Through strategic planning, name dropping, and a few calls between Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Lynch, Honey managed to keep Diana from flinging herself off the top of the town hall. Mrs. Lynch had felt compelled to plan a grandiose party for Diana's birthday. But shy Diana didn't appreciate the spectacle. In fact, her choice of words when describing the plans to the girls included "ridiculous" and "insane".
But Diana had never been able to stand up to her mother when Mrs. Lynch felt she was doing a good thing. She just couldn't break her heart that way – her mother didn't see her ideas as over the top, but a lovely treat she was so proud to be able to give her eldest daughter. When Mrs. Lynch got like that, Diana never knew how to stop her without hurting her feelings. Trixie had a hard time understanding that – despite (or maybe because of) how close she was to her own mother, she was never unable to speak her mind. Then again, Trixie had always suffered from "speak first, think later" and often regretted trampling on others' feelings. She didn't mean to be cruel – she didn't mean to be anything! The words just came out, as though she couldn't curb the impulse long enough to think about how others might hear them.
Honey, on the other hand, could relate to Diana perfectly. But she, unlike Diana, had developed a careful and perfect tact that allowed her to typically turn things to her liking without being rude – generally, without the person even noticing. Her family had been wealthy her whole life, and she had learned these sorts of social nuances early. She knew that Mrs. Lynch looked up to Mrs. Wheeler as the epitome of class and used that to her advantage.
Hanging around Diana's house, she planted some ideas in Mrs. Lynch's head. Things she preferred at her party, how glad she was that certain things were done a certain way, and how dreadful a tasteless party would have been. Of course, Mrs. Lynch smiled, nodded, and took the bait that she never even knew she was being handed. Before she knew it, she was of the same opinion as Honey on so many important matters. In fact, she couldn't even remember a time where she felt otherwise.
Then, with no real coaxing needed, Honey got her mother to call up Mrs. Lynch and offer her some pointers. Simply as one parent to another, she shared the process of how Honey's party was planned. By the end, Mrs. Lynch was armed with a list of names and numbers. Everything she needed to arrange similar centerpieces, floral arrangements, music, and more was – literally – handed to her. To Diana's unending and indescribable relief.
But when Honey arrived at the country club for Di's party, she realized that she had forgotten to account for one detail. Overall, the party had, amazingly, turned out surprisingly close to what Diana herself wanted. Except for the fact that fashionable Diana, the prettiest girl at school, was decked in an absolute train wreck of a ballgown. There were so many layers of tulle that Honey wasn't sure Diana could actually sit down. The sleeves were puffy and oversized – it reminded Honey of the swim floats that little kids wear. The entire thing was silver, save for a giant, ridiculous gold lame bow that hung across her chest. And the sparkles! Sequins were scattered everywhere, for a truly blinding effect.
Tactful as always, Honey politely exclaimed, "Diana, what a party dress! It's so one of a kind."
Diana rolled her eyes. "Honey, there are fewer sequins at a pride parade. It's ridiculous."
Honey winced sympathetically. "It's not that bad," she hedged.
"Oh, I don't care!" Diana exclaimed. "I don't have hula hooping waiters or people doing fire tricks or a sloth cage, do I?"
Honey laughed. "I guess it's all a matter of perspective," she agreed. Just then, Trixie appeared beside them. All of the Bob-Whites, minus Diana, had come together in the station wagon. The boys had dropped the girls off at the door before parking the car. Trixie had been delayed slightly, grabbing their table cards. Seeing Di in all her bedazzled glory, her eyes went wide for a moment.
Caught by surprise, Trixie was speechless for just a moment. Finally, she blurted out, "Wow, Di. Holy cow. You look like you're going to the Golden Globes or something."
Honey and Di looked at each other in confusion. Was Trixie's taste actually so bad that she thought this was elegant? It was, honestly, hard to tell. Diana furrowed her brow and decided to go for it.
"You like it?" she asked, trying hard to keep her voice normal.
Trixie shrugged. "I mean, better you than me. I wouldn't want to wear it, of course, but I never like dressing up. It's really fancy, though."
Diana and Honey exchanged a glance over Trixie's head, and Honey couldn't help but giggle a little.
"What?" Trixie asked suspiciously, but they were interrupted by the boys' arrival, to Honey's relief.
Diana greeted her friends, but then excused herself quickly to continue socializing with her other guests.
While the Bob-Whites had tried to arrive at the earliest official time, the room was quickly filling up. Trixie tapped the cards in her hand and then used them to gesture. "There. Five. That's our table." She pointed, hoping the others took the hint. She hated standing around in her heels, particularly in a crowd. The sooner she was safely sitting, the better.
Lucky for her, the group in its entirety followed her to the table. But Mart did not sit, instead looking around the room. He spotted someone and hesitated, a bit uncertainly, then walked off abruptly.
"Hmph," Trixie snorted indignantly. "Well, goodbye to you too, then." Watching for a moment, she realized what he was up to. "Oh, gleeps! He's kissing up to the parents!" she chortled gleefully.
"What a suck-up," she crowed with pleasure, watching him try to make polite small talk with Diana's mother.
Honey giggled, but reprimanded her, "Oh come on, Trixie. Like you don't want parents to like you."
"Well, it's too late for that," Trixie retorted. "Your mom hates me." She flushed slightly and glanced uneasily at Jim, feeling as though she might have given too much away. No one else paid much notice, however, as it was probably the world's worst kept secret.
Honey took issue with the statement, however. "She does not!" she exclaimed. "Mother loves you, Trixie. She thinks you're the absolutely most wonderful, even besides me, because I mean, of course, she loves me, I'm her daughter. But you're not her daughter, but you're almost like her daughter, but completely different, and now I'm really completely different too because I can finally relax and that's mostly because you're always so relaxed – well, maybe not relaxed, I guess isn't the word – but you know what I mean!" she finished breathlessly.
Jim pinched his lips tightly together, resolved to say absolutely nothing. Dan, however, made no such promise. He hooted with laughter. "Relaxed wouldn't be on a list of 100 words to describe either one of you!"
Trixie had, this entire time, been growing progressively more red in the face. She glared at Dan, but Honey intervened and squeezed her friend's arm. Trixie forgot her embarrassment and simply squeezed Honey's hand back appreciatively. "Oh, Honey, I'm so glad I have you here. I can't even imagine my life if I had to deal with all these morons alone."
Dan stood up. "This moron is going to go say hi to Joanie Jircitano before she starts talking to Rick again. Every time they break up, they get back together in like a day. I gotta slide through this open window like a Duke brother before it closes."
Mart was doing his damnedest to make a good impression on Diana's parents. He started, initially, with Mrs. Lynch – she was the obvious choice. It was her party and her plan, after all, so a few polite compliments were easy to come up with. Mrs. Lynch was always a bit harder to read than her husband – she was cordial, polite, responsive. But whether that was just her nature or she actually liked Mart, he could never really tell.
He had never approached her as Diana's boyfriend, of course – she was just an adult being kind to a neighbor kid. He wanted to prove that he deserved her blessing, in a few days when he tried to take Diana on a real date. But he quickly realized that tonight was not the perfect opportunity he had pictured. She was too busy hosting and greeting, flitting from one conversation to another. Even if he came up with the perfect conversation starter, she'd barely hear it, and not even remember it tomorrow.
So he changed tactics to Mr. Lynch, who was a bit more comfortable anyway. Jolly, friendly Mr. Lynch seemed more genuinely interested in Mart – in everyone, to be frank. He was that sort of man, the kind who met someone new and made them immediately feel at ease, like the most fascinating person in the room. He remembered names and details. If ever a person actually believed the old cliché that a stranger was just a friend you hadn't met, it was Diana's father.
Mart joined the group of men, gathered in the relative peace and quiet of the courtyard. He sidled up beside Mr. Lynch, trying not to seem too obvious, and waited for a lull in the conversation. When everyone burst into laughter, he realized that Mr. Lytell had been telling a joke. Now he wished that he had been listening. He didn't find Mr. Lytell as unappealing as his sister, but he also didn't think of him as much of a joke teller. The reaction of the group suggested otherwise, and he wondered if Mr. Lytell was more fun when kids weren't around. It would certainly explain why Mrs. Trask made time for his company.
Not long distracted from his mission, Mart extended a friendly hand to Mr. Lynch. "Great party, sir. Thank you for inviting us."
Mr. Lynch laughed heartily. "Well, of course, Mart. And this is really Caroline's baby. She did all the work, I just sign the checks."
"But that's an important step of course. If money go before, all ways do lie open, to draw from Shakespeare."
"Hmm," Di's father hummed, a non-committal noise that Mart couldn't quite read. Was he being a show-off? Trixie always seemed to think so.
He changed the subject hastily, reaching to find a topic that might make him "one of the boys" out here in the courtyard. Whatever the opposite of a henhouse was, this was it.
"Got my application for my hunting license ready to go. They start sending them out next weekend. Dan's getting his, too," he directed the last part to Regan, who nodded. "Yup, he mentioned that," Regan replied. "I know Tom's said he'll be happy to take you out again this year when he gets the chance. I always get my license and never seem to have much time for hunting," Regan admitted.
"Do you hunt, Mr. Lynch? You'd be welcome to join us sometime," Mart offered, trying to not sound overeager. "We've only got a few acres, but they always seem to have deer." Rich as he was, Mr. Lynch's sprawling lawn was noticeably absent of any real hunting grounds. The woods were owned, primarily, by Matthew Wheeler, who spoke up then to add, "You'll be welcome to hunt in the preserve, of course, like always. I'm like Regan, never much time for it myself. But Mart, you and Dan, and of course you too, Ed, feel free. I just ask that you check in with someone at the house, before you go in and when you come out. Reduces the chance of accidents."
Ed Lynch clapped him on the arm. "You're a good man, Wheeler, and I certainly appreciate it. And the offer of your company, Mart. I never got much into hunting, though. Caroline says it's because I can't keep myself quiet that long." He took a drag from a bottle of beer, while chuckles of amusement and agreement broke out in the group.
Mart reached frantically in his mind for another subject, not making the headway he wanted. He grew up with an active, involved father and two brothers – and a sister that for all intents and purposes might as well have been a brother. Why was this so hard?
"Did you catch the game last night? Yankees beat the Orioles, 11-9. It was a great game, stayed neck in neck until the very end," Mart blurted out.
Mr. Lynch gave him a long, sideways stare, his face expressionless. Finally, he said slowly, "I'm a Mets fan, Mart. Hate the Yankees."
Mart's eyes went wide and he sputtered for a moment, trying to backtrack when he saw Mr. Lynch trying his best to hold back a grin. Knowing that he was found out, Ed laughed loudly and patted his back. "I'm kidding you, Mart. A Mets fan? You really think so little of me?" he joked, shaking his head. He took another drink from his bottle, then shook it around, confirming it was empty.
"Do me a favor, would you, Mart?" he asked, one hand on Mart's shoulder. "Yes sir," Mart agreed readily.
"Take this inside and get me another, if you don't mind," he instructed.
Mart hesitated, just a moment, and looked at his dad uncertainly. Peter seemed unconcerned, voicing no objection. And it wasn't like Mart had never held a beer before – it just felt odd, at a formal party, and being underage.
"I-well-I-" But Ed continued to stare at him, studiously and clearly expecting no resistance. For some reason, Mart just couldn't say no. He looked once more at his dad, almost hoping that he'd say no for him. No such luck, Mart sighed inwardly. "All right, sir," he agreed reluctantly, taking the bottle.
Brian and Honey were dancing together, as were Jim and Trixie. It was interesting, Brian noticed as he looked around. Honey always danced very formally. He was certain that it was, of course, a throw-back to her boarding school days and her rigid training. Even when she was relaxed, she was never that informal.
Jim, similarly, danced "by the book." His hand stayed firmly where it belonged, on the small of Trixie's back. His legs moved the exact right length and pacing. He wasn't a bad dancer, by any means, but like everything else Jim did, he was methodical.
Which made it, quite frankly, humorous, to see just how bewildered he was at times by Trixie. Most of the time, she was willing to follow his lead – sway, shuffle, sway, the standard protocol. But it was clearly a bit boring for her, and she was primarily there for Jim's company and the conversation. But then a song would come along, something that finally caught her attention, made her excited. She'd grab Jim's arm, all but forcing him to stick around for something zany and entirely out of his element. Trixie was never happier (at least, at a party) than when she could whoop it up, all pretenses forgotten. Meanwhile, Brian had never seen Jim more uncomfortable than when he had to spin in dizzying circles to "Jump On It" by Sugar Hill Gang. Trixie, obliviously, was too busy rapping along to notice.
But, sometimes, that was what made them work just so well together. Trixie slowed down enough to deal with the "boring" songs and ended up enjoying them, whispering and laughing quietly with Jim. Jim would never have tried, on his own, the things she could talk him into with that pleading pout in her eyes. But he tried them, and, by the end, he found the way to loosen up and go with it. It wasn't immediate, but once he got past being uncomfortable, he was laughing as hard as she was.
He and Honey, on the other hand, were both content sticking with the routine – silly or traditional. Neither was particularly self-conscious to dance, but they weren't eager to make a fool of themselves, either. They participated in the exact steps, not flamboyant or forced, though Honey was more graceful about it.
Brian realized that Honey was watching Jim and Trixie as well when she let out a wistful sigh. "He's such an idiot sometimes," she murmured. "He's in love with someone who loves him back. Isn't that basically the dream? He's the only person who could convince himself that there's a problem with it."
Brian was silent for a while, as they swayed across the floor together. "I don't think he can help it, Honey. I saw him all year at college. There's a negative voice he has that creeps in, that really thinks that everything he's doing is wrong. I think it probably used to be Jonesy, but that sort of stuff gets into your brain after a while. I never knew the things he agonizes over."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's lots of things," Brian offered a bit hesitantly. He wasn't giving away Jim's secrets, exactly, but he expected Honey to know exactly what he meant. When she didn't, he felt a bit strange, as though he was gossiping behind Jim's back. "He had the chance halfway through the year to change his meal plan. No big deal, right? You'd think that halfway in, you know how much food you eat every week. He did so many different calculations to make sure he wasn't wasting money picking a plan with too much food, but also not going to starve without enough food. I tried telling him like three different times that it's New York, you know? He can order a pizza or something if he's hungry."
Her frown only deepened, and for some reason, she suddenly remembered a few years ago. Jim, trying to pick out the outfit for his adoption hearing. He brought ties to her, so many ties, absolutely paralyzed by his indecision. Even the day of, he changed at least 8 times – several times, back into a tie he had already tried. Eventually, he was so frazzled by it that she worried he was going to make himself physically ill.
But time passed, and she forgot all about it. Now, she wondered how often that happened. How many incidents like that were there? She glanced over, at him and Trixie, and smiled a bit.
He really did seem happy, at least right now.
"Let's take a break and change the subject," Brian suggested, not wanting to keep picking apart his friend. Brian understood that he had lived a more sheltered life until now, with two loving and supportive parents. Even in spite of all that, he was beginning to see how being out in the "real world" – or as close as college was – was sometimes scary, overwhelming, and even confidence crushing. Failing happened. Things, even well-intentioned, fell apart. It was different than his cozy, closed-off home, where his parents took care of the real things. And he was just in the kiddy pool. Jim had, at least for a while, really been through the wringer – observational comments after the fact left a bad taste in Brian's mouth that he regretted almost immediately.
"Let's," Honey agreed easily, ready for a lighter topic of conversation. This was a birthday party, not a Woody Allen movie. She followed Brian back to their table, sitting down to chat and take a little breather.
Brian hesitated for a moment, knowing what he wanted to ask but a little afraid of the answer. He had kept an ear out ever since Mike Larson had threatened to make a move on Honey. Was threatened the right word? From Mike, it seemed to be.
"Any big dates?" he teased her lightly. "I know you've been waiting to spring from that cage for a while. I hear the talk, you know. Spill the tea, Miss Wheeler."
She giggled. "There's not much tea to spill," she admitted. "I don't know, it's kind of weird right now. It's summer break, so the only boys I see a lot are you and Mart." She paused for a moment, almost surprised at how easy it was to talk to Brian like this. "I'll have time to work my feminine wiles in the fall, I guess."
Brian laughed. "Oh no. Don't get carried away with your powers. I know you, you'd feel guilty if you put someone's eye out."
She laughed as well. "Mother's encouraged me to meet with a few people. Family friends and connections and that sort of thing. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore. It's just dreadful."
He looked at her with interest. "Dreadful?" he echoed.
"Oh, it's just…." She trailed off for a moment. "I don't know. If Trixie suggested someone, I'd listen. But with Mother, she doesn't really know the boys. She knows the parents. It's being forced on a date, that they've also been forced on. So you don't really want to be there, but you're there in case they want you to be there, and they don't, either. Nobody ever actually wants it. Nobody likes anybody, and even if they maybe could, they're too uncomfortable being there to really find out. It's just a lot of wishful thinking. It turns out the result of wishful thinking is a dreadful reality."
"My, my," Brian clucked. "You've grown cynical in your advanced age, Miss Wheeler." More seriously, he admitted, "I guess that's an advantage of being poor. No one's going to fight to line up a date with me unless they really want it. There's no ulterior motive to second guess."
"So," Honey began eagerly, "How many people are fighting to line up a date with you, bachelor Belden? Anyone serious? What's dating even like in college? I mean real dates, not like our school dances. Unprompted, unscripted dates."
Brian looked wounded. "I thought our dances were real." But then he grinned, and Honey knew he didn't mean it. She giggled. "Shut up and talk, Brian."
Brian gave her a funny look. "Shut up AND talk?" he repeated, scratching the side of his head comedically. But then, all kidding aside, he sighed. "Okay, fine." He leaned closer, a bit conspiratorially.
"My first date was with this girl in my biology class. She sat one row ahead of me. We studied together a few times, we exchanged notes. I didn't know her that well, but she was always really friendly. I thought maybe she liked me, and I had thought about asking her out. Then we were both at the same party. It was one of the few parties I ever went to, and she was there. We started talking. And she had a few drinks. I left after a while, but we traded numbers first." He paused, then added, "This next part is so embarrassing. Honey, you're lucky you're my friend."
She just nodded, encouraging him to continue. He did. "I waited until the next day to call her. Well, text her. I sent her a text and we went back and forth, messaging, for a while. Then we agreed to meet that night for dinner."
He paused, uncertainly, and she nodded again. "And…?" she prompted. He sighed. "And when I got there, she hadn't meant to make a date with me at all. She thought I was another Brian."
She just stared for a second, mouth agape. Then she started to laugh, to her horror. Luckily, Brian laughed too. "Okay, okay," he grumbled. "I know, it seems funny now. But at the time, it was a pretty awkward ten minutes while she tried to figure out why I was there. She was drunk enough when she gave me that number that she thought the Brian texting her was…well, not me." He shrugged. "Imagine her disappointment."
"Oh, Brian," Honey protested, patting his arm. "I'm sure whatever other Brian there was couldn't have been better than you. If she didn't know how to appreciate a great date that fell into her lap, that's her fault, not yours."
"Well, at least I'm not having to deal with awkward dates just because of my last name," he pointed out. "It sounds like you don't have an easy time of it, either."
Honey shrugged. "At least most of the boys at school don't see me that way. I'm not a rich girl there, I'm just.. Honey. They like me, or they don't, but not for any special reason."
Brian laughed. "I'm sure most of them like you. Who couldn't like you?"
Honey just blushed, looking at the floor. You, she thought to herself. But she didn't say it out loud, instead asking Brian, "So when you meet the right girl at school, what do you think she'll be like? Other than sober, of course," she teased.
Brian grinned. "Well, sober might be a good start. Harder than you might think, at college. Wait until you get there, you'll see."
Honey wrinkled her nose. "I hope not. I might not drink enough to fit in."
Brian laughed again. "I know I don't," he admitted. He returned to the original question. "I don't know. I'm not sure what Mrs. Brian Belden looks like. I think I'd need to be with someone sensible. Head on her shoulders. I don't think anyone too flighty would be able to put up with me," he acknowledged. "My school right now is the center of my attention, and not everyone can handle that. I like to think I'd be respectful, caring, all that. But I couldn't deal with a lot of drama. It's fun to meet a cute airheaded girl. You feel good when they're flirting and treating you like you're a hotshot. But it wouldn't work for long. I don't have the time to fawn over someone. I need someone who doesn't do much of that, and doesn't require it, either."
Honey nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense." She couldn't help but wonder if she needed a lot of fawning. Girls like Trixie didn't, and girls like Di did. But what kind of girl was she?
He gave her a sideways look. "What about you? We've established that your current dates aren't home runs. So what does a perfect match for Miss Honey Wheeler look like?"
Honey stared off into space for a moment, not really sure what the answer to that was. It occurred to her that she probably should. How could she be looking to meet someone, but have no idea what she was looking for? "I don't know," she finally admitted. "I guess I thought I'd just fall in love sooner or later and know it."
Brian laughed, but it wasn't mean. "I think we all think that a little," he pointed out. "The media, movies, books…they all tell us there's a soul mate out there, and we're just along for the ride until our paths cross some enchanted evening, right? It's what we're raised on."
She frowned. "You sound like you don't agree. You don't think there's someone out there for you?"
Brian cocked his head. "I don't know," he hedged. "I used to. Maybe I do. I think I just don't like the principle of it. Implying that there's one person for you, and you don't get to have a say in who it is, takes all the power out of your hands. It seems like a handy way to take the blame away if it doesn't go well," he scoffed. "And then there's the unrequited love. If your soul mate is someone that you can't have, what happens now? If they're the wrong religion, or your family doesn't have enough money, or whatever, you just lose out." He grinned wryly. "Maybe I'm just too much of a control freak to accept that."
"No," she argued. "If it doesn't go well, they weren't your soul mate. People are stubborn, that's the problem. They get it in their head that someone's the one, and they double down on it. Instead of taking the signs. If it was supposed to work, it would be working. Because things that aren't working are broken and why would you start with something already broken? Sometimes by the time you realize it's broken, you don't want to admit it, so you act like it's fine."
He gave her a look of confusion, trying to work back in his head what she had actually said. "Okay," he countered finally. "So how do you know which it is? If you hit a rough spot, how do you know it's a rough spot with your soul mate. Versus a sign that you've been in a broken relationship."
She sighed, putting her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her hand. Thoughtfully, she finally replied truthfully, "I don't know."
But she looked, one last time, out to the dance floor and at Jim and Trixie laughing.
Authors Notes:
Any inconsistencies here with actual life in New York are my own. I tried to tie in things that felt "true" to their world, like Mart talking about a hunting license in August (the books mention hunting, there are references to Mart and Brian going, Tom is a notable hunter, Regan I don't think ever specifically goes hunting but does own a gun, sort of implying to me that he at least likes to consider it as an option). But I don't entirely understand the laws in NY - if Dan would need to take a hunting class or something and this bit doesn't make enough sense to you, I apologize. I'm also not positive that they'd be allowed to hunt at 17 in Westchester County. I dunno, man, I did my best (lol). It felt close enough to true, anyway - if it's not quite there, maybe cross your eyes and stand back a little (haha).
Sorry that this took so long. It's starting to take a bit longer to write - I have a rough idea of where I want this to go, at this point, but I'm not sure how long I want to take getting there. This could be done in a few chapters, or I could drag this out for three more years of Jim's college. Any feedback or ideas of what you'd like to see happen are more than welcome. I'm enjoying writing it, but I'm starting to worry it's dragging too much.
If anyone wants to edit it, I'd welcome that as well (it takes me at least 3x longer to write because of the second-guessing - this or this? Too much, not enough? etc. Having a good editor and letting them take away that hesitation would help a lot).