New Year’s makes me think of you, too.
“I…”
I love them. They’re perfect. Thank you.
“…didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” I finish.
He sighs. Gentle sigh. Then, “Do you like them?”
I hold the box tighter in my hands to hide the shake. “I love them,” I say when I’m sure my voice won’t match the tremor inside me. “It’s…they’re too much, Finn.”
He shrugs, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“I got a bonus,” he says, waving my protests away. “For all the travel. Plus.” He lays his big hands, warm hands, on my shoulders. With just the thin tulle material, he could be touchingme. “I get to spend my money”—he leans in close, his words low just for me—“however I want,Eleanor.”
I smile, high on the smell of him, his cologne, and something new, too. Maybe shampoo. Maybe some new product he picked up in Germany. A hoard of those travel toiletries some hotels still give, stashed like treasures in his shower.
I’ve been to his apartment before, but I can’t remember what his shower looks like. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it. I’ve always just used the powder room, with mismatching guest towels and an embroidery hoop hanging above the toilet that saysPlease don’t do coke in the bathroomin a pleasing cursive script with a pretty floral design.
Do the towels match in his private bathroom? What color are the walls? Does it smell most like him after he’s showered? Does he have a tub for baths? Does he use it?
“Nora?”
“What?”
Finn gestures at the box. “Would you want to try them on?”
Finn takes my simple hoops for me as I remove them and watches me as I put the new ones in. He almost seems fascinated by the process. When I tilt my head to the side to get a betterangle, he reaches out and brushes my hair off my neck, away from my ear.
“How do they look?” I ask when I’m done.
He tilts my head from side to side, guiding my chin with a gentle hand, tucks my hair behind both ears. “You look…” he says, pondering and solemn. “You look…”
“Nora, are we allowed to carve this turkey or what?” Faraz asks.
Finn drops his hand.
“It’s a guinea fowl,” I say, not looking away even after Finn smiles at Faraz over my head. I want to climb onto the edge of my kitchen island, pry open Finn’s mouth and stick my fingers inside to find the words he was about to say. But finally, I turn. “And yes, Faraz. You can carve it. Let’s eat, everybody.”
Most of thetea lights have snuffed out, the tapers burned down to their ends. The food has been picked through, dirty plates piled up in the sink that I will worry about tomorrow. The music is quiet, the local countdown show plays on my TV on mute, though that doesn’t stop my friends from telling every storyloudlyas if they must yell to be heard; bless them.
I sit on the soft, shag living room rug with Bea and Meriah, my feet tucked under me, a glass in hand that I haven’t drank from since Brendan came around to refill it. The picture of relaxation, poise. Except for the thrumming low in my belly. The tension bubbling out of me with every laugh, every smile.
It’s almost time. Almost midnight. And I can tell myself a thousand times that I don’tneedto kiss Finn Collins. But I want to.
Not for the data.
Not so I can tell Bea about it; though, in reality, I’ve never told her as much as I’d convinced myself I would.
Not even for the tradition.
I want to kiss Finn Collins at midnight because he’s beautiful and generous. Because in the last twelve months, I’ve finally been comfortable, truly comfortable, calling him myfriend. My friend who I happen to want to kiss. And that’s maybe what makes my heart beat too hard, makes my fingertips tingle, makes me a little light-headed. I want to kiss Finn, and he is my friend. I want to kiss my friend. A man I’ve known my whole life but never took the time to like until now.
My stomach is an eternal knot about it. I wish I could sneak away to journal.
Bea taps the side of her coupe which does nothing to grab everyone’s attention, so she sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles. We all wince and cringe and shut up, her desired result.
