“You got me a gift?” She sounds startled. Stunned really.
“You gotmea gift,” I say defensively. “And I didn’t get it, so much as, uh, write it. I didn’t remember everything I’d put in the letters, but I put as much in them as I could.”
“So, it’s not just,Fuck you?”
I laugh. “I paraphrased. You don’t have to read them or reply, but you said you wanted to know, so …”
The door to Lucky’s opens.
Cammie steps outside, an exasperated expression on her face as she marches over, shivering, and says, “Hi, Wren,” loudly into the phone speaker. To me, she adds, “Five-minute warning. Everyone’s looking for you,” before hustling back inside the warm bar.
“That was Cammie,” I tell Wren, not wanting her to think some random girl is with me. Not sure how Cammie knew it was Wren on the phone. It’s not like I announced what I was doing when I headed out here.
“I figured.”
“I should go. Wade has this grand plan of us all taking shots at midnight. He badgered everyone into agreeing, and it’s almost twelve.”
“Don’t drink too much,” she cautions.
“I’m standing, like, ten feet from where you threw up,” I tell her. “If I’m tempted, I’ll just think about that.”
Wren groans. “Thank you for that reminder of a moment I’d like to never ever think about again.”
I grin. “I’m totally sober right now, and Gus drove tonight. I’ll be fine. Happy almost New—” Something else occurs to me. Something that should have occurred to me as soon as she said where she was. “Wait, what time is it there?”
“Almost six.”
“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think?—”
“It’s fine. Answering a phone is optional, you know.”
“So, I didn’t wake you up?”
“No. I hadn’t gone to sleep yet.”
“Must have been some party.”
It sounds like she yawns before replying, “It was. I was getting ready for bed when you called. I’d just adjusted to the time change after being in California for Christmas, and this will mess my sleep schedule up all over again.”
“Sounds rough.”
Silence.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I’m just—sorry. You should get some sleep.”
More silence.
“I’m glad you called,” she finally says.
“Are you?”
“Yes. I almost called you before midnight here, but I …” She exhales.
“But you didn’t.” I don’t say it harshly, but I do say it, and I hear her pull in a quick breath in response.
“I think I have New Year’s Eve PTSD with us. It’s the one night a year that’s a beginning and an ending. And that’s sort of how we’ve always felt. I’m never sure if it’s starting … or about to be over.”
“Like a roller coaster?”
