“Nothing.” I smile to prove my point.
I’ve held off bringing out the guinea fowl long enough; I can’t let it sit in the oven any longer. I pull on the oven mitts Bea got me for my birthday, pink with red chili peppers and a designer label that made me squeak at the thought of the price.
“Can you move those—” I gesture to the trivets with the broccoli and gratin with a sharp jerk of my chin. “—over there?”
Bea makes space and Judith puts down pot holders for the roasting pan and Meriahoohsandaahsat the main course, the skin crispy and golden and still sizzling.
I fuss with the paper cap booties because it’s easier to do that than to keep getting worked up about Finn. No one else is frustrated by his absence. In fact, it’s only always been me who lets his chronic lateness get to me.
I turn back to Bea, my oven-mitted hands clasped under my chin. “Do you think everyone’s having fun?” I ask before she can return to our previous conversation about what exactly is up with this buttercup.
“Yes,” she assures me, not for the first time. “I can’t believe you made all this yourself.”
“Well,” I say quietly. “I had some help.”
Finn didn’t just help with the mirror balls or the cake. We went grocery shopping together the day after he got back from a two-day trip to Berlin on the 28th. He carried the bags up and helped me unpack. He followed instructions for marination and julienning while I cleaned.
I don’t look at her because I’m already blushing, but I can feel her grin.
“You look nice tonight, by the way,” she says, teasing.
I flounce the sheer black skirt of my dress with my chili pepper mitts. “What, this old thing?” I give her a spin, and she giggles and claps like the hype girl she is. Other than a few well-placed panels, the dress is totally sheer, a gauzy, whimsical piece that makes me feel beautiful and sexy and immediately reminded me of New Year’s Eve when I saw it in the store. It’s probably the most expensive piece of clothing I’ve ever worn for a one-night event.
Other than these oven mitts, of course.
“Just nice, Bea?” Finn says from behind me.
I turn to him, my throat suddenly home to my heart. He runs the back of his fingers down the sleeve of my dress, the barest of barriers between skin-to-skin contact.
“You look unreal, Nora,” he says quietly.
Finn’s eyes shine, warmly, for me.
I make fists and press them to my hips. “You’re late.”
He grimaces, runs his hand through his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but then I remember: We’re friends. And I am not going to let him bother me.
“There’s more food,” I call, still glaring at him.
Everyone greets Finn as they come up to refill their plates and pour punch or open another bottle of champagne.
“Here you go,” Finn says, dropping a small red box in my mittens.
I stare down at it, at the little golden clasp keeping the box closed.
“It’s not an excuse,” he says slowly. “But I had to go my sister’s after work to pick this up. I had to order it, and I was worried I’d be out of the country when it arrived and there’s a porch bandit in my building right now so I had it sent to her and the traffic out of and into the city was…” He sighs. “Anyway. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry. And happy birthday.”
I try to open the box with my mitts still on. Finn takes pity on me and unhooks the clasp so I can lift the top of the box on its hinge.
“Finn.” Even I can hear it, the shock in my voice. “Finley,” I amend. Like some stupid nickname might calm the butterflies threatening to break out of my stomach. I shake the mitts off one by one so I can press my finger to the gold hoop earrings, each set with a sparkling ball encrusted with what looks alarmingly like diamonds. Two miniature mirror balls just for me.
“I know you like to wear hoops.” He brushes his thumb along the shell of my ear, stopping to gently tug on the simple gold hoops I always wear. “And I saw these and they made me think of you. Well, they made me think of New Year’s Eve…” He slowly tapers off. “Which makes me think of you.”
I know our friends are around us, near us. They could be surrounding us right now. Josh could have totally taken over the playlist, Bea could be ordering cars to take us to the loudest, busiest party in the city. The guinea fowl could be on fire right now and I’m not sure I’d know.
“Finn…”
