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December 2045
Hallee
Decorating for Christmas is our way of bandaging over the approaching change. The twinkling lights are doing their best to restore the serotonin that time has stolen, but even they feel dim.
“Do you guys ever think about what could have been if life wasn’t like this?” I ask, tossing the Christmas lights around the tree to Avery.
She’s been paying extra close attention lately. Makes me wonder if she’s catching on when she asks, “What do you mean?”
“Like if we didn’t forget every year.”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” Marlowe answers, pursing her lips as her eyes widen. “Shit, I’d have a lot to apologize for!”
“I’ve thought about it,” Avery says, eyeing me suspiciously before continuing, “but try not to focus on things I can’t change.”
“You’re so much like Dean, it’s scary.”
“I take that as a compliment,” she replies, smiling as she shrugs her shoulders.
“Would you change it—if you could?”
“I’m always down for a surprise,” Marlowe answers, waving a hand as if it would be no big thing.
Avery gasps. “Coming from you, that’s a royal endorsement for change!”
“Really, Lowe? I assumed you of all people would say no,” I press.
She hesitates for a second, and I could almost swear there’s a sadness behind her fire as she says, “What can I say? I keep it spicy.”
“What about you, Avery?”
“I think I’d change it!”
No one elaborates, and I don’t push further. That was enough of an answer for me to sleep soundly. It’s ridiculous to worry this much . . . my plan might not even work, but on the off chance it does, at least I won’t be ruining their lives.
We couldn’t have spaced the lights more perfectly. They run out right when they reach the bottom of the tree, and I run to the light switch.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One!” we sound off, and I flip off the big light.
A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I see Dean and I cuddling next to a tree identical to this one. We’d almost invited the guys over, too. There’s not enough time to spend together before the year ends, but we needed our girl time. There’s an inexplicable sweetness to female friendships—a role reserved uniquely for them.
“You guys—it’s time,” Avery whispers with a grin brighter than the lights.
“Time for what?” Marlowe asks.
Without a word, Avery sprints down the hallway, returning quickly with three identical bags. One for each of us.
“Santa came early!”
“Avery, you didn’t ha—”
“Don’t thank me yet, girl. This is mostly for me.” The wink she shoots my way is all I need to know. These are—
“Matching jammies!” Marlowe squeals, pulling out an adult-sized reindeer onesie.
Through my giggling, I manage to muster, “Of course you would take this opportunity by the antlers, Avery.” She’s always trying to match with us, and other than Halloween, we’ve mostly turned her down.
Separating into our bedrooms, we change and prepare for the grand entrance of Santa’s cutest reindeer. Avery’s excitement is unmatched.
“Are you ready?” she calls.
“On Dasher!” Marlowe yells, jumping out of her doorway.
“On Vixen!” I yell, and prance out of mine.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Marlowe interrupts. “I didn’t realize we weren’t going in order. This is so not fair. Why does Hallee get to be the sexy one?”
Avery drops to the floor, wheezing out a near silent, “What?”
“Oh, don’t you even lie about it! You both know that Vixen is the ten of the group. Top-tier name, top-tier reindeer.”
“I need an inhaler.” Avery’s hysterical, her face so red it could light the way for Santa’s sleigh.
“Which one should I be then, Lowe?” I ask.
“I don’t know, probably Donder!”
“WHAT?!” Gut-splitting laughter drops me to the floor with Avery. “Screw that, I’m not Donder! People don’t even know his real name!”
Marlowe does her best to cover her tracks. “He’s the sophisticated one, and you’re always reading.”
Our laughs turn into sobs, like there’s so much joy that our bodies don’t know what to do with it. After about five minutes, we finally compose ourselves.
“I will not settle for being the Donder of the group. Let me be Cupid!”
“Fine, but only because you’re lovestruck and have been playing matchmaker all year. Don’t even try to deny it. We’re onto you, Cupid .”
“I bought them. I get to choose,” Avery declares, as if she’s the oldest child. We let her without arguing, as if she’s the youngest.
“Hallee is Cupid, Marlowe is Vixen, and I am Prancer.”
“Prancer?!” Marlowe questions as her eyebrows lift.
“Yeah, Prancer?” I ask. “Avery, you’re the freezer.”
“Unless Hudson sees a side of her we don’t get to.” Marlowe winks.
Avery’s finger flies between the two of us. “Jail, both of you.”
“Cool, I’m into handcuffs,” Marlowe mumbles.
“Marlowe!” I scream, cackling through the end of her name.
“Play nice! We’ve got a tree to decorate!” Avery insists.
As we spend hours perfectly placing every ornament, I can’t help but notice how much this apartment has grown with us. Life has brought color to every room. Even if Avery and Marlowe won’t remember that the fuzziest blankets are from Matt, the best Tupperware is from Dean, and the candles are from Hudson, I’m thankful that when the year changes, I’ll still have them.
Dean
“I don’t know, guys, she’s been acting differently.”
“Well, Dean. Do the math. Your expiration date is approaching like a home-run hit,” Matt says.
He’s much better at giving advice than setting the pace for our evening run. The women called a girls’ night, so we decided to have a guys’ night. Rather than drinking away our feelings, we settled on a short jog. Well, the run hasn’t been short—or a jog.
“I wish I knew how to help. I worry about her.” The admission slides through my gasping breaths.
“As you should. Those girls are crazy, but we love them.” Hudson says.
“Love?” I push.
“You know what I mean, man,” he pushes back. This could get ugly . . . fast. Hudson doesn’t talk about emotions very often, just uses humor to Band-Aid over them.
“Actually, I don’t. What are you and Avery?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Matt chimes in. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“We can’t be anything when there’s nothing to be. We are what we are, until we aren’t what we were. Okay?”
Sounds like he’s about to cry, so I let that statement push me over as Matt presses his lips together.
“Matty, what about you?” I ask. “What are you and Marlowe?”
“Everything.”
“Oh, fuck off, man.” Hudson nearly shoves him over, laughing as he stumbles.
Nothing, everything—a mess is what we all are, and our footsteps slow as our hearts turn sad. It’s a weird thing we’re forced to deal with. The reality of it all set in the other night on the rooftop when there weren’t enough falling stars to wish for everything I want to come true.
“I don’t say it much, but I’m going to really miss them,” Matt admits.
Hudson reaches over and pats his shoulder. “Me too.”
“That makes three of us,” I say. “We’re the perfect pack.”
Matt pauses for a moment, smirking before he declares, “The Sexy Six.”
The light on Hudson’s face snuffs out. “The apartment will feel empty without them.”
“You okay?” I ask, tugging the end of his shirt sleeve.
“Are any of us?” he replies.
Matt blows out the pain from that knife to the chest.
“The apartment isn’t our home anymore, Dean.” Devastation pools in Hudson’s wild ocean eyes as he admits, “They are.”
He’s not wrong. Will life feel empty when they’re gone?