Chapter 37: The Housewarming Party
The liquor store delivery arrives at 5 PM.
Twelve bottles of wine, two cases of beer, vodka for mixed drinks, and one bottle of nice whiskey for people who appreciate it. Total damage: four hundred dollars.
Worth every penny.
Melissa's been here since noon, transforming my sparse penthouse into party-ready space. She bought plants (Raj will be thrilled), arranged the pathetic furniture into conversation areas, created a drink station on the kitchen counter.
"You're too good at this," I tell her.
"I grew up hosting family gatherings. This is tiny by comparison."
"We're expecting forty people."
"Which is medium-sized. Relax."
The doorbell rings at 6:30. Early arrivals.
Sheldon and Amy enter first. She's carrying a potted succulent.
"Housewarming gift," Amy explains. "Low-maintenance flora appropriate for bachelor habitation."
"We're not bachelors anymore," I correct. "Melissa and I—"
"Co-habiting?" Sheldon's eyebrow rises.
"Eventually. Maybe."
Melissa laughs from the kitchen. "He means yes, but he's scared of the word."
By 7 PM, the penthouse is packed.
The gang arrived together—Leonard and Penny (who've been hanging out more lately), Howard and Bernadette, Raj with his latest date. My shop regulars: Tim the software engineer, Sarah the graphic designer, Greg the teacher. Marcus even shows up with a bottle of wine as peace offering.
"For the new place. No hard feelings?"
"No hard feelings."
Industry contacts filter in around 7:30. Sarah from CBS with three other producers, two artists I met at WonderCon, a podcaster who interviewed me about the anniversary sale.
Melissa's friends—acting crowd, artistic types—arrive fashionably late at 8 PM.
My landlord Mr. Chen stops by with his wife, mainly to see what I've done with the space.
Leonard finds me refilling the beer cooler. "This is a lot of people."
"I know."
"You know like half of them from work. The other half from your shop. You've built—Stuart, you've built an actual network."
"Apparently."
"The guy who opened the shop fourteen months ago couldn't have done this."
"That guy was terrified of everything."
"And you're not?"
I look around the crowded penthouse. "Still terrified. Just better at hiding it."
Penny corners me on the balcony around 8:30.
"Your place is amazing. Like, Architectural Digest amazing."
"It's mostly empty still."
"Empty with good bones." She sips her wine. "Can I say something?"
"Sure?"
"When Leonard first brought me to your shop, I thought you were this sad little comic book guy. Mumbly, depressed, going nowhere."
"Accurate assessment."
"But watching you tonight—working the room, introducing people, being comfortable in this space—you're like a completely different person."
The tingle flares.
"People change when they stop hating themselves," I say carefully.
"That's profound for someone with a physics-themed beer koozie."
"Gift from Leonard. I'm being polite."
She laughs. "You and Melissa are good together. She looks at you like you hung the moon."
"It's mutual."
"You know she's leaving, right?"
The question catches me off-guard. "She told you about Seattle?"
"Girl talk. We've been getting coffee." Penny leans against the railing. "She's taking the job. Figured you should know if she hasn't said it explicitly."
"We talked about it."
"And?"
"And we have until January."
"That's sad."
"That's life. Right person, wrong timing."
Penny studies me. "You're handling this way too maturely. Old Stuart would've spiraled."
"Old Stuart spiraled about everything. New Stuart has his shit together."
"New Stuart is kind of impressive."
"New Stuart appreciates the compliment."
She toasts me with her wine, heads back inside.
I stay on the balcony, watching the party through the glass. Forty people in my space, celebrating my success, drinking my alcohol, mixing and laughing like this is where they want to be.
Fourteen months ago, I woke up in Stuart Bloom's body.
Spent a week thinking I'd gone insane.
Opened a shop out of desperation.
Made every mistake possible.
And somehow—through powers I don't deserve and luck I can't explain—built something real.
The loneliness hits unexpectedly.
All these people celebrating with me, and none of them know the truth. Can't know. They're celebrating Stuart Bloom's transformation, not understanding it's not really him anymore.
I'm an imposter at my own housewarming party.
Melissa finds me there twenty minutes later.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just needed air."
"You have forty people in your apartment. Your landlord loves you. Your friends worship you. Industry people want to network with you." She wraps her arms around me from behind. "This is success, Stuart."
"Is it?"
"What else would you call it?"
Borrowed. Stolen. Built on advantages nobody else has.
"I call it terrifying."
"Because?"
"Because I'm waiting for it to fall apart. For someone to realize I'm faking."
She turns me to face her. "You're not faking anything. You built a successful business. Made smart investments. Created a community. That's all real."
"But—"
"But nothing." She kisses me. "Whatever you think you're hiding, whoever you think you were before—it doesn't matter. This version of you, right now, is who you are. Own it."
Inside, someone turns up the music. Laughter spills onto the balcony.
"Come on," Melissa says. "You're missing your own party."
She pulls me inside.
The party's hit that perfect temperature—loose enough for fun, controlled enough to avoid disasters. Sheldon's explaining astrophysics to Melissa's actress friends, who are actually paying attention. Leonard and Penny are sharing a beer on the couch. Howard's telling exaggerated stories about our wall demolition.
Raj finds me, pulls me into a hug. "Spirit brother! This place has excellent energy! The plants helped!"
"Thanks, Raj."
"I'm so proud of you. From that first day at the shop to this—" He gestures grandly. "—you've become everything you deserved to be."
The words land heavier than he intends.
Deserved.
Do I deserve this? Any of it?
The powers gave me advantages. But I chose how to use them. Chose to help friends, build community, create value beyond just enriching myself.
Maybe that's enough.
Maybe choosing to be good with stolen advantages is better than choosing to be bad with honest poverty.
"Thanks, Raj. That means a lot."
"Now come! We're doing karaoke! Tim brought equipment!"
"Absolutely not."
"KARAOKE!"
The party winds down around midnight.
People filter out with hugs, promises to do this again, thanks for the evening. Mr. Chen leaves shaking his head about "young people and their energy." Industry contacts exchange final cards.
The gang stays late helping clean.
"Excellent party," Sheldon pronounces, stacking cups into perfect towers. "Optimal social dynamics, acceptable noise levels, superior venue."
"Does that mean game night here sometimes?"
"Affirmative. I've drafted a schedule."
Of course he has.
By 1 AM, it's just Melissa and me.
We survey the damage—empty bottles, scattered cups, furniture slightly rearranged from forty people milling.
"Successful first party," she declares.
"Thanks to you."
"Team effort."
We clean in comfortable silence, collecting trash and recycling bottles. My phone keeps buzzing with thank-you texts.
Finally, we collapse onto the futon—still the only couch I own.
"I'm proud of you," Melissa says quietly.
"For throwing a party?"
"For building this life. For becoming someone people want to celebrate." She finds my hand. "For letting me be part of it."
"You're a huge part."
"Until January."
"Until January."
We sit in the truth of it. Two more months. Then she leaves for Seattle and dream job. And I stay here with my shops and investments and supernatural advantages.
Right person, wrong timing.
Story of my fucking life.
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