The audacity.
“Are you sleeping here?” I ask.
He rolls onto his side. “Would that be so weird?”
I press my lips together, roll to face him, too. The thing is, it wouldn’t be that weird, in the sense that I wouldn’t hate it despite its unprecedented nature. And that, in itself, is weird.
“I guess not.”
Finn’s smile could rival the moon. “Hey,” he says, quieter. “That was…nice, right?”
I shrug, the bedsheets rustling. “Yeah.” My feet find his legs under the covers.
He hisses. “Cold.”
I press my feet to his shins even harder. “It was nice,” I say again. Because it was, and because despite our small points of skin-to-skin contact keeping me from floating away, I’ve come untethered. I find his hand tucked under his pillow and I don’t grab, of course, but it’s nice to feel him there, warm and near.
The moonlight slants across the room, over my shoulder right into Finn’s eyes, but he doesn’t look away or roll over. He faces me. Whatever silliness he might have felt before slowly fades from his face. He edges closer, the bed creaking beneath us.
“Nora.” He says my name with a kind of seriousness I’m unused to. He says my name and suddenly it means something precious. Suddenly,Iam someone precious, at least to Finn.
“My alarm is set early,” I say quickly, loudly.
Finn blinks in surprise. Somehow the thrill of shocking him has worn off though.
“I, uh.” I roll onto my back. “I just wanted to let you know. I’ve got to be out of here bright and early.”
Now I’m no longer touching him, but I don’t feel like I might float away. I feel like I might drown.
“Right,” he says. “Lots of cleaning to do at home.”
I can’t stop myself from facing him again. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, there is.”
He smiles, his mouth closed.
A small voice, buried deep in the recesses of my brain, suggests that I invite him. I shake my head, like that will dislodge that stupid little thought.
“What?” he asks, his frown line showing.
“Oh. Nothing.”
I could ask him to come home with me and show him all the things I do to start the year fresh. We could share that with each other, because we’re friends. I could show him the spreadsheet I’ve made with all the different New Year’s Day recipes I want to try. We could do yoga in front of the window, the afternoon sun meeting our faces for each salutation.
And maybe, at the end of the day, when it’s time for him to go home. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he stays the night. Maybe I don’t have to wait another three hundred and sixty-five days for this, for Finn’s smile, and quiet coaxing words, and stealing my scrunchies.
“Something,” he argues. Because he always argues. We always do.
And I like it.
I kind of love it, actually.
“I…” The moon is silver and so is Finn and this is a new year, a new beginning. “I was just thinking…” This is a new beginning, but Finn is still Finn and Nora is still Nora. He’s only just become my friend, really. I think.
“I was thinking,” I say, “I’m so glad I shaved for this.”
He’s so still. I hope he didn’t fall asleep with his eyes open. Then he blinks, he laughs. Too loud in this quiet house. He holds his arms open for me and I let myself be rolled into Finn.
Just for tonight.
