peals of girlish giggles and petting at his face. Dan received this with tolerance but slight embarrassment, Laurie detected.
And in another moment of observation, Laurie got it—she finally figured it out. The clear difference that Megan offered, compared to her: uncomplicated adoration. Dan was running the show and being made to feel in charge and manly.
She recalled that moment in the spare room, Dan saying resentfully: “You’re so bloody clever, you are.”
Laurie had thought she and Dan being a match was a good thing, that she kept him on his toes. They sparred. But a woman had come along offering to playact the supplicant, do the You Tarzan, Me Jane, and he couldn’t resist. He’d started to find Laurie wearing, by comparison.
She never thought she’d have an explanation, or closure, and now she did. Huh. It felt relieving and slightly flat, like finding out whodunit in a murder mystery and realizing the question was more intriguing than the answer. Megan looked over at Laurie, and Laurie fought her inclination to glance away and returned Megan’s gaze steadily. After a long moment, Megan dropped her eyes and fussed with the napkin on her lap.
“Yep,” Laurie said, to no one but herself, picking up a bottle of wine and refilling herself.
“You OK?” Jamie asked again, in her ear, arm around the back of her banqueting chair with the broad festive red and green sash ribbon around it.
“Yes,” Laurie said. “I’m more OK than I’ve been in a long while, and I have no idea how or why.”
“I do,” Jamie said with a smile.
“Oh?”
“I told you when you started to believe in yourself, you’d be unstoppable.”
Jamie Carter, what an unlikely hero. In that second, she wondered if she loved him.
