As we near the building where the party will be held, I feel myself seize up a bit with nerves. Over the years I’ve become such a homebody that I can’t recall the last party I’ve been to. Sure, there have been occasional dinner parties at the home of a coworker or a game night at Jules’s with some of her friends, but a party where you stand around with drinks in your hands and mingle? It’s been forever.
“How many folks do you think will be at this shindig?”
Tate is searching the intercom directory, presumably for his friend’s dad’s name. He’s distracted as he says, “Abra said there’ll probably be around fifty people at this party. People. Party. Dad, try to remember.”
“What?” I ask, but I’m drowned out by a metallic voice issuing forth from the speaker. “Identify yourself,” and then lau
