At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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Putting this party together on such short notice is insanity, but Angie'll appreciate how the decorations play along with the nursery's zoo animal theme. She will love it even if I have no clue what I'm doing. Job hunting and going through interviews is hard enough. And squatting at Mike and Angie's place is getting old fast. Mike's already looking at me as the enemy of the state, and he doesn't even know about the party games I came up with.
No, I'm getting into my negative headspace again: the party will be great, everyone will love it, Angie'll get to open tons of presents, and she can enjoy the event before she has to deal with a crying baby every day. Well, maybe as a future Godmother, I should believe Angie's gut feeling. She's adamant that her baby would be an angel who sleeps through the night and coos during the day. I keep telling her she's setting herself up for failure with those expectations.
I arrange the party favors and the prizes for the games on the sideboard that spans the back of one of the couches. Ben's place is beautiful, but I haven't seen a single picture on the walls, and even this spot didn't have any decorations. I place a cardboard giraffe in the middle and sprinkle a little confetti around it. It's cute.
Ben comes in through the patio door, and the sun hits his back in such a way that he reminds me of the sparkling vampires from the movies. The glitter shower coated him in sparkles while he was hanging up one of the garlands. Ben begins rubbing his hands on his jeans.
"Stop, no, don't do that. You'll get it everywhere."
He pauses and looks at his hands as if they don't belong to him.
"Do you have oil?"
"Olive oil or Safflower or Canola?"
"Any oil."
Ben heads into the kitchen. I follow.
"Let me get it, don't touch anything yet. I can grab it. Which cabinet is it in?"
"Top cabinet, third to the left of the oven."
I find a neat row of oil bottles and grab one.
"A rag or a towel?"
"Bottom most left drawer."
I find it full of what looks like cut-up t-shirts and grab a couple. I pour some oil and hand them to Ben.
"May be best if you rub the glitter off your skin in the bathroom or the shower even. Otherwise, you'll keep finding it in your kitchen for a while. I don't know why it sticks to the floor like it does but trust me, you don't want to deal with it."
"Static electricity, air viscosity, or surface tension would be my best guesses."
"You're probably right. My knowledge of glitter is purely practical. Don't let anyone tell you boys don't like glitter. My half-brothers once coated one of the race cars in glitter and adding glitter to slime's their favorite. Mom and I had to ban any glitter activity from the house, but they'd have glitter in their hair for days no matter how hard we scrubbed."
