Neither of them bat an eye at my overnight guest, and in the throes of this nightmare, it feels like a moment of pure grace. That moment ends when I check the time. It’s 9:26. We’ve gotta bounce.
After several apologies for drinking straight from the bottle of cold brew, I shove my arms into my jacket, sling my backpack over one shoulder, and hug Mom and Dad goodbye. We don’t usually hug before I leave the house, but today feels different. Itell them each individually that I love them, and when they say it back, they tack on a “good luck.”
“It was lovely to meet you!” Ellie shouts from the front door, waving with one hand and pulling her beanie down over her bangs with the other.
“You too, sweetheart!” Mom shouts. “Drive safe!”
Only then does it occur to me that Ellie and I are getting into separate cars, and a new brand of panic spills over my nerves. By the time I’m out of my exam, I’m sure she’ll be halfway back to U of I.
“Ellie, wait.” I catch her arm just as we step outside. “Can we finish our conversation from earlier real quick?”
“We don’t have time,” she reminds me. “How far is Weymouth from here? Ten minutes?”
“Fifteen.”
“Shit, Murph, you have to go! “
“And if we don’t talk about this before my test, I’ll be distracted and fail,” I say. “So can we just talk?”
Ellie claws her phone out of her pocket and checks the time. “One minute. We have literally one minute. Shoot.”
I suck in a wobbly breath, steadying my gaze on her wide blue eyes. They stretch a little more, urging me to say something. Time is going too fast. “What you said earlier about this…us…” I pause, trying to make sense of what I’m even saying. “I know we need more time and—”
“There’s no time,” she says, and I nod, because it’s true, but God I wish it weren’t. I wish we had all day, all month, the rest of the year. I wish we had next semester together at U of I. I wish we had three years together back in high school. Ellie takesboth of my hands in hers, her cold little thumbs tracing twin hearts on the space between my thumb and forefinger, grounding me. “Murphy,” she says. “Whatever happens next for us—”
“Murphy!” My mother’s voice yells from near the garage. “You’ve got us blocked in, honey!”
Shit. I forgot my parents need to get out of here too.
“TWO SECONDS, MOM!” I yell back. Ellie’s grip loosens, but I know she won’t let go.
“Listen,” Ellie says, “I’m willing to try long distance, no matter what that looks like.” She pauses, then adds, “I mean, so long as you want that too.”
“I do,” I say. “I want that. I want us, even if it’s not perfect.”
Ellie smiles coyly as her fingers wrap a little tighter around mine. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be good,” she reminds me.
When she kisses me, it’s both.
epilogue
Daley Plaza twinkles and glistens beneath a light dusting of snow, the honking of holiday traffic putting up a fight against the murmur of tourists, the crooning of carolers, theding dong, caution, doors are about to closeof the L train above. It is, as the carol says, Christmastime in the city, and Daniel, Kat, Ellie, and I are just four more windburnt faces in the Christkindlmarket crowd.
“Found a table! Over here!” Kat shouts, waving one gloved hand in the air. During peak market hours, a table where you can set down your mulled wine is a hot commodity, but Kat was determined to snag one, even if it meant throwing elbows in the crowd. Luckily, the bright-red sleeve of her puffer jacket makes her easy to spot when she gets a few steps ahead, which she always does.
I lace my gloved fingers into Ellie’s, pulling her behind me as we shoulder through the crowd and toward our friends. When we reach their table, we’re just in time to see Kat tossing acandied pecan into Daniel’s open mouth. They both throw their arms up in victory as he chews it to a pulp.
“You’re going to hit someone,” I warn her, snagging a handful of toasted nuts from the overflowing paper cone Kat splurged on. Might as well eat them while they’re warm.
“No, it’s okay, we practiced this in the music building with grapes,” Daniel says. “We’re experts. See?” He takes a step back and opens his mouth again, and, as if on cue, I witness a nearby caroler in authentic German garb get hit in the braids by an airborne pecan. Kat blushes and looks away, feigning innocence.
“Rough throw,” Ellie laughs. “Maybe Murph can give you pitching lessons.” She pinches a sugar-crusted almond from my palm and pops it between her lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kat insists, her wide eyes darting from side to side. “I wasn’t throwing anything.”
“Don’t listen to her, sweetie,” Daniel slurs, pulling his girlfriend against him and repeatedly kissing the headband of her earmuffs. “You’re a perfect pitcher, just as you are.”
We all laugh, Daniel included. Unlike the last time the four of us were together, public transit has him off the hook as designated driver, and tipsy Daniel is more fun than I could’ve imagined.
