The Truth & Other Lies

Dear Mia: From, The Guy You Spilled Drinks On

"So...what do you think?" Casey asks as we're ushered into the hotel's grand ballroom after brandishing our employee identification cards to prove that we were, in fact, invited to this party.

I take a moment to soak it all in: the thumping the bass, the multicolored laser lights floating over the party guests, the hazy fog that seems to have settled over the dance floor, the comfortable looking couches around the outer edges of the room, and my big, insightful comment is, "Wow, there's a lot of people here."

In my defense, that's true. It's like every resident of the city is currently packed into one large room to the point that I can't take a small step sideways without bumping into someone. But I kind of love it. I can feel the energy of the room coursing through me, feel everyone's hearts beating in perfect time, feel their happiness and joy and excitement about being a few hours away from getting a fresh start.

And I decide that this is enough. If nothing else happens to me this entire night, I can write an entire article solely on how it feels to be in this room.

"It's a party, that's kind of the point," Casey laughs, having to practically brush her lips against my ear in order for me to hear her. "Why don't you go get us some drinks?"

"Why me?" I reply automatically, absolutely mortified at the thought having to go somewhere in the midst of this chaos on my own. "Can't you come?"

She shakes her head, giving me the look my mother always gave me when she was trying to get me to do something I really didn't want to do. "Remember, Mia. Immerse yourself."

Logically, I know that shouldn't be enough to make me go, but it is, because I also know that she's right. Lilian had told me that she wanted me to experience the world and then write about what happened and I'd never be able to do that if I kept being afraid.

So I inhale deeply and nod, scanning my gaze over the room to locate the bar at the side "Right. Okay. Rum and coke?" I verify Casey's choice of drink and when she grins and pushes me towards the bar encouragingly, I call out to her over my shoulder. "I'll be right back."

With a thumbs up, she sends me on my way and after a big of weaving through the crowds on their way to the dance floor, I end up in the back of a seven-person line waiting to give their orders. I tug on the hem of my dress and shift my weight back and forth between my feet and just generally try not to make eye contact with anyone until I reach the front of the line.

With as sweet a smile and as much conviction as I can muster, I order a rum and coke for Casey and any mixture of vodka and fruit juice for myself and two minutes later, I've successfully ordered drinks from a bartender.

Thinking that, so far, this experience hasn't been as nerve wrecking as I thought it would be, I smile to myself as I turn to go find Casey and run smack dab into someone's chest, sending the contents of the plastic cups flying against their shirt before the cups themselves fall to the ground because the sudden onset of embarrassment causes me to lose function in my hands.

"Oh my god," I say, my eyes wide with horror as I watch the liquids bleed into the front of a man's light blue button up, "Ohhhh my god. I'm so sorry!"

"Um, don't worry about it," the man glances down at the damage I've done, doing his best to keep me calm, "I didn't really like this shirt anyway."

I don't believe him at all. "Really? Because it's a nice shirt and I just completely ruined it."

He's tall with dark hair and dark eyes and cheekbones with more structure than my entire life and he looks like the kind of person who tells you exactly what you want to hear. Not that it's a particularly bad trait in this specific situation, seeing that he can tell I'm on the verge of dying from humiliation. He shrugs and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans and I wonder how it's possible that he looks this gorgeous, despite the state of his clothes. "I'll live, I promise."