Fiction Thursday: PartyBox

Just because the holidays are over doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate friends and family and all the good things our lives hold . . . here’s a throwback story from a 2024 writing prompt . . .

PartyBox

The box showed up on Liv’s back porch wrapped in shiny purple paper, with a white satin ribbon tied in a floppy bow. Tucked under the bow was a pink and white striped envelope. When Liv opened the envelope, she found a card with one word on it, written in bright green italic lettering: PartyBox. There was nothing to indicate who left the box there, nothing to suggest what she should do with it. She shook her head, set the box inside the house without opening it, then went back outside to sit on the top porch step.

The timing wasn’t the best. Life had become a clown car of complications: one thing after another after another. Her husband Ben had just arrived overseas for a 12-month deployment, and she’d just texted him that -- surprise! -- it wasn’t flu; instead she was pregnant. Her parents had just moved three states away. Her job was challenging, her neighbors kept to themselves, and her best friend had to cancel a visit they’d planned. Her car needed tires, and the garden of their rental house needed tending. Bleak was the most cheerful word she could think of to describe her situation; nothing was OK.

Who sent her such a thing? A PartyBox? What was that, even? She was in no mood for a party of any kind, and certainly not one she was supposed to organize or clean up after.

She watched a robin struggle to pull a worm out of the muddy flower bed along the back fence of her rental house. She hadn’t cleared away the dried-up marigolds and mums from last fall yet, and last week’s icy sleet-rain had beaten the dried up stalks into the dirt. Today was supposed to warm up into sweater weather, suitable for garden work. She was in no mood for that, either.

An unsolicited gift, unwanted. She’d just throw it out; she certainly wasn’t obligated to keep it. She stood up, determined to ignore the flower bed, and went into the house. The box was right where she’d left it, but there seemed to be music coming from it, and it seemed to be – no. That box was not dancing in place! She kicked the box, and it seemed to shudder, and pause. Then the music started again, and the dancing. Was she hearing things? Seeing things?

She picked the box up to lift it onto the kitchen counter. It felt warm, and it was hard to get a good grip on it. Curious now, she changed her mind about throwing it out, and found scissors to cut the purple paper and the tape that kept the box closed. But as soon as she cut the tape, the box flew open, and confetti sprayed out. And now she could hear a drum line, and a marching band playing “Louie, Louie.” She didn’t mean to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. Swatting confetti aside, she peeked inside the box and began lifting the contents out, lining things up onto the counter.

There was a small hamper with a selection of cheeses, crackers, and breadsticks. She chose a piece of Neufchatel, and began nibbling. There were candlesticks with white beeswax candles, and a blue-checked tablecloth that looked as if it would fit her dining room table. And a small music box, the kind she’d had as a kid, with a ballerina on top and a wind-up crank; it was the source of the music, which seemed to go on and on, now playing dance music: first a hoedown, then a waltz, then a tango . . . good grief, she thought, what next?

There was far more now on the counter than the box could possibly hold, and yet there was more to take out: a fragrant bouquet of yellow roses in a cut-glass vase, a jigsaw puzzle, three party games, a charcuterie board with fresh strawberries, kiwi, and raspberries wrapped in chilled packets, more cheeses, a selection of nuts and chocolates, a bag with fresh vegetables and dips, white plates and blue checked napkins, and finally, a dark-cherry cheesecake, a selection of cookies, and a chocolate layer cake on a glass cake plate.

None of it seemed possible, and yet there it was. There was hardly any more room on the kitchen counter, and yet at the bottom of the box, there was a six-pack of bubbles, and a package of invitations, each with a tiny hummingbird embossed at the top corner. She set the bubbles on the counter, and pulled out the invitations. The hummingbird’s colors shimmered on the heavy paper. Without thinking about it too much, she began to name people she wanted to see, as well as all the people around her she didn’t know. And with each name she spoke, each person she suggested, a tiny hummingbird fluttered its wings, grabbed an invitation in its tiny beak, and zoomed away.

“I must be dreaming,” Liv thought. “I need to wake up.”

The music box began playing French cafe music, and Liv began humming along, putting the tablecloth on the table, and arranging the candlesticks and candles around the vase with the yellow roses. She set out the charcuterie board, found bowls for the nuts, the chocolates, the crackers and breadsticks, then added the cheesecake, the cookies, and the chocolate cake. She put the plates and napkins beside them.

She pulled out the rickety card table and set the puzzle and party games on it, then added the bubbles. The music box was playing “Tennessee Waltz” now, which made her think of the framed photograph of her parents at their 45th anniversary party. She added their picture to the mantel, then thought, “I’m dreaming for sure, but if those hummingbirds really delivered those invitations, I’d better get dressed for the party.” None of it made sense, but getting dressed for a party seemed like the right thing to do.

She had just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. Her neighbors – the Reynolds? -- were standing on the front porch, and before she could get to the door, they were joined by her boss, Penny Sampson, and her husband, holding onto their first-grader’s hand and smiling. Behind them was the janitor from work, D’Lancy Robinson, and he had his mother with him.

“How do I know that?” Livy asked herself as she opened the door to welcome them all inside.

“Come in, come in,” she said. “Please make yourselves at home, and help yourselves to something to eat in the dining room.”

The doorbell rang again, and then again, and Liv was busy answering it and welcoming guests inside for a good hour. How could the house and yard hold all these people? The music had gotten just a bit louder -- reggae, now -- and on the back porch, some of her guests were dancing. Penny Sampson’s first-grader was blowing bubbles with a dozen other children, and inside, D’Lancy’s mother had organized the party games; a large group was playing a rowdy game of Charades.

Livy went to check on the food; surely by now it was all gone. What would she do about that? But when she went into the dining room, she found a lemon cake on the cake stand, fresh cookies and fruit and vegetables arrayed with nuts and chocolates and – where did it all come from? The music box was playing Count Basie’s “Corner Pocket,” and she noticed the PartyBox in the corner, bumping along in time to the music box.

When was this dream going to be over?

The phone rang. Her husband had gotten the invitation as well as the text about a baby, and was calling to tell her how thrilled he was, and how much he loved her. They chatted a few minutes, and then he had to hang up. The phone rang again; it was her parents, calling to say they wished they could drop everything to come to the party, but they still had to unpack, and they loved her and would see her soon. They chatted a few minutes as the party swirled around Liv, and then they had to hang up. Liv shook her head; the phone rang one more time. Her best friend was excited – “I never got an invitation delivered by a hummingbird before!” and then shared the news that her schedule had changed, and she’d be able to come tomorrow after all. And what in the world was going on at Liv’s– she hated to miss it! They chatted a few minutes, and then her best friend promised again to see her tomorrow, and hung up. And as she hung up the phone, Livy realized her house was full of laughter and music and friends.

The music was quieter now – Brubeck’s “Take Five” -- and small groups of people were sitting and chatting. People she’d just met were coming to tell her it was the best party they’d ever been to, and what a gift she had for making people feel welcome, and by the way, would she be interested in coming to . . . ? Or could she, perhaps, help out with . . .? And by the way, they’d love to invite her to . . .

By the time her guests began to filter out, Livy had fourteen invitations to dinner, or a movie, or a pottery class, or would she be interested in joining their Bible study? D’Lancy’s cousin, who owned a gas station, had offered to help her find tires for her car, and oh, by the way, D’Lancy’s mother thought she recognized Liv’s parents – had they ever lived here? Mr. Reynolds had offered to help her with yard work. Penny Sampson had quietly mentioned that she hoped she wasn’t being presumptuous, and asked Liv if she was OK, and was it possible she might be . . . well, you know? Maybe pregnant? And if so, she had some baby things she’d be glad to share . . .

Just as the last guests departed for home, the party things began to quietly reassemble themselves in the PartyBox. The music box, the charcuterie board, the cake plate, the empty bubble bottles and the party games – all the things slipped themselves neatly back into the box until the house was picked up, crumbs were swept and cleaned up, and everywhere, the house was back to its usual self in no time at all; only the dining room with the yellow roses, the candles, the tablecloth and napkins remained as they had been. Those stayed in place, even as the PartyBox closed and taped itself up – Liv was pretty sure the music box was playing “The Party’s Over” -- and the shiny purple paper reassembled itself into a pretty covering with a floppy white bow.

Livy closed her eyes for just a moment, but when she opened them, the PartyBox had disappeared. She wandered into the dining room, and noticed a square white notecard on the table, propped up against the cake stand, which still had one piece of lemon cake on it. She picked the card up and read the green italic lettering: “Feasting with friends makes a cheerful heart, and a cheerful heart is good medicine for the soul.”

Liv began to laugh. She knew now she was wide awake, and things would be OK. Everything would be OK.