Page 64 of My Killer Blind Date

Wonderful.

Chapter Twenty-two

Friday evening comes before I know it, and as my Uber pulls up to the fancy downtown venue, I let myself feel a tingle of excitement.

The party feels like the crowning moment of the week – and what a week it’s been. Not only have I decided to trust Liam and table my efforts to find Zoe, but I officially applied for the loan just hours ago. To be honest, the results were a mixed bag. I was approved on the spot for a fifty-thousand-dollar microloan. Not enough to make it work – I’d need at least another fifty to sixty thousand in capital. But I’m still taking it as a personal triumph. First, I got off my ass and took a leap toward a long-cherished dream. Second, having that number gives me a specific goal to shoot for. I could probably save that much in the next four to five years if I live minimally, have no surprise emergency expenses, and get a second job and a side hustle.

I emerge into the cool evening already smiling as I adjust the one-shoulder red dress, one of the items I bought with George at that pricey boutique. It’s short, flirty and makes my legs look a mile long. I half wish I’d taken George up on her offer and invited Liam tonight, just so he could see me in this dress. In the end, though, it felt like too much to introduce him to everyone this quickly. No boyfriend wants to be subjected to the scrutiny of these many people, this fast. Anyway, are we actually official? He put the boyfriend thing out there, but I don’t think I responded at the time.

I walk up the stairs into the open hotel doors, where a doorman checks my name off a list, and I head inside.

This party is … well, it’s insane. Of course it is. It’s George and Arjun.

They’ve rented the ballroom at the Sapphire, a luxury boutique hotel downtown, right off the river. Entering the grand hall is like stepping into another world. Multicolored silks swoop down from the ceiling and a dreamy, shifting lighting gives off underwater vibes. Clusters of balloons are bunched in the corners, and a professional photographer is set up by a balloon arch to take pictures on demand. The gleaming glass bar is hopping, the DJ’s music is thumping and intermittent loud buzzing sounds announce Colby’s next move on the huge block of ice. She’s on a platform at the far side of the room, dressed in a sleeveless black jumpsuit and wielding her chainsaw like some mythical war angel. I’d go over and say hi, but I don’t want to break her focus.

I make my way through the crowd looking for George. I knew this was going to be a huge party, but dear God, how many friends can one couple possibly have? All of a sudden I feel terribly lucky that George has stuck with me for so long and through so much. She’s beautiful, smart, rich, accomplished, funny as hell. She could have any friends she wanted. Yes, times have been dark in Margot-land. But I should get better at counting my blessings. It turns out, I have a few.

‘Hey, Margot! Over here!’

I swivel, trying to spot the voice. Bix, waving furiously from the corner of the bar, where all the bridesmaids have assembled. My last encounter with them was a bit dramatic, but tonight is about leaving the past behind. I extra-straighten my spine and stride over.

Bix immediately leans in for two air kisses. ‘So good to see you. You look gorgeous by the way!’

‘Thanks, so do you – all of you!’ And they do. Their hair is all done within an inch of their lives. But for once, thanks to a little time with a hairbrush in front of a mirror, I’m not looking like something the cat dragged in. Feels good for a change.

‘We were just talking about you—’ Bix must catch my alarmed expression, because she immediately waves her hands and says, ‘No, no, no, all good things. We were just saying how lucky George is to have you for a friend. You’re a very loyal person.’

‘Oh … Thank you.’ I could argue the point, but I don’t, because obviously Bix is smoothing things over from the bridal shop fiasco. ‘Actually,’ I jump back in, because might as well address the elephant in the room. ‘I want to apologize for freaking out that day. I made it all about me when it was supposed to be all about George.’ I swallow. ‘It’s been tough, but I am trying to get out of my … rut.’

Perhaps to their credit, none of them say anything. They all nod and make sympathetic murmurs.

‘Thanks for being cool,’ I add.

Bix rubs my arm. ‘Here – group hug! Group hug!’ She waves everyone in, and then it’s a gentle assault of arms, hair, Bix’s huge pregnant belly and half a dozen competing perfume scents. It’s nice. Really nice.

When they pull away, I clear my throat and say, ‘I’m actually trying to open a coffee shop, and I got approved today for a microloan!’ It feels good to say it out loud to someone who isn’t a banker, or George. Even though this is still four or five years in the future, speaking it out loud to real people who actually know me makes it feel like something that’s really going to happen. Not just a pipe dream, but a plan.

‘Oh my God, yes!’ says Bix.

‘Girl, that’s amazing,’ says Yoli. ‘Oh my God, we need shots!’ She turns to the bar. ‘Hey! Tequila shots! We’re celebrating over here! Our girl is starting a new business!’

‘And a virgin shot for me!’ crows Bix.

The bartender pours and Yoli passes around the shots. We all crowd around the bar top to lick and salt our hands, lime wedges at the ready. ‘To Margot!’ Yoli cries.

Everyone cheers, and maybe it’s silly to feel this emotional over the approval and encouragement of women I haven’t exactly been super close with, but I can’t deny the warmth that’s cascading through me. I’ve spent so much time alone the past six months, it’s like I forgot what it’s like to be surrounded by supportive people.

‘You guys are the best!’ I gush as Yoli calls for a second round of shots.

We drink, we laugh and then Yoli shares she’s been promoted, so obviously we have to do a shot in her honor, and then Trish flashes a ring because she just got engaged, so shots for her—

The fourth time I’m licking my wrist, my head is already swimming, but it feels good – I’m still young, and I’m done living like a hermit.

Then, a hand is tugging me toward the dance floor and ‘Dancing Queen’ is playing and the circle of bridesmaids is going feral. The whole dance floor springs to life around us, and then suddenly George is there too, and we’re all screaming ‘George!’ and her arm is around me as we jump, and we’re both sweaty and happy and alive.

Time slips by to the rhythm of Chappell Roan and Daft Punk and Beyoncé, and I swear five years have fallen off me. It’s like I’m nineteen again—

‘Babe!’ It’s George, bright-eyed and a little sloppy, holding a glass of amber liquid aloft. ‘It’s time for your surprise!’