Party Favor

Trigger warning: crude humor

Ginny hadn’t thought of it as revenge, more like returning a favor. After all, at one point, they had been friends, best friends until the end, Katie always said. Well, in Ginny’s mind, they were at the end, so it seemed fitting they would go out just as they came in, at a crowded party. 

No one saw Ginny take the small bottle of lemon-flavored Magnesium Citrate from her black clutch and pour it into Katie’s tumbler, left unattended. Katie was always so careless with where she set things down. The number of times Ginny saved a flat surface from rings, burns, and spills was countless, a number she couldn’t even compute. Unlike the number of times Katie said Ginny was the friend she always wanted, responsible and conservative, the big sister she never had but said she always needed. Katie always confused what she needed with what she wanted, and vice versa. Ginny knew their friendship wasn’t sustainable; they couldn’t be more opposite in every way; her blonde bob to Katie’s long dark locks, her blue eyes to Katie’s brown, her long legs to Katie’s short frame. Nonetheless, Ginny persevered, wanting to prove herself wrong only to find out she was right. Her friendship with Katie wasn’t built to last, but that wasn’t Ginny’s fault. 

“Hey, Ginny! It’s been a while! I didn’t know you were friends with Angela; so good to see you!”

Ginny jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice, whose name she couldn’t remember, one of Katie’s countless followers. 

“Oh, hey! Yes, well, she’s more Katie’s friend, but you know, here I am because every 40th birthday party needs more guests than candles, right?”

The woman looked confused and laughed awkwardly, “Um, sure? I never thought of it that way, but anyway, nice to see you. Cheers!”

And then she was off, Ginny once again finding herself alone in a crowd. A crowd of Katie’s cohorts, never hers. But soon enough Ginny wouldn’t need to worry about making small talk with another Heather, Phoebe, Anna, Megan, or whatever the fuck that woman’s name was. The party would be cleared out, and Angela’s fun ruined, along with Katie’s fancy pants.

Angela was a more recent addition to Katie’s A-list crowd. Angela from out of town dazzled all the moms with her sunny California smile, Oregon hippie casual, and Washington apple cheeks. Much to Ginny’s dismay, Katie loved Angela instantly, welcoming her west coast find into their east coast circle with the same enthusiasm Katie welcomed all women into her enormous collection. Ginny was an attractive blonde, but Katie was the light everyone was drawn to, moths and butterflies alike. 

Ginny’s stomach rumbled; she hadn’t eaten yet and didn’t plan to until she got home. Home to her pin neat house where everything had a place; shoes, hat, husband, children, even the cat. Ginny never ate at parties; the thought of someone touching her food made her ill. It was the same reason she packed snacks ahead of restaurant outings, pushing the food around on her plate then sneaking off to the bathroom to eat carrot sticks and crackers; the doggy bag gifted to her husband who didn’t seem to care that his wife was odd in that way. He didn’t particularly care to go out himself but for other reasons, namely being recognized, his face appearing in neighboring area windows of single women, none of whom could accurately describe him but would know the minute they saw him again.

The sounds of the party, clinking glasses, music, and voices talking over the sounds were all lost on Ginny, her only focus waiting for Katie to retrieve her glass and take a drink, the anticipation almost too much. Ginny had been waiting for the day she could return the favor since the last party she attended with Katie. The party where Katie, after a few too many lemon drops, told everyone how Ginny had thrown up at her own 40th birthday dinner, a quiet affair with only a handful of guests, unlike Angela’s big bash. The irony that Ginny had thrown up from food she prepared wasn’t lost on her and only made it worse that Katie chose to add that in for good or bad measure. The memory of it seared, causing Ginny’s face to flush hot.

“Heeeeeeey, girl! There you are! Of course, I would find you at the bar, hardy har har!”

Ginny forced her mouth into a smile, Katie returning it with a light hug and air kisses, looking around excitedly, like a kid at Christmas, the present scene one where she shined the brightest.

“What a party, huh? Thanks so much for driving, Gin. Now where’s my drinkie? I could have sworn I set it down around here somewh- oh there!”

Licking her thin lips, Ginny watched Katie guzzle her drink, Ginny practically rubbing her hands together. Katie didn’t taste a thing yet. But soon enough, Katie would be eating embarrassment, doubled over, forced on all fours to crawl her way to the porcelain god where she would violently shit her brains out, stinking up the only bathroom in the rented venue in the same way she stunk up Ginny’s pristine reputation, one carefully cultivated for so many years before Katie, before kids, before the horror of being exposed two weeks ago with a plug of the nose. 

“Poor Gin! Barfing up her beautiful Tuscan pink salmon, risotto, and pinot noir all over her white carpet!” 

“Ewwww! Oh my god, Ginny! That’s awful-hiccup-but that thank GOD you were at your own house! Can you imagine?!” 

Angela’s horse mouth hee-hawing along with the rest of them as Katie told the story.

Shaking off the memory to stay in the moment, Ginny asked Katie how she felt. 

Katie let out a little burp and clutched her stomach. 

“So weird, but now that you mention it, my tummy is slightly upset. Would you mind taking me home?”

Ginny smiled for real this time. “Oh no! Yes, yes, of course! Let me just find my keys.”

Ginny knew exactly where her keys were, in the bushes out back where she tossed them, but she pretended to look anyway, her performance on par with all the others; the neighborhood was a self-appointed stage in every way. 

Katie was growing noticeably uncomfortable, a wild look of fear growing in her big brown eyes. 

“Oh, Gin. I don’t think I’m going to make it home. And-” Katie squirmed, “There’s only one bathroom. Oh my god.” 

Panicked at the thought of relieving all of herself in cramped quarters, Katie dashed out the back door, racing for the bushes, pulling down her pants and squatting noisily, unconcerned with the keys lying beneath her on the ground, now buried under a wet, smelly mound.