Eventually, we collapse onto the bed. I wince as he pulls out of me, and he presses a conciliatory kiss to my temple. He leaves, the light comes on in my bathroom, and then he’s back with a warm cloth and murmured words. He slips into bed behind me. Usually, I’d close my curtains, turn on a sound machine, wear an eye mask. Maybe it’s the exhaustion after the long days ofprep and the long night of sex, but probably not. It’s the weight of Finn’s arm over my waist, his steady breaths against the back of my neck. His quiet questions,How far can you see during the dayandBefore we clean up tomorrow can I make you breakfast.
It’s falling asleep next to the man I want to spend New Year’s Eve with.
I wake before my alarm,but fall asleep again, so I still have to slap at my little old-school mechanical clock. Finn mutters a pleadingNo, but remains otherwise undisturbed. For the first time in the last ten years, I’m tempted to roll over, bury my face in Finn’s armpit—stink or not—and fall back asleep on this glorious new morning. I’mtempted, but I’m not about to let a man change my New Year’s tradition.
I pull the blanket that’s usually folded at the end of the bed, but is now crumpled on the floor, around my shoulders and sit on the edge of my bed with my journal in my lap, facing the windows. Many Toronto condos end up having views of other Toronto condos. I got lucky with an exterior-facing view of a huge slice of the city and even a bit of the lake. The sky outside is a fantasy array of navy, lavender, coral, and purest pink. My pen moves across the page with the kind of inspiration I haven’t felt in months. For the goals I have this year, the dreams I have for my life, how they’ve changed, shifted, grown. How some have died and been replaced with something new. I write about my friends, Bea’s sometimes overbearing but always generous love, Josh’s devotion, Faraz’s quiet support, Judith’s fierceness, Deepti’s silly side, Brendan’s blind faith. And Finn’s generosity, his support, his intelligence that I never bothered to give him credit for. I write about his late night and early morning text messages, how I love watching his face change from broodingand grumpy to happy and goofy when he finds me waiting for him in the car line at the airport. I write about the earrings he gave me and how intentionally he folded my dress and how he’s changed or maybe I’ve changed or we’ve both changed how we see each other and who we are.
I write until the sun rises above the buildings, the January light almost harsh in its brightness, and when I’m done, when I don’t think I have another thing I could possibly say about this year or last, myself, or Finn, I close the journal and hold it to my chest and watch as the city wakes up.
Finn’s hand spreads across my lower back. “Hey.” His voice is filled with gravel and sleep.
“Hey,” I say, not looking away from the window.
His weight shifts on the bed as he comes closer. “You okay?”
I wipe my face against the blanket on my shoulder. God, this is embarrassing. “I’m fine.” But my voice is a bit shaky. I’m not even crying, not really. I’m not sad, these aren’t sobs. I justfeelit all. The year spread out in front of me. It’s exciting and scary and just, a lot.
He’s behind me in an instant, his legs bracketing mine, his front pressed to my back. His arms come around my body and he gently rests his chin on my shoulder. “Are you crying?”
“I’m…processing.”
He nods against me. “Do you need…are you…”
I place my hand over his on my thigh. “I really am fine. I just have big feelings.”
“Hmmm…” His voice rumbles against my back. “Yes, I’ve seen those before.”
I make like I’m about to elbow him, but he can feel me coming and shifts out of the way, laughing.
“I like them. Your big feelings. Can I sit here with you?” he asks. “Or do you want to feel them alone?”
Normally, I would be alone. But feeling them with Finn is nice, too. “You can stay.”
And he does, his chin on my other shoulder now, his chest and hips my backrest. We sit watching the slice of city I get to see from my bedroom for a while. Until he starts to shift, trying—and failing—to keep me from noticing the erection growing between us.
I lean back into him. He shifts again.
I drop the blanket from my shoulders, letting it pool around my hips and in his lap. I stretch my arms up, back arched. He sighs.
“Nora.” He sounds almost tortured.
“What?” I twist to blink at him over my shoulder. His hair is messy, pillow marks still visible on one side of his face. He’s perhaps never looked more handsome in his whole life. The crease in his brow appears.
“It’s New Year’s Day,” he says. “This isserious.”
I giggle, turn on the bed to face him fully. His eyes immediately drop to my breasts.
Boys.
“I’m just saying…” I glance meaningfully at his fully erect penis, jutting between us like a flagpole. “It looks like you’re having some big feelings of your own.”
Which has the desired effect of him kissing me, him pulling me down to the mattress. Finn rolls us over so he’s on top. Our legs tangle, his cock pressed against my hips, leaving a wet stamp against my skin with every lazy thrust. His hands are slow as they cover all his favorite places: the shell of my ear, the corner of my jaw, my collarbone, the sides of my breasts, the crook of my elbow. He replaces his hands with his mouth at my belly button. Turns me onto my side to press his teeth lightly to the globe of my ass. He spreads my legs wide, hands spanning my thighs and sucks at my skin, closer and closer, untilI’m lifting my hips to him, whining as his thumb gets closer, but never close enough.
“What’s wrong, Nora baby? Big feelings?”
This is no time for teasing. “Get a condom,” I say, then reach for one myself.
“Let me get you ready,” he says, though he doesn’t try to stop me.
