I weave my way through the crowd of people filling Grace’s living room. Dance music sounds from the speakers. Several people try to chat with me as I pass, but I wave them off with promises to return later.
This is Grace’s idea of a small gathering. I can’t be mad. I agreed to let her throw me a party, and she made sure that there wasn’t anyone named Grayson on the guest list. She had it catered by my favorite Italian restaurant. Her living room is decorated like an Italian vineyard, which clashes with the music, but I guess themes can only be carried so far.
She did a fantastic job with the party, like always. I’ll have to remember to thank her. But I have other more pressing items that I need to talk to her about.
I find her in the kitchen, making a new batch of sangria.
“Hey, birthd
