Page 5 of Counting the Days

Rhea marveled at Tiny’s foresight. Money really was the solution to every problem. As she entered Tiny’s living room, Rhea was surprised to discover it had already been decorated.

“You—you already decorated?” Rhea asked, taking in the beige balloon arch that towered above her and trying not to think about the combined one thousand steps she had taken to get all the boxes of decorations in and out of her house, not to mention the hours they’d spent hand-making each one.

“Well, I think Ada underestimated how much stuff we would need, but it’s not likedonedone. We could always use more shit,” Tiny said right before opening a bottle of beer with her teeth.

The beer extracted a curious look from Rhea.

“It’s nonalcoholic,” Tiny said defensively, and swigged it. “Tastes like crap. God, I miss beer so much. I woulda gotten a surrogate if I knew it was gonna be this hard.”

Christina Louella Eileen Byron, who in junior high school went by “Tina” and in high school, due to her short stature, went by “Tiny Tina,” was one of the wealthiest women in Los Angeles, which is one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and she reached those great heights simply by being born. Her generational fortune started hundreds of years ago with oil money, and no Byron had earned a paycheck since.

And if it was not enough to have the bank account of a member of the royal family, she also looked like a stereotypical princess, with blond hair, blue eyes, and miniature, Disney-approved facial features. She tried ardently to make up for her privileged blondness and wealth by cursing like a dockworker and grossing everyone out every chance she got.

She was a certified member of the 1 percent, but she did not enjoy being in the minority, and in order to ingratiate herself with the other 99 percent of the planet, she adopted a persona that hid her privileged origins to help her connect with the masses. However, this persona still included a palatial house and servants, because while she did want to blend in with the majority, she did not want to live like them.

Rhea was the exact opposite; having grown up with no money, she worked hard to make herself appear as if she were privileged. Over her black silk slip, she wore a thousand-dollar wool sweater withCelineemblazoned across the front in white letters, as if it were a suit of armor, protecting her from the attack of judgmental eyes.

“Does Ada know about these other decorations?” Rhea asked.

Tiny shrugged, swigged her near beer, and burped.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

Tiny made the sign of the cross. “God help us all…. Can I make you a drink?”

“It’s tena.m.,” Rhea said, and then added, “I’ll take a margarita.”

—

Rhea sipped her second margaritaand watched Ada coach three employees in the art of hanging party decorations. When she arrived, Ada quickly took in the pre-decorated house, decided the established décor was cold and impersonal, ordered half of it to be taken down, and was now replacing it with the handmade batch.

Ada tasked Rhea with standing by the door and putting a party hat on the head of each guest as they entered. That way, when Zoe finally walked in, she would be so surprised to see everyone she knew wearing party hats with her face on them that she would have a heart attack and die on the spot; it did seem as if Ada would have been disappointed with any lesser reaction.

Rhea was enjoying her task because she loathed small talk; handing out hats gave her something to say to each guest, and the need to hat the new arrivals gave her an excuse to abruptly end every interaction.

By Rhea’s third margarita, the foyer was packed with humans, and only one hat remained in her possession. When she scanned the crowd to see if anyone was missing a hat, her eyes landed on a hatless man she had never seen before.He’s cute,Rhea thought—then her lower lip dropped in astonishment. She had never before in her entire life been attracted to a stranger.

Rhea thought men were like mold; at first, they seemed slightly unappealing, but then they grew on her, and over time, she learned they were harmless or maybe even beneficial. Every man she dated was funny or smart or some other invisible adjective that made her decide they were cute after hours of getting to know them.

She found pretty-boy model types unappealing; they were so boring. Muscly dudes made her anxious; they were so aggro. Of course, both of these generalizations might have been protecting her from the fear of not being pretty enough for musclebound or runway-bound men, but either way, she always went for quirky guys with a lot of character in their face who became cuter the harder she fell for them. But this guy was instantly cute, and she had not even heard him speak.

She had the perfect icebreaker; he had to wear a hat, and she was the keeper of the hats. As he got closer, she prepared herself to say the same thing she had said one hundred and forty-nine times that morning: “Halt, before you go any farther, you must wear a party hat, on orders from Queen Ada.”

She could make it less corny; she could cool it up a bit and try, “Hey, sorry, I know this is weird and you don’t know me, but we’re trying to surprise Zoe by wearing these dumbass hats.”

But that sounded so self-deprecating, and her life coach had drilled into her head,Men are attracted to confidence.

So, she decided to stop overthinking it and instead…just let him walk right past her without a hat.She had the impulse tograb him and confess he was the first stranger she had ever physically objectified, but Ada bounced into the foyer and announced Zoe was arriving.

Screw the hats.Rhea threw the last hat back into the box, but she did check to make sure her own was securely fastened to her head; she did not want to disappoint the queen.

Tiny’s staff closed the massive front doors, and all the coconspirators began whispering. Rhea smiled, watching Ada run around, perfecting this moment for their friend with her round belly protruding out in front of her. Rhea wanted to tell her what a kind thing she was doing for Zoe—

“Are you the keeper of the hats?” a low voice asked.

Rhea whipped around to see Cute Guy standing so close she could smell his toothpaste.

“I am, yes, I—I do have hats.”