Dad knocks on the door, and when I open it, he’s already disappeared and left only a tray containing mugs of cocoa topped with gourmet marshmallows.
“It feels like we have a butler,” Kat says as I bring in the tray.
“Remember Lana Schwartz’s party?” I ask, and Kat practically shrieks. In sixth grade, a girl who’s since moved away invited us all over for her twelfth birthday, where maids cleaned up behind us and a man we were pretty sure was a butler opened the door for every guest.
“That was, like, the first time I understood that there were rich people.” Kat sips her cocoa. “I’m not wearing that stupid necklace.”
“I don’t blame you,” I say, even though maybe Kat’s dad just wanted her to have her own initials on something beautiful. But after all these years, I don’t think I could guess what her dad would really want. He’s not like Jennifer was, and not like Kat.
I’m not sure which of my parents I’m not like. Obviously, my fingers are figuratively crossed for one outcome there, though.
“Kat—”
“I know,” she says, and I wonder if she does know. “My dad means super well, blah blah blah.”
Nope.
“That’s what mature people like you would think, James. Meanwhile I’m completely terrible for wishing nothing changed with him even if he wouldn’t be as happy.”
“I’m . . . I’m really not that mature.”
She makes a scoffing noise. “Please. You’re like the most freaking together person I know.”
“I’m genuinely sad to hear that.”
She laughs again, though it fades fast. “I guess I should go home. I just sort of took off.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Aw!” She hugs me again once we’re at the front door. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything. You’re the best friend seriously ever.”
I notice something out of the corner of my eye as I say good-bye to Kat. Once she’s walking away down the street, I lean over to see a carefully wrapped plate.
Merry Christmas, McCall reads the note taped to the Press’n Seal. Inside I peel back the wrap and inhale the fragrant scent of Mrs. Sidana’s samosas. They’re a big deal; apparently, they’re as labor-intensive as Dad’s cinnamon rolls, so Logan’s mom only makes them once a year, too. The first year that we were together, I was at the Sidanas’ while she was assembling them, and I heard her whisper to Logan, Are you sure it’s serious? I didn’t hear his answer, and so for hours I worried that he’d said anything but yes. Then a huge plate showed up later, and so I knew.
“Whoa,” Dad says as I walk inside. “I didn’t expect to see those this year.”
Me neither.
“You can have them,” I say, because suddenly the aroma isn’t delicious. It’s Logan’s snowflake sweater and the Sidanas’ kitchen, it’s kissing outside by the glow of Christmas lights and gearing up to count down to the new year. It’s my fifteen-year plan and just how on board he was. “Can we go to the movie now? Whatever movie?”
It isn’t until we’re sitting in the dark (in the biggest of the AMC Theatres) watching Oscar Isaac and others on a very large screen that I realize Kat didn’t even notice that Mom and all her things were gone. Kat didn’t ask about my holiday at all.
There are at least three different New Year’s parties happening, but I’m relieved Kat also thinks Jose Vasquez’s annual My Parents Are at Big Bear Party is the right call. His house isn’t quite as centrally located as ours, but I’m actually happy for the long walk over in the crisp Los Angeles winter air.
Mariana waves as soon as I walk in, and I’m happy that neither she nor Sofia brings up the fact I’ve abandoned their lunch table and therefore haven’t seen much of them this year. I’m always prepared to say, “Well . . . Kat and Matty . . .” and leave it at that. But I think people understand breakups. You don’t have to fill in every blank space.
“Are you still planning on UCLA?” Sofia asks me.
I shake my head and pop open a Sanpellegrino blood orange soda. It’s always a relief when there’s anything nonalcoholic at parties besides tap water. “I need to get far away,” I find myself saying. It even sounds believable. “As far as possible, honestly. Probably Michigan, as long as I get in. I can run track and it’ll be fine for pre-med.”
“I can’t imagine going somewhere cold on purpose,” Mariana says. “You’re going to freeze. Our blood’s too thin for it.”
“I’m sure I can build up my blood.” I like the sound of it, becoming more powerful from deep inside. I’m starting to believe this lie, too, that Michigan is my dream now. I can picture myself on campus next fall. I’ve Googled it, and it’s easy to picture myself standing there among the changing leaves in the crisp autumn air. I can even picture me forgetting what was supposed to happen. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll forget even sooner.
More people crowd into our circle, and it feels like nothing has gone off course. It’s even fine that Kat’s not here yet, because something about her would ruin this grand illusion. Though I guess it’s weird that Kat isn’t here yet. We coordinated only what party to attend, not what time. And I’ve barely seen her this break anyway. For some reason, I want Kat’s absence to be something big and meaningful, but I have to remind myself that before Quinn was taking up all of Kat’s time, Logan was taking up plenty of mine and Matty hers. And Mom was still around, and my life felt . . . fuller.
“Hey there.” Gabriel Quiroga pops up over Sofia’s shoulder. “Happy New Year, James.”
“It’s still December,” Mariana says, and glances at Sofia and me like we should all laugh at him. But they don’t know what happened with Gabriel the other month, and even if they did, I feel like I’ve lost the ability to share a private joke with two friends I’ve barely talked to lately. The actual shared moment is the knowledge between Gabriel and me.
“Happy New Year,” I decide to say in return. I can at least be kind. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he says, and I see a smile somehow start in his eyes. “What about you? Right in the here and now? Enjoying your whole senior year before even acknowledging college?”
It catches me off guard and I laugh a little. “Like I said, it’s just the principle of it. Obviously, I care about college, too.”
“James!” Kat runs over to me, and I check my phone to see that it’s already after eleven. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. We . . .” She giggles. “We lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving to Gabriel as I feel I’m about to get dragged off.
“Come with me to get a drink.” She steers me by the arm over to the keg. I’m pretty sure Kat picked up her keg skills from Matty, because she’s as adept as a frat boy. “Soooo.”
I open up another Sanpellegrino. “Yeah?”
Kat pulls me away again, this time to a quieter spot in a corner of the dining room. “I just had sex with Quinn.”
“Oh,” I say. It’s not like when she told me about Matty. There had been such a buildup to that. She’d made me shop for lacy underwear with her and give her the contact info for my gynecologist. I had to help make a pro/con list because I was so good at them. This, though, wasn’t something I even knew that she was considering.