“I’ll just make a regular golden vanilla.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a move that practically shouted he was feeling awkward.
“Thanks,” Micah gushed, as if Alexander had just said he would build an entire house. Either the cake was really good or he hadn’t thought Alexander would ever make me anything, but either way, I was happy. I offered Alexander my hand. He looked at it for a second, but then we shook, and neither one of us tried to hurt the other or knock each other over. We were both a little tense as we backed off. I cleared my throat as I put my arm around Micah’s waist, but any lingering strangeness was driven off as Mrs. Parilla came bustling over in her lime green party dress.
“Alexander! When are you coming back to the team?” she asked, whacking him on the shoulder. She had a shirt draped over her arm I hadn’t noticed until she flung it at him, and he had to catch it. She laughed. “I had one made for you, so you better get it figured out.”
He held the present up and it was an NG State T-shirt with the Fireballs logo on the front. He sighed. “Uh, I’m not coming back this year. Coach and I talked. I can join again next year, if I try out with the newbies and do better than them for the open slot.” He shot her an uneasy smile. “I’ll probably be back.”
“You will! There’s no way a freshman is going to be better than you. Come to practice. Coach won’t stop you,” I said.
Alexander glanced over his shoulder at Coach. We watched as a drunken Milo nearly fell into his lap. Coach stood and steadied Milo on his feet again, and in between the laughing and apologizing, somehow Milo ended up with Coach’s cigar, and Coach had to chase after him to get it back, which just led to hand waving and more apologies from Milo.
I snorted, and Mrs. Parilla sighed. “That boy cannot hold his holiday spirits.”
We all laughed.
“Micah!” Mrs. Parilla said, and I could tell she had something lengthy on her mind because she just had that look in her eye, and I loved Micah, but I wasn’t in the mood to get stuck talking.
“I’m going to go try that holiday punch,” I said to her with my best smile, then slipped around her as she took my spot at Micah’s side.
“You be careful. There’s a hefty amount of gin in that. I put some in. Then Eddie, my husband, put some in, then Mia thought it tasted too sweet and she put some in.”
“So, it’s basically straight gin?” I asked with a chuckle, glancing at the many vibrant conversations happening around the room. There were more people than ever braving the snow to smoke outside, and Kinsey was even sitting in a corner on a small couch smoking right inside the doors, glancing around frantically as if checking to see that no one would notice.
“Yes!” she said with a laugh.
I went over and got a glass of the odd green liquid out of an old-fashioned crystal bowl. When I took a sip, it certainly reminded me of the holidays because it was a cinnamon and pine extravaganza. I slurped cautiously as I watched Micah talk with Mrs. Parilla, nodding his head enthusiastically.
“Hey, Yukio.” Cohen walked toward me with his phone screen open. He was a burly guy with shoulders big enough to support a bus and green eyes. Half the time I felt bad for him because his mouth was always twisted to the side with stress. “Do you know what’s happening next semester? I just heard Professor Long isn’t teaching anymore, but he had two of the classes we need to take. We still have the classes, but now there’s no instructor listed.”
“No, but I’m sure they’ll tell us.” I shrugged, not too worried.
He talked to me for twenty minutes about the injustice of the school possibly derailing our degrees—fueled by the green punch in his hand—and I nodded along making affirmative sounds while I watched Micah across the room. At first, he seemed like he was happy to be talking to Mrs. Parilla, but after a few minutes he sort of wilted against the wall, and finally his shoulders slumped and a small frown settled onto his face. I set my unfinished glass on the refreshment table.
“I have to go. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Cohen said, but he was a worrier, and he stared hard at his phone as I dodged people to get across the room to Micah’s side.
Faking a massive yawn right in front of Mrs. Parilla, I grabbed Micah’s hand and smiled at her. “I’m sorry, but I have to be up early tomorrow. We’re going.” I glanced at Micah, and he nodded quickly, passing her his half-empty cup.
“Oh yes, very early.”
Mrs. Parilla pouted at us. “But there is no practice tomorrow! I checked before I planned the holiday party!”
“Ah, but I have birthday plans,” I said to her, using my one weapon. There was almost no way to argue against it.
“Oh!” She patted my cheeks, then hugged me, sloshing some of Micah’s drink onto the floor, which I didn’t think she noticed. “And your mom and dad aren’t here. You should come back over! I’ll make you a birthday dinner.”
“They just visited. I’ll be fine,” I said, thinking fast.
“Well, happy birthday then, sweetie. You be good. Drive safe.” She waved after us as we cut around a group of guys gathered at a pool table and headed for the mobile coatrack by the door. Micah found our stuff first and held my leather coat out for me, and I grinned and grabbed his wool trench coat off a hanger. He took the winter much more seriously than I did, which I thought was funny considering he’d been born in New York.
The second we were outside, walking along the driveway in the snow to where I’d parked the Boxter next to the street, he gave me a relieved look. When we got to the car, Micah reached out and tugged on the door handle, but I held the fob in my hand and didn’t push the button.
He frowned at me. “It’s cold!”
“Pay the toll,” I said, tilting my chin so my lips were easier to reach.
He grinned and popped a kiss on my mouth, and then I pressed the button and opened his door for him.
