Marcel Winatschek

Three Bodies in a Glass Room

Betty’s 18th was a week ago but the memory of that night in the conservatory hasn’t faded. Julian kept rolling over in his sleep until he was practically on top of me, Patrick—somewhere beneath—delivered what sounded like an entire novel out loud, and Ana to my right had put away enough to keep her horizontal for hours. Not ideal sleeping conditions.

The party itself was fine. The music held up most of the time, the drinks did what drinks do, and half the guests I never met and never will. Betty’s parents were genuinely kind and put out liver cheese with potato salad, which is a better birthday spread than most people manage. Here’s hoping the conservatory has actual beds in it by next year.