“Shit,” Freddie murmured.
The man responsible turned around, his drunken eyes barelyable to focus on Anne’s now-sodden blond hair and navy blue sweater, then up at Freddie.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, man.”
Freddie shot him a sharp glare and handed him what was left of their drinks.
“Cool,” the man replied. “Thanks.”
Freddie ignored him as he took Anne’s hand and gave it a tug.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up before this requires a dry-cleaning bill,” he whispered. They weaved their way through the throngs of people until they reached the door.
Outside, the sidewalk was still covered with snow from the day before, and Freddie threw his Santa coat around Anne’s shoulders, revealing his Jets hoodie underneath, as they walked around the corner to a quieter section of Third Street. Once the sounds of the party had faded a bit, he stopped and turned her around to face him.
Under the faint light of the streetlamp, he leaned down and blotted a bit of still-dripping drink off her cheek with the edge of his sweatshirt. When he was done, he didn’t look away, just studied her expression, her pale skin, her blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She had grown to love that look of his, too—it was like she was a complex machine that he wanted to take apart and put back together again.
“What’s the damage?” she asked, smoothing the side of her ponytail with her palm.
“Grotesque. Awful,” he said, that wry grin still playing with his mouth. “But I love you anyway.”
Anne smiled and reached up, pulling off his ridiculous beard. He took a step forward to bring his body flush with hers and press her back against the cool brick exterior of the building. His hand moved slowly up the line of her neck to her jaw. Since he started working on his hydroponics project last year, his handshad slowly become more calloused. She had always loved how he touched her, but now those same fingers felt rough as he cradled her face and slowly ran his thumb over her bottom lip. She loved that even more.
“I can’t believe it’s already Christmas,” he murmured. “We have to make the next couple of weeks count before I lose you to school again.”
The reminder opened up a pit in her stomach. She usually loved Christmas—the way it seemed to cover New York in a magical sheen, how the city almost felt like a village where everyone was happy to see everyone else and everything was perfect. For a couple of weeks, at least.
But this year the holiday felt looming, a warning that she and Freddie only had a few perfect days left before reality set in. She would have to tell him about next year, admit that she had applied to Columbia School of Business for her master’s a few months ago, and that an email had arrived just a few days before with the news that she had been accepted.
Anne hadn’t thought she would get in—that was half the reason she didn’t tell him she’d applied. But the other half… She let out a long breath. Her parents had always pushed her to do something lucrative with her love of mathematics, and after four years of pursuing a degree in economics at NYU, she thought they would be appeased—she would be able to graduate and finally focus on what she wanted to do. Or, at least, figure out what that was, exactly.
What did she want to do? The question felt so broad, so undefinable. Where did she even begin? She had loved math since she learned how to hold a pencil—how logic and rules and numbers combined in an infinite number of ways to solve an infinite number of problems—but what did that even look like in the real world? She still had no idea. Every job seemed to want to reduce that lovedown to budget lines and algorithms. For the first time in her life, she found herself thinking that she had math entirely wrong. The world didn’t want numbers viewed in vibrant three-dimensions like how she saw them, but in stark, flat two.
Maybe that was why she had been so receptive when her mother had started seeding her opinion last summer. An MBA was obvious, didn’t she think? A degree Anne could apply to any number of fields, regardless of what she ultimately wanted to do.
It was a safe choice. And no doubt it would be lucrative. There was just one nagging issue: She didn’t know how to tell Freddie.
We said no spiraling, she reminded herself. Not today. Besides, she had a plan and all she had to do was follow it. She would tell Freddie once classes started in January and their conversations inevitably went to the following year. While Anne was graduating this May, Freddie still had one more year left before he would leave with a degree in environmental engineering. He had talked about starting a nonprofit after, one that would focus on sustainable farming around the world, but the details were still unclear. With Freddie, they usually were. But in this case, it would work to her advantage. While he figured out his next steps, she would be getting her MBA.
She had planned for every contingency, every possible impediment. It would be fine.
“Hey,” Freddie whispered, so close Anne could feel his breath against her lips. “What do you think about exchanging gifts now?”
She opened her eyes enough to look up at him quizzically. “I thought we were doing that next week at your parents’ house.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I know, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Anne didn’t know why she was surprised. While she had an almost obsessive need to plan, work out the details and systematicallyweigh the pros and cons to every decision, Freddie had a habit of being impulsive, regardless of what plans were already in place. She usually loved that about him, but right now, the suggestion struck a familiar annoyance deep down in her chest.
“I don’t have your gift, though,” she said. “If I had known you wanted to exchange now, I would have brought it with me, but—”
“I promise not to hold it against you,” he replied with a wry grin. Then he pulled something from his pocket before putting both hands behind his back. “Pick a hand.”
She threw him one last sardonic look before considering both, then nodded to the right.
His hand appeared, clasped in a fist. When he unfolded it, there was a piece of paper folded into a neat triangle waiting in his palm.
She smiled. It was a tradition established early in their relationship. Whether they had skipped class to go explore a new museum downtown or only saw each other long enough to share a coffee and a quick kiss, Freddie always slipped her handwritten notes, even if it meant he had to secretly stash it in her pocket or bag to inevitably find afterward. A perfect little paper triangle that contained a special, secret message just for her. She would always wait until she was alone to read it, then put it inside the box in her nightstand where she kept all the others.
