It took a while, but Roman and I eventually managed to enjoy the night again. We danced, we drank, we snacked hor d'ouerves, we switched to water to keep our wits about us, and we studied the art as it hung on the wall, each piece with a little "SOLD" label on it.
If it hadn't been for the incident, it would have been a perfect evening. Honestly, it would have been. The people were all having fun, we had made what seemed to be a great nest egg for the nonprofit, the food had been delicious, and it had all gone off without a hitch or scene. No one fought, no one vomited, or anything else.
By the time the hall was about empty, I started trying to clean up. It seemed like the best way to keep my hands and mind busy.
"What do you think you're doing?" Roman asked as he approached, a beer in his hand. As I stacked plates, he gently placed a hand over mine. "Let's let the staff get that. It's what they are getting paid for."
"I don't mind helping," I muttered, continuing to stack them.
