Page 47 of The Plus-One List

Eloise: There are approximately seven new cases of the bubonic plague in the US each year.

Me: Did you just Google that?

Eloise: No, it’s totally common knowledge.

Eloise: Okay yes, I did. But seven cases! I could be one of seven cases.

Me: You can’t miss Rachel’s engagement party. She’s your best friend. You’re the maid of honor. I’ll pick you up at six like we agreed.

I go to put my phone down, then type one last thing.

Me: I *might* have believed you if you said one of the dogs was sick.

Eloise: Oh crap, why didn’t I think of that!

I chuckle and turn back to my laptop.

I arrive at Eloise’s building at quarter to six.

I’ve found it’s always best to be early, so that Eloise has time to acclimate to my presence. And I want to say hi to the dogs. Over the past four weeks, Pip has been coming out of his shell more and more every day. I know he likes it when I’m around. And Eloise does too. She won’t admit it, but I know it’s nice for her to have someone help out with their care, especially on days when she has to make a lot of orders for Treats Gourmand, the online pet bakery she’s got a freelance agreement with. We’ll all go to the park together, or sometimes I’ll hang out with them if she has to take the Colonel to the vet or Hazel to the groomer.

So far, our wedding prep has consisted of mostly more cooking, some slideshows with facts and details about Mexico City, and a couple of movie nights. We watched Roma, which she loved—I think she enjoys learning about the history of the city, even though it can be very dark. I told her how the fighting in the film was real: the Tlatelcolo massacre, when the Mexican government murdered hundreds of protesting students and teachers. I decided against showing her Amores Perros because of the dogfighting. We watched Spectre, because the opening scene features James Bond running around Centro during Día de Muertos. Fun fact: There was never a parade like the one in that movie, but it was so popular that the tourism industry in Mexico City pressured the government to make one.

But tonight is our first real test: a social, wedding-related event. It’s also the first time I’ll be meeting Rachel—and Diego, though Eloise almost never talks about Diego. When I asked her once what she thought of him, she tensed and said “He’s fine” before changing the subject.

I enter the lobby and give Hector a wave.

“Looking good, bro,” he says to me in Spanish.

“Thanks, man.” I’m wearing a light green, short-sleeved linen button down with checkered detailing along the hem of the sleeves and the breast pocket. The color reminded me of Eloise’s eyes when I saw it in the store. I wait for the elevator and wonder if I should have brought something. Flowers? But then I think that might freak her out. She was very clear about the rules of this arrangement.

The doors open, and Gretchen steps out with her two kids and Paloma, the nanny, in tow.

“Agustín!” she says brightly. “Don’t you look handsome. Begonia, say hi to Agustín.”

The little girl with blonde pigtails looks up at me. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I reply. “Hola,” I say to Paloma, who nods and smiles at me, balancing Mansion on her hip.

“Going to see Eloise?” Gretchen asks.

I nod. “It’s Rachel’s engagement party tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right! Miriam was talking about it the other day.”

Most of the ninth floor of the Archer has become enmeshed in Eloise’s preparations for the wedding. Miriam has rallied the troops. Gretchen, Madame Boularès (who still brings up her dead husband a lot, but thankfully without any references to their bedroom activities), and Kate and Sanvi, the sporty couple from 9E, have all been offering advice and support to Eloise—often whether she wants it or not, which I think is even better preparation for when she’s in Mexico because I can imagine that Diego’s family might be a bit, er, assertive.

I haven’t met Mr. Bloom, the violist in 9B, yet but Eloise tells me they’ve been exchanging small gifts, like food and books.

None of us ever see the guy in 9D. The Weed Dude, Eloise calls him. Even Miriam doesn’t know his name.

“We’re off to the Met,” Gretchen says.

“The museum?” I ask.

She gives a tinkling laugh, diamonds glinting at her ears. “The opera. It’s Begonia’s first time seeing La Traviata. Have fun tonight!”

The four of them bustle out of the lobby and into the waiting black SUV. I get in the elevator and step off into the now-familiar hallway of the ninth floor. Miriam, ever in tune with the sound of the elevator ding, throws open her apartment door.