Dinner Party

            The winter wind whipped Donna’s scarf away, exposing her neck. She attempted to shift all the grocery bags she was carrying to her left hand so she would have her right hand free to fix it, but in the process one of the bags freed itself from her grasp. A glass jar of honey struck the cement and shattered at her feet.

            “Shit,” she said, staring down at the mess. What would she do now? She needed the honey to make her signature dish, honey orange barbecue chicken. Everyone will be expecting it. She wondered what she might be able to substitute for the honey, but it was no use. Nothing would taste the same. No matter what she did now, everyone will know she failed. She wondered if the broken honey jar wasn’t some omen. Could she cancel the dinner party two hours before it began? No, that would be quite impossible.

            There was also the mess to consider. Less than ten feet from her front door, her guests would be walking on some sticky concrete. Donna had no idea how to even begin to clean up the honey. It was hopeless.

            Donna was growing more and more frustrated the longer she stood there and thought. It’d be best to just go inside and get started. Nothing was going to stop the dinner party now, so she would have to just do the best she could.

            Summoning her courage, Donna prepared an impromptu dry rub of various spices for the chicken. It smelled fantastic, and she knew it would taste wonderful, but what would she say when people asked why she didn’t make her usual?

            But there was too much work to do to dwell on it. Vegetables needed chopping – oh, wait, she had to start the rice now. It was already five minutes too late. She was so absorbed in her preparations that it barely registered when the front door opened and Carl stepped inside.

            “What on earth has gotten on my shoes? Why is there broken glass outside?”

            “Oh, no,” Donna said. “You didn’t drag that honey inside on the bottom of your shoes, did you?” Donna rushed towards the front door to meet Carl.

            “Why was there any honey out there for me to step in?”

            “It fell out of my bags. I forgot all about it until now.”

            “Forgot? How could you forget something like that?”

            “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a bit busy getting ready,” she said, gesturing towards the mess in the kitchen.

            “And you don’t consider clearing the walkway for our guests a part of getting ready?”

            “Well, maybe if I had some help from you.”

            “There you go again,” Carl said, rolling his eyes. “I never do enough for you, do I? Working twelve hour days just to keep us afloat, but all you care about is socializing. Well, I didn’t invite them. I don’t even want them to come, but I know better than to leave a mess all over the walkway when we are expecting people. And if you find putting a dinner party together to be too much work for you, stop having them!”

            Carl bent over and reached down, tore each shoe off of his feet, and, for a moment, considered throwing them at Donna. But the moment passed and instead he flung them to the floor in a huff and growled his way up the stairs.

            Donna wrung her hands while examining the damage Carl had done to the entryway floor. How long would it take to clean and how does one even clean honey? Before she could think of an answer, the kitchen timer went off and she went running to shut it off and attend to the food again.

            Time seemed to pass quickly while she was absorbed in her cooking. By the time she had a moment to address the honey, guests were due to arrive in only fifteen minutes. Frantically, she headed outside with a broom and dustpan. She was able to collect the pieces of glass from the broken jar, but the tools proved useless against her most sticky and formidable opponent. In fact, they only seemed to exacerbate the problem, spreading the honey around so that it covered more ground and sticking to the broom’s bristles. She’d ruined the broom.

            Next, instinct compelled her to try hot water. She did seem to be making progress, though not quickly enough. It was not long before she noticed the Maxwell’s Lexus down the block and had to run inside to prepare to greet them. She had not even had a chance to begin cleaning the entryway. She quickly shoved Carl’s shoes into the coat closet, but she had nothing with which to conceal the obvious sticky mess he’d tracked into the house. Oh, well, this is just going to have to do. Her heart pounded. She ran her hands over her hair to smooth it out a bit and tried to catch her breath.

            The doorbell rang. She waited a moment before answering so it wouldn’t seem she had been standing right by the door.

            “Jim. Maryanne. Come in,” she said.

            “Donna, it was so good of you to invite us,” Jim said, grasping her hand warmly.

            “Oh, don’t be silly. It was good of you to come,” Donna said, smiling.

            “Donna, darling,” Maryanne said as Jim moved out of the way. They shared a small hug. “It’s dreadful outside, and I think I’ve gotten something on my shoe.” Maryanne began to look down to inspect the shoe.

            Donna needed to distract her quickly. “How is Bill enjoying his first year of college?”

            It worked. Maryanne forgot all about her shoe and gushed as Donna took their coats and ushered them into the living room.

            More guests arrived and the night wore on. Donna grew more and more anxious someone would spot the mess in the entryway, but no one did. With each successful entrance, she only worried more and more that the next guest was sure to notice.

            The evening only grew more dreadful as they sat down to their meal and not one guest bothered to ask about the chicken. They praised her dish extensively. Each compliment made Donna sick to the stomach. Each moment that passed without being exposed made her fear the inevitable exposure even more.

            Someone must comment on it before she explodes. Donna tried to will her guests onto the subject, at one point even reminding Maryanne what she’d said about her shoe, but Maryanne simply shrugged it off and turned back to the conversation she had been engaged in before Donna’s interruption.

            Eventually, the evening came to a conclusion as guests began to leave. Donna played the hostess and reunited each guest with his or her coat, though she was furious with them all. Once the final guest left, she felt she could finally relax, finally declare the evening a success. Relief.

            Then, she heard it, a loud crash, someone screeching for help. She flung open the door and hurried outside.

            One of her last guests had tripped. “Mark’s shoe got stuck on something,” Susan said. “He just fell right in the snow.”

            Donna could tell Mark got stuck right where she’d dropped the honey.

            Carl appeared behind her. “Donna, help him up,” he said, brushing past her. “What is wrong with you? Why are you just standing there?”

            Donna lifted her arms. For a moment, it looked like she was trying to embrace Carl. Instead, she pushed him hard and he went hurtling into the snow himself. She stared at the drops of blood by Carl in the snow, counted them, thirteen blood-colored spheres sitting in the snow, and she laughed.