59
Not That Kind of Party
Maisie
Well, this was a first.From the other side of the counter, Franny stared without saying a single word. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she said, "You're joking, right?"
My face was already in flames. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since she'd first mentioned the key party, and I'd spent most of those minutes handling a string of bike rentals one after the other.
Meanwhile, Franny had stuck around to finish our conversation, and I'd just had the humiliating task of explaining exactly why I hadn't invited her to a party that had never happened.
With a grimace, I told her, "I only wish I were joking."
"But…" She squinted in confusion. "I thought it was a Tupperware thing. Or maybe a real estate mixer – you know, because of the keys." She gave a choked little laugh. "No wonder you didn't invite me."
"No, I didn't invite you, because it didn't happen."
She glanced toward the window, as if hoping to see Ryder. Or Griff. Or Magic Mike grinding away. Absently, she said, "So… you'renotinto swapping?"
Oh, for God's sake."Of course not. Are you?"
"Me?" She looked offended by the question. "Just who do you think I am?"
Nowthatwas a loaded question. "Well…you've always seemed kind of saucy. And youwerearound in the seventies, so…"
"Sowhat?" she demanded. "You think I'm a swinger?"
Talk about unfair."Hey, you thoughtIwas a swinger."
"No, I didn't," she said. "I thought you liked Tupperware. That's completely different."
I couldn't argue withthat. "You're tellingme."
But forget key parties.The only thing Iwantedto think about was Griff. Turns out, I'd horribly misjudged him. He wasn't sleeping with other girls. He was sleeping with tools, clutter, and broken bikes.
Just the thought of it was enough to break my heart. For weeks, he'd been working for nearly nothing but sandwiches. And all this time, he'd been living in a dump that should've been condemned ages ago, when key parties were still a thing.
His apartment stunk, literally, and I'd gotten a decent look at the bed. It looked old, small, lumpy – not half as comfy as my sleeping bag.
No wonder Griff was staying at the shop.
But why hadn't he told me?
Was he too ashamed?
Thatmustbe it. And what did it say aboutmethat he didn't feel comfortable confessing that he needed someplace better to stay?Forget the shop.He could've slept with me at the house.
Just the thought of it made my heart clench with longing. We could've woken up together in a nice, comfy bed. We could've had coffee and pastries at the kitchen table. We could've sat on the porch at night, watching the fireflies and talking about whatever.
It would've been nice – no,morethan nice.
It would've been perfect.
But then, my stomach sank as the truth hit home. None of this had happened, because I'd been too stubborn to invite him even for a single sleepover.
And why?
Sure, Tessa was part of it. But mostly, it was because I'd wanted to be invited to Griff's place first.
