I wheel around the empty farmhouse with a plate of sandwiches, searching for hungry guests that aren't playing outside with fireworks. Finally, I find one. Hunched on the vinyl couch is a girl I've never seen before. Long black hair shrouds her back, and she cradles her notebook.
"Hey there! Have you eaten yet?" I'm a little tipsy on sangria, so I know I'm loud.
She startles. She looks very young, with large black eyes that refuse to focus. I shrug it off; I'm in my twenties and still have people giving me the kids' menu.
"I'm not hungry," she says. "Thanks."
"I've never seen you before!" I smooth my apron. "I'm Nick Park. Aaron's fiance."
She cocks her head.
"Aaron is Even's twin brother. Their family owns this farm."
"I thought you were the host. You seem to be doing all the work."
I laugh. "I love cooking and playing host. Do things yourself and they get done right, and besides, the twins have done a lot, too."
She casts a dismissive look at my apron, her eyes flicking to the tray in my hands. I feel myself stiffen. Is she judging me? Am I, to her, a Stepford wife in trans-man's clothes?
"Are you having fun?" I ask.
"No, I hate parties." She returns her eyes to her notebook.
I sit down beside her. I think this is my cue to leave, but I don't. "I used to feel that way, too. A lot of my friends feel that way still, but there's so much fun to be had. It's important to be social, you know."
"By having annoying small talk with strangers?" She blushes and looks down into her lap. "Sorry. It's just, they're not for me."
I feel that prickle. That judgment. "You know, all these books and movies pretend that smart people have to be quiet and stupid people are loud and drink and go to parties. My friends think they've 'outgrown' this stuff, but there's nothing wrong with it. It makes me sad."
"I want to like them, but they seem like such a waste of time. I'd rather be reading a book. Or writing." Her eyes shift along the couch. "I want to be a novelist so bad it breaks my heart, sometimes."
"That's how I feel, too. I just don't have as much time to write anymore."
"Well, you're too busy making sandwiches and wearing aprons."
The tray clatters to the ground. I try to smile, but my teeth feel numb. I settle on a brittle laugh. "It can be a little frustrating having people tell you everything you do is immature when you know you're happy. You should go outside with the rest of the guests. At least try to have fun."
She stares at me blankly.
"What's your name?" I ask, hoping to change subjects.
Now she grins. "Nicole Park."
Everything in me goes numb. And suddenly, I recognize her jacket from my yearbook picture. She is not a stranger at all. A long time ago, she was me.
