Fiction: Birthday Party
“Yeah, sometimes when Mia hangs out with us, I feel like I’m third wheeling.”
It was Henry’s twenty-seventh birthday, his champagne birthday, and Sarah had gone all out. Dinner with just the two of them on Friday night, an AGO event this afternoon, and this birthday dinner that they were wrapping up. Oh, how he loved her.
“Mia was my friend in high school and college, you know. We were even in the same intramural volleyball league in North York, and used party all the time. Then I started seeing Sarah, and it’s like I don’t even exist anymore! They’re best friends!”
Everyone chuckled a little. Henry looked over to Sarah beside him, and Mia beside her. Sarah looked a little embarrassed, Mia laughing with her eyes closed and hand over her mouth.
“Alright, that’s enough Harry. We have one last surprise for you,” Sarah said, looking around the table.
At her behest, everyone took up the old college chant of “let’s go to the bars”.
Henry looked at Sarah.
“Babe, I thought you hated going out.”
“Well, you love it. And it’s your birthday. And you’ve stayed in for me so many times that I think it’s only right.”
God, he loved her. And he loved going out.
Ubers were hastily called. Henry ended up squeezed against Mia in the back of a Prius.
“Mia, you know Ted and Michael from Western, right? You guys know Mia?”
“Yeah, of course,” said Ted, “I think we had a HR strategy group project together. What are you saying these days, Mia?”
It was a short ride to the College Street bar, an old haunt of theirs. When they arrived upstairs, there were balloons, streamers, and everyone who couldn’t make it to dinner.
“Surprise!” they yelled in a poorly coordinated way. Bottle girls materialized out of the wings and with them, bottles of Ciroc.
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Henry was positively thrilled. A glass was procured, thanks were said, and the partying commenced. Mia had invited sixty people on the upper deck of the bar, which was reserved for Henry’s champagne birthday. There was a conspicuous lack of champagne. No bother, he preferred hard liquor anyways.
Henry watched as Mia reprised her old role as the shot police. Back when they used to go out every Friday night, everyone avoided making eye contact with her when she got a hold of a bottle. Shots were distributed to revelers in her proximity with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Things always got off to a quick start when Mia ran the show. Soon, everyone forgot how they had vowed to drink less this year, how they had decided they were too old for drinking, and how they swore to go home early. The hands of time had been turned back. Only by a few years, but turned back nonetheless. He could always count on Mia to start the party.
A dance circle was starting to form. The dreaded dance circle, a mainstay of high school dances and company holiday parties, the natural habitat of those who couldn’t dance and were too drunk, or those who knew one dance move they learned off YouTube half a decade ago. And Henry’s home. But Henry could dance. He could dance alone. He could dance with others. He could dance like it was no one’s business, especially with a bit of alcohol.
He was on the outskirts of the circle, finishing up his drink. He bid his time. Participants either drained energy from the circle, or added it. The circle started with a certain amount of energy, which eventually diminished as bad dancers started participating, and eventually dissolved into a conga line. But if he interjected at the right time, he could not only save the circle, but prevent it from becoming a conga line. It could be a square dance. It could be a sing-along. It could be whatever he wanted it to be. Then he jumped in. Everyone cheered. It was his birthday after all.
He boogied. He wormed. He shook. The crowd roared its approval. He was starting to get tired and peered out into the circle for a partner. He was like a street performer looking for participation: he started smiling more, making wild eye-contact, and started with the finger guns. But he had misjudged. Maybe people were still too sober. Maybe they were now too old. Whatever it was, no one wanted in.
Mia and Sarah were both watching from outside of the circle, when Henry’s desperation struck. They looked at each other, but with Mia’s senses dulled by the alcohol, Sarah reacted first and pushed Mia into the circle. Mia looked around wildly. Sarah blew her an air kiss and led the round of cheering. She tried to pour the remaining quarter of her bottle into Henry’s mouth, but halfway through, Henry grabbed the bottle from her and dumped it into her mouth. He grinned. Now they were ready to dance.
Henry realized that all their years of friendship, he had never danced together with Mia before. He also knew Mia was an atrocious dancer. There was one particular sequence she performed that they had taken to calling the mating dance. But it was a small matter. Henry could dance with anyone. And they so they did. It was Saturday Night Fever, it was Pulp Fiction, it was West Side Story, and it was Dirty Dancing. They came close, only to spiral and spring back out in a flurry of movement. Their arms and legs flew, but they always found each other’s hands and eyes. And all too soon it was over. It was all over. Low came on, and everyone joined the inside of the circle, singing and dancing along.
Eventually, the party wore down. Ever the consummate host, Henry tried to balance maintaining the energy of the party while making himself available for people who wanted to say goodbye. What a birthday, what a party, he thought to himself.
“See you later homie, thanks for having me,” Ted had come by to dap Henry up.
“The pleasure was all mine — hey, I thought you left with Mia.”
“Mia? Man I wish, I saw what you were doing in the Uber there, but she left a while back.”
“Aw, dude, she’s a great girl. You guys would get along well together.”
“Yeah, I’ll slide into her DMs or something. You should check up on her though, she looked like a bit upset when she left.”
Harry continued bidding people farewell. At the end, all that was left were the balloons and Sarah.
“Thanks so much for planning this, babe.”
“Honestly the party was mostly Mia’s idea and her work. She also said we should take the balloons so she could reuse them for another party.”
“Leave the balloons,” said Henry, laughing, “We can chalk it up to being too drunk. I know she was. I’ll send her a text later apologizing.”
