The Party Read online

  When they entered, Hannah saw her mom’s eyes land on the arrivals. Her face relayed blatant disapproval as she took in Ronni’s cleavage and thick foundation, Lauren’s bare midriff and visible belly-button ring. Kim quickly masked the expression with a phony smile, but not before Hannah caught it.

  “Hi, Ronni,” Kim said. “I saw your mom today.”

  “Yeah, she told me.”

  “It was nice to see her. It’s been way too long.”

  “That’s what she said, too.”

  Kim turned to Lauren. “You must be Lauren.”

  “Hey …” Lauren sounded both bored and uncomfortable at the same time.

  Hannah watched the subtle yet unmistakable hardening of her mom’s expression. Kim hated Lauren on sight; there was no hiding it. Hannah turned away. It was her birthday and she wasn’t going to spend it worrying about what her mom thought of her friends. She was starting to realize that Kim was a really judgmental person. If a girl wore too much makeup, had some body art or a piercing, her mom thought she was trashy. If a kid didn’t get straight A’s, didn’t study three hours a night, or didn’t belong to a sports team, she wasn’t up to her mom’s standards. God forbid a sixteen-year-old wants to have some fun, to create some memories that didn’t revolve around sports or academics. Hannah lifted a snack tray. “Let’s go downstairs, guys.”

  Her dad’s voice called after them. “You girls go ahead. Your manservant will bring down the pizza.” They all laughed, even Lauren. Maybe her dad was kind of funny?

  In the musty basement, the girls dumped their gear in a corner and pounced on the sofa. “What did your parents get you for your birthday?” Marta asked.

  Hannah held out her wrist for review of the diamond bracelet, and the girls gushed appropriately. She smiled and bit her lip. It was a really cute bracelet.

  Lauren said, “What did Noah get you?”

  Hannah felt her face flush. “Nothing …” Ronni and Lauren exchanged a look that made Hannah feel she should elaborate. “I haven’t even seen him today. And I didn’t really expect anything. We’re still casual.”

  Ronni said, “I bet he’s got something for you.”

  “Yeah, he’s got something for her,” Lauren said. “His big dick!”

  All the girls burst into laughter, and Hannah forced herself to laugh along, but her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  When the giggles subsided, Marta said, “I got you a present.” She moved to her stack of belongings, prompting the others to follow suit.

  “You didn’t have to,” Hannah said as the girls rummaged for their gifts, but she was delighted. Presents from parents were great; they were definitely more likely to be big-ticket, but gifts from friends were guaranteed to be cool, thoughtful, and relevant. When the girls were reassembled, Hannah opened Marta’s first. It was a set of floral-scented lotions. “I love them!” She hugged Marta, then turned to Lauren and Ronni.

  Ronni hugged the small gift bag to her chest, giggling. “You have to open this one last.”

  Caitlin handed over a cool pair of earrings that her cousin, an aspiring jewelry designer, had made. Hannah gave her oldest friend a quick hug of thanks. Now it was time for Lauren and Ronni’s present. She knew it would be perfect, whatever it was.

  Ronni looked toward the door, the gift bag in her hand. “The units aren’t going to come down, are they?”

  “Not till the pizza gets here. And we’ll hear them on the stairs.”

  Lauren and Ronni exchanged another gleeful look. “Okay,” Lauren said, grabbing the bag from Ronni and thrusting it to Hannah. “Open it.”

  Hannah plunged her hand into the rustling tissue paper, her fingers alighting on something silky. Lauren and Ronni watched with wicked grins as Hannah extracted a slip of sheer, cherry-red fabric.

  “It’s a thong.” Caitlin stated the obvious.

  Lauren and Ronni giggled. “There’s a matching bra, too,” Ronni added.

  Hannah pulled out the bra: plunging, red, push-up. It looked like something a supermodel would wear on the runway. Or a stripper on a pole. She feigned enthusiasm. “I love it!”

  Lauren leaned back on the sofa. “Noah’s going to splooge in his pants when he sees you in that.”

  Marta and Caitlin gasped, scandalized. Hannah tried to play it cool, but the thought of her and Noah and red lingerie made her whole body prickle.

  “Don’t let your mom find them,” Ronni said. “She’d totally murder you.”

  “I’ve got a great hiding place,” Hannah lied. “Don’t worry.”

  Upstairs, the doorbell rang: pizza. Soon, a rumble on the stairs and the hot cardboardy scent of pizza announced her parents’ descent. Hannah stuffed the lingerie under a sofa cushion just as her dad boomed, “Pizza delivery!” He entered carrying the large square box, trailed by her mom with a stack of plates and napkins. The girls shifted the other snack trays so her parents could set the pizza and accoutrements on the coffee table.

  Her dad hovered above them for a moment. “What? No tip?” The girls forced a laugh. He was trying way too hard, and Hannah wanted him to leave.

  “You’ve got everything you need then?” Her mom scanned the room.

  “We’re good,” Hannah said quickly. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, thanks … ,” the other girls murmured.

  But her mom wasn’t quite ready to depart. “We have a few rules in this house.”

  “Mom … ,” Hannah whined. “They’ve all been here before.”

  “Lauren hasn’t.” Her mom looked to Lauren and then included them all. “We won’t tolerate any drugs, alcohol, or pornography.”

  Pornography? God, her mom was so out of touch. As if sixteen-year-old girls sat around looking at dicks as a party activity. She was about to enlighten her mother, but Lauren said, “That’s cool,” in her bored, nasal voice. Hannah realized she must reserve this tone for adults. Or maybe she always sounded this way but Hannah only noticed it when her mom was listening.

  “No smoking, of course,” Kim added. “It’s a fire hazard in addition to causing cancer.”

  Was she fucking serious?

  “And most important,” her dad quipped, “no fun.”

  Only Caitlin giggled. Her mom studiously ignored the crack.

  “When you’re under our roof, you’re our responsibility,” Kim continued. “I expect you to abide by our rules.” Hannah felt humiliation burn her cheeks. God, the woman was uptight. Thankfully, her mom turned to leave, but then she paused. “And don’t try sneaking any boys in.”

  “How could we?” Hannah sniped. “There’s not even a door down here.”

  “I just want to be clear.”

  “You’re clear!” It came out pissier than Hannah had intended and she felt a frisson of fear run through her. Kim stared her down for a moment, and Hannah knew what to expect: a lecture on appreciation, on being grateful that her parents were letting her have four friends sleep over, buying them pizza and sodas and cake, and, in return, expecting nothing but a little respect for their rules. She knew the speech was circulating in her mom’s head. But she also knew there was a slim ray of hope that she wouldn’t humiliate Hannah, in front of her friends, on her sixteenth birthday.

  Kim’s voice was cool. “Great … We’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” She exited, leaving a subtle guilt trip in her wake. Her dad made a “Heil Hitler” salute to her departing back, but the girls were too on edge to do more than smile.

  When they were gone, an awkward silence hung over them. Finally, Ronni reached for her soda. “Fuck.”

  Lauren reached for a piece of pizza. “Your mom is scary.”

  “She’s not that bad,” Hannah tried. “She’s all talk.”

  Caitlin’s voice was thin. “If she catches us …”

  “She won’t,” Hannah snapped. Caitlin could be such a buzzkill sometimes. Maybe Hannah was outgrowing her oldest friend?

  Marta spoke in a hushed voice. “We’d better not do anything until they’re asleep.
In case they—”

  Lauren interrupted with a fierce “Shhhhhhh!”

  In the abrupt silence, they heard the feet on the stairs and then Hannah’s dad hustled into the room. Hannah looked up and caught his eye: a mischievous sparkle. In his hands, he held the cake box from Tout Sweet. Under his arm, was a paper bag with a bottle inside.

  “Unlike some people,” he said, as he set down the cake box, “I remember what it’s like to be sixteen.”

  He pulled a bottle of champagne from the bag. It had pink foil around its glass neck and a fuchsia stiletto on the label. Hannah felt a rush of love filling her chest. “Thanks … ,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “Don’t tell your mother,” her dad said, handing her the bottle. “And make sure the music’s up loud when you pop the top.” And with that, he was gone.

  kim

  THAT NIGHT

  Kim should have heard it, would have heard it if she hadn’t installed earplugs and taken half an Ambien. The girls were two floors below, but she’d anticipated giggling, music, a few late-night trips to raid the fridge… . To ensure a sound sleep, she’d nibbled a bit of the sedative, despite having had two glasses of white wine after dinner. She’d done it plenty of times without incident. She’d always been a light sleeper and, lately, adequate rest had become imperative for Kim. There were too many hormones wreaking havoc with her humor. And there was far too much tension in her marriage to handle without a good night’s sleep.

  “Mom! Dad!” Kim dragged herself up from under the warm, wet blanket of sedation. It was Hannah’s voice, tearful, close… . Kim opened heavy lids and saw her daughter at the end of the bed. Tall, pretty Hannah wearing a nightie that looked like a football jersey, the number 28 across her chest. It was Hannah’s birthday today—sweet sixteen—she was having a slumber party. So why was she here, in the small hours of the morning? Why was she crying? As Kim struggled for lucidity, she realized something was terribly wrong. Tears streamed down Hannah’s face and there was something on her hands … something dark and wet, glistening in the faint glow of the LED clock radio …

  Blood.

  Kim bolted upright, adrenaline decimating any tranquilizer left in her system.

  “What’s wrong? Hannah … Oh God!”

  Jeff was awake now. Unlike his wife, he’d always slept soundly with no pharmaceutical assistance. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

  “Is that blood? Are you okay?” Kim could feel the panic rising, filling her chest.

  Hannah’s voice, though choked with tears, sounded calm in comparison. “I’m okay. But you have to help Ronni.”

  Kim flew down the stairs. Her feet seemed to move effortlessly, floating on a surge of dread, fear, adrenaline… . The moment felt surreal and dreamlike. It was the shock. Or the Ambien. But the quiet sobs of her daughter behind her and the heavy thud of her husband’s feet in front of her grounded her in the now. She felt thankful that Jeff was there, that he was calm and solid and leading the way.

  When they burst into the basement room, the first thing that hit her was the smell: Alcohol. And vomit. Normally, she would have been angry, but relief sagged her shoulders. So that’s what this was about. The girls had been drinking; Ronni must have been sick. It was disappointing, of course, but normal for sixteen-year-olds. Tony’s prediction flashed in her mind. He’d been right after all. Then she remembered the blood on her child’s hands.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jeff breathed, and Kim snapped to attention. Her stomach plummeted as she caught a glimpse of the crumpled body on the living room floor: Ronni. Jeff rushed toward her, with Hannah on his heels, but Kim hung back, frozen. Just for a moment, she considered hovering near the door, sparing herself the sight of vomit and blood and the inert form of Hannah’s friend. She noticed Marta, pale and crying, huddled in a far corner of the couch. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and their mutual desire to flee or dissolve reflected back at each other. But Kim’s sense of responsibility was too great, her inherent need to make things better too strong. She was a mother. She moved toward Ronni.

  Her view was partially obscured by Jeff, Hannah, and Caitlin, who was crouching on the floor next to Ronni’s body. Through them, Kim could make out Ronni’s lifeless form: her long, spray-tanned legs splayed like a broken Barbie doll’s; a splatter of blood on the pale-pink shorts and tank that she wore as pajamas. “Ronni … Ronni, wake up,” Jeff was saying with no response. Kim shifted to get a better view of Ronni’s face, and that’s when she saw it. The glass coffee table was shattered, jagged shards clinging to the frame like the teeth of some giant, prehistoric shark.

  Jeff addressed the sniveling girls. “What the hell happened?”

  “She got sick,” Caitlin said. “She was weak. And dizzy.”

  “She tripped and fell on the coffee table,” Hannah whimpered.

  “It broke.” Marta added the obvious.

  Hannah’s voice cracked. “Is she … going to be okay?”

  Kim noticed a piece of a champagne bottle lying next to Ronni’s bloodied hand. Just the foil-wrapped neck, still intact, still festive and girlish and fun. Damn them … “How much did she drink?” Kim barked. “What did she take?”

  Hannah and Caitlin shared a look, possibly summoning the courage to answer. Jeff surveyed the room and cut them off before they could speak. “Who’s missing?”

  Kim looked, too, and realized they were down a girl. “Where’s Lauren?” she demanded. Marta pointed at the bathroom, too upset to speak.

  “She doesn’t do blood,” Caitlin elaborated.

  Ronni emitted a low moan that jarred Jeff into action. “Hannah, go upstairs and get some gauze. Kim call nine-one-one.”

  The look of terror on her husband’s face made her cold, and for the first time, she was aware that she was wearing only a thin nightie. Hannah hurried past her and Caitlin stood, allowing Kim her first glimpse of Ronni’s face. It was slack, unconscious, ghostly underneath the smeared makeup. A mask of vomit and blood coated her right cheek; her right hand and arm were sliced, raw, bloodied… . Beneath Ronni’s eye, a flap of skin dangled, providing a grotesque glimpse of milky-white eyeball bathed in red. Kim felt stomach acid burn her throat.

  “Kim!” Jeff snapped. She tore her eyes away and hurried to the phone.

  IT WAS DECIDED that Kim and Hannah would ride in the ambulance with Ronni; Jeff would drive the other girls home and explain the night’s events to their parents. Normally, the roles would have been reversed. Kim was more articulate, better at explaining the circumstances in diplomatic terms, while Jeff was calm and commanding in a crisis. But Kim knew she shouldn’t drive after the wine and sleeping pill. Of course, the shock of Ronni’s accident had left her feeling completely alert, but it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. Jeff had only had a couple of light beers with dinner. He was fine.

  And so Kim sat in the back of the ambulance beside her daughter, who clutched Ronni’s unharmed left hand and cried softly. Ronni’s damaged eye was covered with thick gauze, thankfully, but blood was slowly seeping through, staining the sterile white a deep crimson. The injured girl had briefly come to, stammering something about being cold, which the burly male paramedic attributed to shock.

  “How much did she have to drink tonight?” he asked Hannah matter-of-factly. Kim took in his cropped dark hair, his ruddy complexion, his robust masculine energy. Really, he was straight out of central casting.

  “Umm …” Hannah’s searching eyes met her mother’s, and Kim gave her an encouraging nod. “She had some vodka. And then some rye. Some Jägermeister—I don’t know how much—and champagne.”

  So much alcohol … Where did they get it? But Kim maintained her composure, even giving Hannah’s knee a supportive squeeze. The girl rewarded her with a grateful smile. The paramedic continued to fuss with Ronni’s oxygen mask, checking various digital readouts. “Any drugs?”

  Hannah glanced at her mom, then dissolved into tears.

  “Answer him,” Kim said coolly. She could f
eel her calm facade slipping. Sneaking a few drinks on your sixteenth birthday was normal, cliché even, but drugs now? Did she even know her daughter? Did she know any of these girls? But a glance at Ronni tempered her outrage. She was intensely grateful that it wasn’t Hannah lying bleeding on the gurney. Still … she suddenly felt that her years of careful parenting had been for naught.

  “I think she took a Xanax.” Hannah sobbed. “And maybe some ecstasy.” She turned to Kim. “I’m sorry. We were stupid.”

  “Yes, you were,” Kim said, and the magnitude of her failure threatened to overwhelm her. Despite all her devotion and parent education, her daughter had slipped into substance abuse right under Kim’s well-informed nose.

  “Have you called her parents?” It was the paramedic. Though his attention was fixed on Ronni, Kim realized he was addressing her.

  “I-I didn’t have a chance … ,” she stammered. “It happened so fast.”

  “Call them when we get to the hospital. They need to be with her.”

  For the first time, Kim started to cry.

  LIKE ALL MOTHERS, Kim knew that forgetting her phone meant that one of her children would break his or her arm or the house would catch fire. Even in the terror and chaos of that night, she’d grabbed it off the charger and dropped it in her pocket. (She’d also hurriedly put on a bra and sweater, pulled on a pair of jeans.) Now she paced the sterile hospital hallway, fingering the cold metal casing in her pocket. Of course Lisa had to be called. If it were Hannah lying there covered in bile and blood, her eye dangling out of its socket, Kim would want to be there. And yet, she hesitated.

  The thought of delivering the news to her friend made her feel physically sick. This would devastate Lisa. Kim could only imagine being woken from an innocent slumber to the news that her child—Lisa’s only child—was lying bloodied and broken in a hospital bed. It was too much to bear. But it was more than empathy that made her fingers cold and useless as they tentatively touched the face of her phone. It was fear.

  She was scared … terrified, actually. It was more than just “shoot the messenger” anxiety. It wasn’t that Kim felt culpable, exactly. She had laid down strict rules that the girls had blatantly broken. They’d been sneaky and conniving and deceitful. But still … it had happened on her watch, and she knew how Lisa would feel. Any semblance of friendship they’d once had would be destroyed.