In the end, I didn’t make the party. I’d got myself wound up about it, pressured myself into it, realised that I actually didn’t want to go. The feud with Mum didn’t help: I was drained before I’d arrived. 

I think there was one added caveat that put me off: I thought the party would be more into the evening, but Master Levi started getting ready to go around midday. By 1PM, he was gone.

Master offered to consider a meet “for a few hours” next time, and I agreed. A few hours? I can do a few hours. Half of my Saturday though? That’s more of my weekend than I could possibly give.

So I stayed home, and though I initially felt a bit guilty, in the end I relaxed quite fast. I messaged the host to apologize for not attending, and I was slightly underwhelmed by her response. 

Maybe not putting in the extra effort was actually a good call.  

Initially I turned my attention to some indoor chores, though I remembered the jasmine plant that I wanted to relocate in the front garden, so I stepped out to do that instead. I also took out the creeping rosemary plant that I’d bought to go in the hanging planter by my Dad’s old beehive, a symbol of remembrance, and the begonia plugs that I’ve now potted on. For not going to the party, it was quite a productive afternoon. 

While I work in the back garden, Mr C comes outside. He notices me straight away. 

“Alright? I thought you said you were going out this evening?” he asks. 

“Didn’t feel like it” I reply casually. He furrows his eyebrows at me. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s right across town for one, up three flights of stairs for two, in a home of someone I don’t know. Let’s do a casual coffee meet in town first, then I’ll think about attending a private party.” 

“Fair enough,” he says. 

He begins talking about town, and the cost of a night out now. I don’t personally know — I too prefer pubs or hosting at home. 

In all of this, I can’t help but feel a spot of peacocking in front of his “minion” again. I don’t react to it, nor do I play along with it. I simply observe it instead. 

Master messages me from the party, says that the hosting couple — his co-worker and her boyfriend — are arguing. I can feel his awkwardness, so I advise him to finish his drink, thank them for the night and head home. 

Things improve for a while so I let him be, then they escalate again. Again I advise him to come home; I say that it’s “no longer a party” at that point.

He tells me that one of the guests — his boss — has locked the arguing couple out onto the balcony to “sort their shit out”. I grimace — that could go any number of ways, not all of them for the better.

Master goes offline and I start worrying for his safety. I trust him to stay safe, but I’m not there.

He comes back online eventually and tells me things have calmed down, so again, I let it be. 

Around 9PM and just as I’d finished Huxley’s evening playtime, Master messages me and asks if I’m free for a video call “with the gang”. I’m nervous, but I ask for five minutes to put Huxley to bed, then I’ll be free. 

In the time it took me to put Huxley to bed, Master had gone offline again. I waited half an hour, messaged him several times, but he didn’t reply. In the end, I messaged him and told him that I was clocking off, and we’d have to arrange the video call another time. 

At around 10PM, Master came back online. He told me that the hosting couple had started arguing for a third time, and that it appeared their relationship was now over. 

I felt awkward for him, and for them: imagine breaking up in front of people? 

By 11PM, Master was in an Uber on his way home. By 11:30PM, he was sat on the sofa, hugging me. 

“Boy am I glad to be home!” he sighs. 

“I’m so glad we can talk too,” he says, “rather than fighting it out.” 

So I would learn, there was no clear cause of the fighting, though suspicions ranged from health problems to the possibility of cheating. Master told me that at one point, his colleague picked up a jar candle and threw it at her boyfriend’s car, denting the roof and smashing glass all over the car park. Master and his manager cleared it up, both sustaining injuries in the process. 

I cleaned and dressed his cut finger and Master’s phone vibrates. He laughs at the message and shows it to me. It’s from his boss. 

I’ve never been so glad to leave a party, it reads. I chuckle too. 

The whole evening has left me with a myriad of feelings. On the one hand, I’m quite reluctant to try and befriend my husband’s co-worker — someone with a bit of a hot head is probably not a safe friend for me. On the other, I felt sorry for his boss: it wasn’t her fault that we didn’t get our video introduction.

So this morning and with my husband’s permission, I took the initiative and I reached out to her. Now, I’ve done my part.

But to close this entry out, I’ll say one more thing… 

Never before have I been so glad that I didn’t attend a party.