"How difficult is it to understand 'upscale casual?'"

I looked down at my flip flops. I shrugged. "My $90 blouse isn't upscale enough for you?" I said, "Look. Look! It sparkles." I spun around for the full effect.

Tilda pursed her lips. "Is that blouse upscale enough...for you?"

I deflated. "Touché."

"Quick, help me serve the hors d'oeuvres," said Tilda. "You know Mr. Johnston gets hostile when he's hungry."

Tilda handed me a silver platter. I played along and held my hands out to grab it. The platter went clattering to the floor. What little vocal ambiance existed before, vanished. Fifteen pairs of eyes scanned the mess we'd just created. Tilda cloaked her embarrassment with what she called her "party laugh" and mimed "confidence" to her guests.

"Don't mind me!” Tilda squawked. “LOL right? Chaos IRL, right? Right?!" Beads of sweat cropped up on her forehead. No party laughter returned to Tilda. She pulled at her collar and cleared her throat. "Jk...l m n o p..."

Still silence.

"Yeah um..." Tilda coughed, "The food will be ready soon."

The party guests returned to their conversations.

Tilda pressed her hands to her cheeks in hopes of pacifying her mortification. "Yeesh," she whispered in my direction. "I keep forgetting you're imaginary."

"Aren't you in your late thirties?"

Tilda's lour was sharp enough to cut through my schadenfreude. "And?" she asked.

I grit my teeth. "And... that's...that's a fun age."

"Uh huh. Now, make yourself useful, HM. Get this party going while I finish cleaning up."

It was my turn to purse my lips. "Sure," I said, after a long silence. "That sounds like the kind of thing I'd be good at."

With eyes glued to the carpet, Tilda waved a vague acknowledgement in my direction. She cursed under her breath as she picked cream cheese from both the carpet and her fingernails.

"Socialize, socialize," I thought, pacing. "I'm just an imaginary friend, chatting up not-so-imaginary authors. It's fine, I'm fine. This is normal. I am a-ok."

After fifteen minutes of holding up bunny ears behind a highly-esteemed science fiction author, boredom consumed me. I glanced at my maker. Where were those freakin hors d'oeuvres?

Tilda was twirling a lock hair and guffawing at, what I assumed to be a dull joke.

"Huh, NBD," I said.

"What's that, Carey?" asked Mr. Johnston.

"What, what?" said Carey. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes. Yes you did."

"No. No I did not."

"Ridiculous much?" I snorted before cringing at my own obnoxiousness.

Mr. Johnston reared back his head. He resembled a spooked marmot. "Did you just call me ridiculous?"

The one known as Carey gasped, choking on their pinot noir. I patted them on the back. They seemed not to notice. In between labored breaths, Carey said, "I wasn't before, bub, but I certainly am NOW!"

According to Tilda, I am not a skilled enough writer to capture what happened next. I'll put it this way - Mr. Johnston's going to need an experienced dentist.

Tilda ended the party earlier than planned. My chronic introversion breathed a sigh of relief.

Once the last guest was gone, Tilda took a seat next to me on the couch.

"Whatcha writin'?"

"Tonight's events," I said. "See?"

And then I typed this sentence so that Tilda could see. Tilda saw.

"You haven't started another story with a quote, have you?" she yawned. "I'm really not in the mood to argue with you tonight."

"Then don't."

"I won't."

Tilda and I exchanged smug glances.

"Any idea what got Mr. Johnston to argue with Carey? I mean, Carey's such a sweetheart."

"Sweetheart? Carey decked that chump."

"Yeah, out of self-defense. Seriously, HM," Tilda pushed. "What started the fight?"

"Idk irl," I said. I stuck out my tongue.

When Tilda left, a sinister grin enveloped my features. I continued typing on my keyboard.

"Tonight I've learned that authors can hear imaginary people," I wrote. "I shall now dedicate myself to being a more...'communal' inciting action."