CHAPTER 3: Charlotte

	I’m at Eloise’s apartment to help her set up for the party that I’ve been absolutely dreading. She decided to host a birthday party for one of her friends, which I would never understand. She’s going to have over fifty people here, only going to know, at best, half of them. El is an angel and would host for anyone, I’m not surprised, which is why I’m here helping her and trying to make this experience the least tedious possible while simultaneously trying not to complain about how miserable I’m about to be.
	I don’t like to admit it, but I often get jealous of people who can have fun at parties. I’ve only been to two others, and both were horrible experiences. During the first one I sat in a corner alone because about every person in that house was drunk to the point they could not form coherent sentences. The second party was somehow worse as the music, the one redeeming factor of a party, was in one singular room, and there was absolutely no AC. Being someone who isn’t inclined to drink, I never get the appeal. Obviously logistics like AC and music matter less when you can barely walk because of intoxication, but that’s not a good enough reason for me to start.
	I start rummaging through the shopping bags Eloise and I got in preparation for today and find the snacks to start laying them out in bowls. El is currently working on decorations, hanging streamers and turning on different colored lights around the house. My personal nightmare is starting to come together. Thank God for the snacks, party #2 didn’t even have any food. Actually brutal.

	People start to arrive at 7:00, and it turns to chaos immediately. To give myself something to do, I keep setting up more food. We can’t go wrong with more food. The food also makes people less chatty, which is preferable. I’m going to have my fair share of small talk this evening so I will be trying to avoid it as long as possible. When I run out of random tasks to do, I just cling to Eloise. I’m aware it’s not a good look, but she doesn’t seem to mind. God bless her. 
Soon enough, everyone's plates start to empty, and there is nothing left for them to stuff their mouths with, but more conversation. I’m already worn out. And it’s only 8 pm. I go from staring at my plate to trying to look engaged, while also trying not to seem rude.
	“Where are you from?” someone seems to ask me from across the table, but I don’t register it and only look up from my plate when their confused and questionable look is already on its way out. Maybe one day I’ll learn to be successful at small talk. Everyone starts to disperse, and I know Eloise, who’s hosting this oh so wonderful birthday party, would want me to attempt to mingle, but all I can see coming from that scenario is standing behind a group of people talking about “where they’re from.” Right now, sitting in my favorite corner in her house seems ideal. I need to get up early tomorrow, and the dress I’m wearing feels like it’s getting tighter by the second.
I love El’s apartment, especially the dark wood shelf lined with too many books to count, which are all in alphabetical order. Eloise is a magician when it comes to organization. The bookshelf has a few little clay figurines scattered throughout that we made together back when she first moved in. I make my way over to my favorite bookshelf to sit in one of the two sherpa cushioned armchairs while I indulge in a book and happily ignore the people I don’t know. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s not like my efforts to communicate would get me anywhere. Just the thought of receiving more questionable looks and preparing a list of topics to bring up tires me out. If I plan to mingle again, I need at least some time to recuperate.