Page 589 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

One hard inhale.

Then another.

And just like that,

Andrew Harding,

the man holding up everybody’s sky,

finally rests.

68 / HOME TONIGHT

AEROSMITH

// JAN 12, 7:11 PM - PENTHOUSE - UPPER EAST SIDE, NYC //

“Twenty-twenty-five,” Celie says, holding up her coconut water.

The small fire pit in front of us crackles, sending tiny orange embers into the dark.

There is no rush tonight,

no worrying in waiting rooms.

It’s only us two,

a warm fire,

thick blankets,

music playing low,

and a million city lights

burning under the stars.

I lift my glass.

“Twenty-fuckin’-twenty-five.”

We toast with a clink.

“The year Allison Taylor rules the world,” Celie says after a sip.

I snort.

“The world better have low standards.”

“It does.” She cocks her head.

“People still clap when planes land.”

I point at her. “That’s true.”

Our ritual sits between us.

Usually, we do it on January 1st.