Hydrangeas In Winter

O W T

2012

San Francisco

This party is a drag, I think, sighing to myself for the twentieth time. For the thirty-four minutes that I've been here, I've listed seventy-three things I could've done back at home instead of coming to this unexciting, uneventful anniversary party. I groan, looking around for Safiya, the bitch who dragged me here. She knew I wasn't interested; she's my best friend, she knows I'm socially awkward. She knew I'd hate this but she made me come just so she won't get bored. And now, I can't even find her.

Sitting in a corner, still looking for her and unwillingly listening to people bitch about their lives, I admire the huge fish tank that stands in the middle of the room like an opaque wall of blue. I feel enticed to go watch the fish swim up close; it would be way better than scratching away at my nail paint anyway. But then I spot my mother standing next to the tank, flipping a sleek lock of raven-black hair over her shoulder. Dressed in a soft peach gown, her perfect face on, the world around her in perfect order, she doesn't even look like the dull self she actually is. Considerably far away from me, she chats animatedly with Saf's mother.

Well that does it for me, and I decide to keep myself glued to the chair. However, tapping on the glass and scaring the fish away would've served as a fairly entertaining pastime, but I can't be near her. Being near her makes me anxious on a completely new level; it keeps me on the edge, it makes my blood simmer, it makes me want to scream. That was one reason why I wanted to stay home, because she was going to be here too. And I'd rather be on mars than next to her.

Sighing, I focus on my glass of plain old orange juice. Maybe I can just pretend that my mother's not here. I can do that, I think to myself. I now search for Saf with a new motivation. When I finally catch a glimpse of her though, she's downing glasses of the cranberry vodka. I can't handle a drunk Safiya; she giggles a lot, throws up a lot and then whines a lot. Right when I'm about to go and put a stop to her brazen adventures, I hear a flutter.

Startled, I look around and someone is pointing a camera toward the fish tank but I can only see his back. He continues to snap artistically angled pictures of the fish, the champagne flutes stacked in a pyramid on the center table, the ceiling lights reflecting on the marble floor, the vase beside my table that holds so many Hydrangeas it's ridiculous, and then the lens points at me. My eyes widen right before I hear the snap. I stop slurping my drink immediately.

What. The. Flying. Fuck?

I feel the rush of blood coursing up my body like a bolt of electricity. The hair on my nape stands at its edge and my fingertips turn alarmingly cold. The camera slides away to reveal its owner's face, and I want to be looking literally anywhere but at him when his stormy gray eyes lock with mine. It's just for a second, a tiny second, but my face heats up and I look away very awkwardly.

Are people even allowed to take pictures of other people like this? I start feeling all sorts of crazy, listing every reason why that was clearly a violation of my privacy. But oddly, I still feel his eyes on me, which makes me squirm in my seat uncomfortably. I didn't even know things like this could have me hyperventilating but this is exactly why I don't go out. I don't like unwanted attention, it bothers me. Before I know it, I start pulling at the sleeves of my blouse, digging my nails into my palms a little too deep, biting my bottom lip so hard it could bleed, fiddling with the straw lying limp in the empty glass, and trying to look everywhere but back at him.

My throat starts to constrict, my body feels unusually warm, scorched even. I'm pretty sure I'm sweating. I must look like shit but strangely enough, I can't go another second without knowing if he's still looking at me. As though, if I don't, I'll explode, my life depends on it. So I take a deep breath and sneak a quick glance at him. I instantly regret it.

He's still watching me.