Someone’s stomach gurgles. Someone’s sweating out the tacos they ate earlier. Someone’s crying somewhere; the brine of their tears flavors the air. It’s the same sensory overload I experienced at the Corner Pub.

The kitchen is crowded. People stagger toward the food. I witness some blatant double-dipping.

I head into the dining room, which appears slightly less congested.

There, I find Ash in a sequined dress with puffy sleeves.

“You look like a beautiful disco ball,” I tell her.

“You look gorgeous,” she says. “Wow. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were famous.”

I give her a hug. “I’m big in Eastern Europe.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” she says. Then she whispers, “Don’t look, but Ian’s here. In the corner.”

I look anyway. I notice him noticing me. His expression is blank.

I expect him to come over, acknowledge me in some way, but he doesn’t. He returns to his conversation without so much as a nod.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I say. “Maybe think up some resolutions. I’ll see you.”

I turn, moving slowly to show off my exposed back. I go over to the bar. I expect Seth but he’s not around, so I help myself. When I’m done pouring my bourbon, I check to see if Ian’s watching me. He isn’t.

I find a group of drunk people to talk to. They all find me very charming and hilarious. They laugh loudly, which is good for getting attention. I feel eyes on me. I’m the sun of the party. I shine the brightest, and it’s all orbiting around me. My presence is known.

I wait for Ian to come to me, to give in, but time passes and he’s nowhere, and we’re now fast approaching midnight.

It’s going to have to be me, isn’t it? I’m going to have to make the first move.

I’m owed an explanation. I’m not going to let him ignore me. Avoid confrontation, avoid accountability. I’m going to maintain my composure. I’m going to resolve this calmly and maturely and then move on with my life as a charismatic lady/terrifying beast.

I drift into the kitchen to watch the door out to the deck. He’ll go out for a smoke at some point.

I sniff out some other smokers. I chat them up. I catch Ian in my peripheral vision opening the sliders and striding outside.

“You fellas wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette for me, would you?”

They don’t just give me one and let me go. They decide to all go out with me. It’s not ideal, but I can make it work.

“Aren’t you cold?” one of them asks when we step out onto the deck.

“You want my coat?” another asks. “I could go get it.”

“Such gents,” I say. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

One of them offers me their lighter, but I don’t take it. I look over at Ian. His back is turned.

“Excuse me. I’m going to say hi to my friend,” I tell them.