Page 45 of The Plus-One List

Miriam’s apartment is wonderfully chaotic. It’s open plan, with the kitchen spilling out into the living room. There’s a bright yellow teapot on the stove, and a huge circular chair with an enormous purple cushion set in a wooden frame overflowing with decorative pillows by the large windows that look out over West 89th Street. A couch covered in about five different afghans sits against one wall, with a coffee table shaped like a tree trunk, and a series of mismatched, sparkly patterned poufs scattered around on the floor. An elaborate system of platforms covered in scratchy carpet are mounted on the wall behind the couch, zigzagging nearly up to the ceiling. The orange tabby we saw earlier is lounging on one of the platforms, and I see a calico tail peeking out from beneath a maroon and navy afghan.

Miriam has a pair of glasses perched in her tight black curls, and she wears light jeans, a Cornell T-shirt, and a pair of fluffy pink slippers.

I hand her the plate with two sopes on it. “They’re messy,” I say.

“All the best food is,” Miriam says. “Go on, make yourselves at home. Checkers, Milhouse, say hello to our guests.”

The orange tabby stretches out on the platform, showing us her claws, and I hear a hiss from beneath the afghan.

“Don’t mind Milhouse, he’s got no manners,” Miriam says, grabbing a knife and fork from the kitchen and settling herself at the small dining table set up next to the kitchen. Eloise perches daintily on the edge of the couch, but I take the huge cushioned circle chair. It looks like a fun place to sit. My whole body sinks into it, buffeted by the pillows. I throw Eloise a thumbs up, which makes her mouth twitch.

“It’s nice, right?” Miriam says, noticing my expression. “My husband gave me so much crap when I bought it, but he loved that chair in the end.” She takes a bite of the sope, and her eyes pop. “Damn!”

Eloise and I exchange a smile, and something about it feels different—like there’s a thread connecting us. Like we’re really on the same team. “You like them?” I ask.

“Oh my lordy lord, I could eat these all day.” She quickly dispatches the first sope, then wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans back in her chair. “Now, Eloise, you know I’m going to need some more information on whatever the heck is going on here.” She points her fork at me.

We both look expectantly at Eloise. Her eyes bug wide, and she turns to me with a look that says, You tell her. I give the slightest shake of my head, No. Her eyebrows knit together. Please. I give her a nod. You can do it.

“As lovely as this little mime routine is, can we all start using actual words now?” Miriam says, starting on her second sope.

Eloise heaves a sigh so big, it could probably be heard all the way on the east side of the park. Her brows furrow together, her face taking on a look of determination.

“I needed a plus-one to Rachel’s wedding because Diego’s family thinks they’re cursed, so I met Agustín off a list of plus-ones, and now he’s making me talk to people and learn about Mexican food so I can be prepared for the wedding because I don’t know how to talk to people, and I have to make a speech and honestly everything about this wedding feels awful and scary, and I don’t want to do it but I have to because Rachel is my best friend and she needs me,” Eloise says in a rush.

Miriam pauses midchew. I wonder if this is the most she’s ever heard Eloise say before. It’s certainly impressing me, and I’ve only known her for like a week. Slowly, Miriam finishes her bite and swallows.

“Well,” she says. She folds up her napkin. “Hm,” she adds, rubbing her chin. “Well,” she says again. “Isn’t this quite the turn of events.”

Eloise is holding a struggling Hazelnut to her chest, while the other cat, Milhouse, peeks his head out to glare at the intruder. Eloise’s lips are pressed in a tight line, like she’s wishing she could swallow back the words she just blurted out.

Miriam turns her sharp gaze on me. “And what is your plan, then?”

“Well, we tried having coffee with a neighbor,” I admit. Eloise lets out a sound that’s half squeak half cough. “But Madame Boularès was a little … intense.”

“Ha!” Miriam roars. “Did she start talking about how she and her husband had an amazing sex life?” She shudders. “That woman is one strange cookie, I’ll tell you. But harmless. And lonely, I think. Stuck in the past.” She finishes the sope. “How big is this wedding?”

“Big,” I admit. “The Alvarez family is one of the wealthiest in Mexico City.”

Miriam looks at Eloise. “Girl, you didn’t tell me Rachel snagged a rich boy! She’s gorgeous though, and funny, and smart as a whip, so I’m not surprised.” She looks back at me. “Let me guess—three hundred guests?”

“More like five hundred,” I say, which gets another squeak from Eloise.

“Oof.”

Silence falls around us, broken only by Checkers, the tabby, scratching at the rug on her platform. Even Hazel has stopped squirming, as if she can sense Eloise needs stillness. I watch Eloise’s jaw work, her throat bobbing as she swallows, then she takes a deep breath and says in a clear, plaintive voice, “Gretchen from 9C came over for dinner last night.”

“What?” Miriam and I say in shocked unison. I think I’d be less surprised if one of the sparkly poufs came to life and did a tap dance in front of me.

Eloise shrugs and focuses very hard on stroking Hazel’s ears. “She came over with wine and a casserole and had dinner with me and Rachel.”

“I’ll be,” Miriam says.

“This is wonderful!” I say. “Was it fun?”

She frowns at me then purses her lips. “It … wasn’t terrible.”

Miriam beams with pride. “Look at you! Wedding schmedding, you can handle this no problem. Now let me think. I know there’s more we can do to help.”