Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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December 21st, 2007
I can't believe I'm throwing a party without parental supervision. A real party - with kids of all ages, music, food, and since Greyson's teammates got here, a keg and more bottles of vodka and tequila than I've ever seen in one room. I'll just have to make sure no evidence is left behind, because if my parents ever find out about this party, my life as I know it will be over.
Though the odds of them finding out are slim to none. They're visiting Duke University with Adelaide this weekend, and Greyson's parents are visiting his brother Cole at school. He just got an internship and can't come home for the holidays, but in my opinion that's for the best, and no one is going to miss him. He's not the friendliest person in the world. Jo's parents live in the next neighborhood, so unless the party gets rowdy and a neighbor rats me out, we're in the clear.
Greyson's birthday is December Twentieth, and it's always overshadowed by Christmas and New Year's. Ever since we met, I've made it a point to celebrate him as best as I could - A wiffle ball and bat set when he told me he wanted to be a professional baseball player. His first surfboard. His own Tamagotchi after he practically stole mine. A Nintendo DS - because everyone else seems to forget about it, and if you ask me, December Twentieth is the best day of the year, because the love of my life was born that day.
When I told Jo I wanted to throw Greyson a birthday party, I told her to keep the invite list short. Close friends only. But, like most parties, once word got out it turned into a rager. There are streamers taped to the walls, draped over the lamps, and hanging from the crystal chandelier in the foyer of my house. Red Solo cups half full of mixed drinks, straight vodka, and Pepsi are scattered all over the living room tables and kitchen counters. Dry crust and abandoned pizza slices are lying on paper plates. My front door continuously slams as more kids arrive - their voices carrying through the house as they briefly say hello to me, before finding the people that actually invited them. Music blasts from the stereo in the basement, ascending up the staircase and bouncing off the cream-colored walls.
I can smell cigarette smoke, but I'm not sure if it's coming from outside and seeping through the cracked windows, or from somewhere in the house. If that's the case, I'm screwed. My parents will notice the scent of cigarette smoke in our home. I grab a cup and fill it halfway with Pepsi. I only ever drink soda when I'm eating at Maribelle's, or with pizza, so if this is possibly going to be my last night of freedom for the foreseeable future, I might as well go big.
"We should play a game," I hear someone say as I make my way down the basement stairs and sit on the couch next to Greyson. He drapes his arm behind me and presses a kiss against my temple. "McKinnie. It's your birthday. You pick the game."
"Uh, okay. How about never have I -"
"How about seven minutes in heaven?" Ripley Payne says, sauntering through the crowd like the demonic enchantress she is. "Unless, that game is too juvenile. What do you think, Greyson?"
