28.

WHAT KIND OF FRIEND HAS NO WI-FI IN THE POWDER ROOM?

Hi, Cathy! Nice to see you!”

“Nice to see you, too!” I bubble.

We hug. Kiss cheeks. Hell begins.

Neighbor? Teacher? Sister of the hostess? Marcia? Fran?

“How’s your daughter liking freshman year?” she asks. I have no idea who this woman is, and she remembers that my child started college this year.

“And how are those darling dogs?” she adds. She remembers everything.

“First I want to hear about yours!” I lean in, deflecting it back to her. “How are yours doing?”

“My what?” she asks.

I lean back out. Dogs? Cats? Children? Tropical fish?

“Your little ones!” I say.

“Oh, they’re not so little anymore!” She laughs.

I hate this woman. She’s giving me nothing. Either we’ve had such a connection prior to this that it doesn’t occur to her I don’t know who she is, or she knows that I don’t know and this is how she amuses herself at dinner parties.

“What are they up to this summer?” I forge on, digging for clues.

“Jack just wants to sleep all day and Ricky still lives to play ball!” she says, shaking her head with a smile.

In the olden days, I could assume that Jack and Ricky were human children. Now they could be cat children, dog children, gerbil children . . .

“And Suzy just learned to say ‘Hello!’” she chirps.

Or parrot children.

I’m saved by the hostess who walks past with “Time to move to the dining room, Cathy and Paula!”

Paula! I spin toward the dining room. “Nice talking with you, PAULA!” I say.

I probably spun a little too quickly, but I need to get away from Paula before I’m found out. Before Paula, who knows everything about me, knows who I am.

I stop at the edge of the beautifully set table.

There are place cards. Right next to Cathy is Paula. I’ll be spending the evening next to this woman and have been completely out of conversation since I told her how nice it was to see her.

I excuse myself to the powder room. Not to hide. Not to cry. At least those pitiful days are over. I excuse myself to the powder room so I can Google Paula. Search her on Facebook. Search her on the hostess’s Facebook. Search emails. Search . . . nothing. There’s no Internet in here. Up in the corner of my phone where all the happy connectivity indicators are, the dreaded “No service.” I wave the phone around the room, high over the toilet, in the cabinet under the sink. Zilch. There are a dozen backup bars of soap in this bathroom. Zero bars of the Internet. I feel ill. Very ill. What kind of friend has no Wi-Fi in the powder room???

Someone’s jiggling the handle. “Just a moment!” I answer. I flush the toilet and run the water so the jiggler will at least think I’ve done what I was supposed to be doing in here. I return to the table. No choice now but to be completely truthful. I sit, gather my courage, and turn to Paula.

“Sorry I was detained,” I say. “I felt ill in the powder room.”

Stroke of genius. Paula scooches her chair away from me and my potential flu germs and strikes up a conversation with the person on her right. I breathe a grateful sigh of relief and peek at the woman on my left, someone I’ve definitely never seen before. I bow my head and silently give thanks for the food and for the blessing of having a chance to redeem myself. I turn to the new woman and smile.

“Hi,” I say. “My name’s Cathy.”

“I know that!” She bubbles. “Great to see you! How’s your daughter liking freshman year?”

Neighbor? Teacher? Sister of the hostess? Marcia? Fran?

Her water glass is blocking my view of the place card with her name, and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t include a synopsis of our shared history that I could read without her noticing.

I hate this age.