Reunion

Reunion Part 1

"You can do this, Lena." Lena is short for Yelena. My name is not Yelena.

"I'm so nervous, Sonya." My best friend's name is not Sonya either, for that matter. We met in 9th grade Russian language class. On the first day we chose our Russian names and they stuck. At this point it would feel so wrong to call her Stacy and me, Melanie. Her hands squeeze my bare shoulders. Her eyes lock onto mine, willing confidence into me.

My first love has just walked into our 20th high school reunion.

The sign by the hotel ballroom entrance read "Party like it's 1999.... Again!" and my former West Chester High School classmates are taking it seriously.

The atmosphere in here reminds me of prom, or it would if I had gone. The room is decorated with green and white streamers and balloons. A large dance floor is surrounded by round tables with floppy foil centerpieces – the kind you would buy at a party supply store in a pack of ten. There is a long table with snacks and an open bar on the far wall. Clearly the planning committee prioritized the booze over décor.

I suppose prom didn't have an open bar. I'm guessing many prom goers were drunk. Were they as tipsy as the crush of 38-year-olds currently on the dance floor? The sound of Sonya's voice snaps me out of my musings and back into the present.

"Go talk to him," she urges. I smooth the front of my black silk jumpsuit and fiddle with the simple necklace at my throat. "You look amazing. Stop fidgeting."

Sonya is always telling me I look like a Greek Audrey Hepburn. In this outfit, with my black pixie haircut and dark, round eyes, I suppose I can see her point. I am built like Audrey. All angles and limbs. Sonya says I'm lucky because she could never wear something like this with her generous curves. She is much more Marilyn Monroe – a blonde bombshell for sure.

"It has been so long. What if he doesn't remember me?" I haven't spoken to him since graduation. Twenty years is a long time. Sonya blue eyes are kind but firm.

"That's nonsense. You were best friends. Go." She's using her mom voice now. I had better listen.

A crowd has gathered around him. It's no surprise, given that he's the founder of a billion-dollar Silicon Valley startup now. I make my way to the edge of the group surrounding him – taking deep breaths to calm my rapidly beating heart.

The years have been good to him. His gangly, teenage frame has filled in. His mop of dark brown curls is tamed into stylish waves away from his forehead. He has replaced his wire-rimmed glasses with modern clear epoxy frames. His tailored dark suit and crisp white shirt are understated and elegant. He can probably pay for a stylist. Or maybe he has a wife that dresses him. I tamp down the jealousy rising from my stomach. He was only ever a friend. I have been repeating that to myself for 20 years. I nearly believe it.

The barrage of handshakes and bro hugs has slowed enough for a path to clear in front of me. I take a deep breath and walk towards him.

"Melanie Nikas!" his face lights up as he spots me. His smile is joy itself – like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. Just one Andy smile could turn my whole day around.

"Andy Bocharov!" I reply with a smile of my own.

He leaves the crowd behind and gathers me into a bear hug. My face nestles into his chest just like I knew it would. I breathe in his scent, so familiar after all this time. One long drag may be enough to last me another 20 years.

"Hi! Can I sit here?" I ask as I sit down across the lunch table from the new boy. He looks up startled. "I'm Melanie. Andy, right?" I can't imagine why this cute boy is sitting all alone.