Page 94 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Bids rolled in steadily, but one woman’s paddle kept going up higher than the others—a middle-aged woman who was getting very competitive about it.
“Elena,” Glamma said, her tone suggesting she was addressing a beloved, albeit mildly chaotic, family member. “You need to stop driving up the bidding for your son. We appreciate your generosity, but if you go much higher, he’s going on a date withyou.”
“Sorry, Sofia.” Elena lowered her paddle, then faced the room. “Ladies, he really is a wonderful catch. He loads the dishwasher correctly, can cook, and he washes his own clothes.”
Poor Jamison’s face went from tan to crimson and back to pale in under a second. He stared at the ceiling like he was praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
Eventually, he went for three hundred dollars to a woman seated across the room. He rushed offstage, and I could guarantee with relative certainty he was never going to want to speak about this ever again.
“Jami really is a doll,” Vee said, taking a sip from her drink.
“Oh, really? Is there something you want to tell me?” Henry asked. Those two words were laced with so much anger, and I had to wonder if he was like this in person, how was he behind closed doors?
Vee’s patience, which I suspected had been running on fumes before she even arrived, seemed about to come to an end. “Henry. He comes in for tattoos. I’m not interested in him.” She rolled her heavily lined eyes so hard I was afraid she’d pull a muscle.
The accountant came out next, a distinguished man in his fifties, holding a cat with a face that could only be described as personally offended by the concept of attending this event. Its ears were flat. Its expression was judgmental. Like it had somewhere else to be and wasn’t going to let anyone forget it.
“Our next bachelor is financially responsible, emotionally available, and owns his own snowblower. Listen, all of you who still shovel, he might be your match made in heaven.”
The crowd chuckled.
“Oh that cat isugly,” Janine announced.
Half the tables nearby turned toward her.
I took a very focused interest in my drink.
As the bidding climbed and the crowd got louder, the cat’s back fur began to rise. Incrementally. Measurably. Like a very small, very judgemental barometer of human enthusiasm.
Fifty dollars—fur at half mast.
Seventy-five dollars—full bristle.
One hundred—the cat’s entire body became a threat detector.
My eyes stayed glued to the cat with each bid. I knew what was coming. I could see it in the flat fury of the cat’s eyes, the way its tail had gone from irritated swish to full helicopter, and I could not look away. I gripped Adele’s arm with one hand.
“Delaney—”
“Shhh.” I shushed my friend, knowing it was only a matter of time before this went sideways. The poor cat was poised to act.
Then someone at a table behind us—who had clearly made multiple trips to the bar and was feeling exceptionally good and enthusiastic about a date with the accountant—threw their paddle in the air and hollered a bid that was frankly impressive.
The cat hissed and screeched in a way that made me want to cover my ears as the microphone caught it. Then it moved almost faster than I could track. It didn’t just jump or leap. It scaled the accountant’s arm, across his shoulder, briefly occupied the top of his head—and then launched itself from his skull toward the backdrop curtain, which it hit with all four claws extended, and hung there. The poor creature clearly conveyed to the crowd it had finally had enough.
The accountant stood below it, hair in full disarray, bow tie at a forty-five degree angle, trying to coax it down, and the audience lost its mind.
I was laughing so hard I was crying. Actual tears, which meant my mascara was probably migrating somewhere it had no business being, and I didn’t even care.
My friends were equally amused. Adele quietly chuckled, and Cheryl had her face in her hands. Penny had given up entirely and put her head down on the table, her shoulders shaking.
On the curtain, the cat had not moved. It didn’t blink. It just hung there, surveying the room, completely unbothered now, having made its point.
Glamma spoke again, humor in her voice. “Going once,” she said, “to the lady in red, for what I think we can all agree has been the most excited to win her date.”
The cat dropped from the curtain, landing perfectly on his feet, and strutted offstage without looking back. Acting like he hadn’t freaked out, and we all imagined the last few minutes.
The crowd erupted all over again.
