18. Hank
HANK
Itell myself I’m fine.
Holy shit. Did last night actually happen? What if I accidentally Inceptioned myself, and I’m in a dream within a dream?
No. That couldn’t happen. Right?
Griffin texts me to make sure I’m still coming to the Elf’d Up bar crawl. I give him an enthusiastic thumbs-up emoji in response. I don’t tell him that I’m more excited for what will happen after the bar crawl. Nick, in my house, in my bed.
Unless he second guesses what he said last night. I’m used to having my hopes dashed. How many times have I chatted with someone on a dating app only for them to see me in person and suddenly need to bail on our date before dessert.
Last night could’ve been a fluke.
I text Nick to make sure he’s coming to the bar crawl. He texts back Yes. Can’t wait.
There was no exclamation point in his text. Should that be concerning?
Luckily, I have a busy morning of work before the event. I’m ripping out and replacing a water heater in a home renovation. It takes my mind off of Nick.
When I get done with work, I text him.
Hank: Did you want a ride to the bar crawl?
Nick: Yes. That would be great.
Again, no exclamation points. A warning sign?
When I get home, I do a quick clean around my house, wiping down bathroom counters, scrubbing the shower, vacuuming the living room, putting all of my dirty laundry in the hamper and spraying the whole thing with Febreze just to be safe.
I zero in on places that Nick will see. I’m a jittery, nervous, excited mess.
It’s kind of like my whole body is that one awkward boner in class.
There’s a unique kind of nervous energy that comes from the anticipation of going on a date and possibly having sex.
Possibly.
I get myself showered and spritzed with cologne. I open my towel and look at my crotch. Is it jinxing myself to trim down there? I’ve heard that it makes things look bigger.
I trim. Better safe than sorry.
I set out a candle on the dresser. It’s vanilla scented. Is vanilla a sexy scent? Or will it just make us hungry?
And again, am I jinxing myself?
Typically, making the bed entails throwing the blanket on so that it covers most of the mattress.
This time, I do freaking hospital corners.
I tuck the sheets in so tight that you could bounce a quarter off them.
I smooth out the comforter to erase any sign of wrinkles.
My bed has never looked better. It belongs in a museum—or a hotel.
I dress in a red button-down shirt and jeans and comb my hair into submission.
Typically, I’d wear an ugly Christmas sweater to something like this, but I want to look sexy.
Nick seems too serious of a guy to wear an ugly sweater anyway.
I check myself in the mirror before I leave, impressed at how nicely I clean up.
“You got this,” I whisper to myself.
Man, I really hope this works out. It will suck if Nick bails.
He could get bored of me tonight and find another guy to go home with, a guy with main character energy.
We haven’t known each other for long, but things feel different with him.
We get each other. I have this buzz whenever I’m around him.
I want Nick with my whole heart and body, but he could just as easily slip through my fingers like sand.
The funny best friend doesn’t ride off into the sunset with the guy.
I am a main character, I say to myself. Main characters do not get bailed on. They get what they want. Things go according to plan for them. Wacky misadventures are for side characters.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up to Nick’s cousin’s house and realize that no, Nick is not too serious to don an ugly sweater. He wears a sweater vest embroidered with a cat wearing a Santa hat sipping hot cocoa. Jesus, Nick is the only guy who looks cuter in something so garish.
And now I’m regretting my sexy red shirt.
He carries a gym bag in one hand and waves to me with the other. My heart does a somersault. I haven’t felt this excited about a date since my first one with Cathy. I took her to Applebee’s. She wasn’t thrilled and let it be known. One of the many warning signs I missed.
“Where’s your sweater?” Nick asks.
“I…spilled cheese on it.” Fortunately, Nick doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. “Ready to get wasted?”
He places his gym bag on the back seat.
“We don’t have to get wasted at a bar crawl, right? There’s no requirement we drink at each establishment?” It’s sweet how worried he seems.
“We’ll nurse a beer or two. Bill’s going to be there, and he won’t want us smashed the night before a game. Plus, I think if I actually got wasted, it’d take me like five days to recover.”
“I’m getting a headache just thinking about being drunk.”
“Isn’t it cool being middle-aged?” I glance over my shoulder. “What’s the bag for? A change of sweater in case you puke all over yours?”
“It’s an overnight bag?” He bites his lower lip. “A change of clothes and my toothbrush and toothpaste. Because I thought…I’m…”
“Staying over?”
“Isn’t that what people do when they…” His big eyes widen then clench shut. “They don’t. Millie was right. This is awkward.”
He’s turning red. It’s the cutest thing ever.
“When people spend the night together, it’s more spontaneous.
They wear their clothes from yesterday and do a walk of shame.
They don’t bring an overnight bag like a child sleeping over at a friend’s house.
” Nick rubs his hand through his hair and shakes his head, silently scolding himself.
“I told you I had no experience. I warned you. Have I jinxed everything?”
I massage his neck as I float on a cloud of happiness. “You did not. Planning is really hot. I vacuumed and scrubbed my shower.”
I decide not to tell him I trimmed. He can discover that for himself.
“I thought we agreed that I’d stay over tonight. Hence…” He points his thumb behind him as the overnight bag of embarrassment.
“We did. I wasn’t sure if you meant it, or if it was something you said in the heat of everything last night.”
“I definitely meant it, Hank. Is it bad form to admit that I’ve been looking forward to this all day?”
“Same. And is it bad form if I kiss you right now and not wait until tonight?”
He lights up like a puppy about to get his treat. Our heads meet over the center console for a quick kiss.
“Before we go to the bar crawl, we need to stop at the drugstore.” I put the car in drive. “I didn’t buy any lube or condoms. You know, to wrap it up.”
Nick clenches his eyes shut again. Laughing with Nick is like bringing a moment of peace to the universe. Any of the awkwardness I thought I’d feel tonight melts away.
“One question,” I say as I back out of his cousin’s driveway. “You brought toothpaste in your overnight bag? Do you think I don’t have any?”
“I’m sure you do, but I really like mine.”
The cozy Christmas mode of downtown Sourwood is momentarily paused today.
Hundreds of twentysomethings take over the main streets, milling about in bro blobs as they plan out their bar crawl line of attack.
They take selfies and play music from their phones.
Some went the ugly Christmas sweater route.
Some are wearing tight T-shirts to show off the guns.
A few are dressed like rejected extras from Elf, including yellow tights that leave nothing to the imagination.
And then there’s a stray group of fortysomething guys looking so out of place like the world’s easiest Where’s Waldo?
story. We barely look festive enough. Des wears an expensive-looking cranberry half-zip sweater.
Tanner wears his old South Rock hoodie. They have on matching reindeer antler headbands.
Derek has on one of his fireman T-shirts under his coat.
His boyfriend Cary has on a lime green button-down shirt with red tie.
Bill opts for a regular flannel shirt. Only Griffin is decked out in a full-throated ugly Christmas sweater lined with fluffy garland and ornaments.
He itches at the fabric, his face giving no holiday spirit.
We stare up at the first bar with hesitation. Loud, thumping bass blares as kids half our age stumble inside.
“Griffdog, it’s not too late to turn around,” Des says. “Do you really want to go to twelve bars with this crowd? None of them have ever used a landline.”
Griffin is good at giving stoicism, but I detect the hesitation etched into his brow as he looks up at the first bar.
“Of course,” he says.
“No one here is getting drunk,” Bill says. “We have a game in the morning. Let the Blades get trashed. Then we can destroy them on the ice.”
“You really know how to bring the fun,” Des says.
Tanner puts a hand over one of his ears. “That bass is way too strong. These kids are going to have early hearing loss.”
“This is how we listened to music, and we were fine,” I tell him. My car stereo was cranked up back in the day. I prided myself on being able to flip open my CD book, find a CD, and pop it into my player all without taking my eyes off the road.
“Guys, stop complaining. You sound eighty. Jesus. We still know how to party. We’re going to show these fuckers a thing or two.” Griffin’s serious tone is undercut by the fake ornaments jiggling on his sweater as he talks.
I cut a look to Nick, and we laugh under our breaths. I find his hand in the chaos and give it a quick squeeze.
“I brought business cards just in case any of these guys are thinking about buying a condo.” Cary holds up his stack of cards. He’s a real estate agent who lives for making the sale, even during a Christmas bar crawl apparently.
“You never know!” He says off our looks.
“Ho ho ho!” Jack yells as he approaches with his much younger teammates. His jolliness suggests that he started partying early. Jack is wearing a tank top that says “Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal” and Santa pajama pants. He throws an arm around Griffin. “You guys actually came out.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Griffin says, pulling Jack close to him.
“Tanner is staying for one drink at one bar,” Des emphasizes.
“I need to get home to the kids,” Tanner says. “Lena is going to the movies with friends, and I promised Davy and Dean that I’d play Mario Kart with them.”
“I’m leaving in an hour or so because I promised I’d fold laundry, and if you leave it in the basket for too long, it gets wrinkled, and then you have to throw it in the dryer again,” Des says.
“You guys are too wild for me,” Jack says.
“Hey, Tanner is really good at Mario Kart,” I say. He gets more competitive with video games than he does with hockey.
“We’re gonna get so wasted!” Jack bumps chests with one of his teammates.
“Guys, let’s not get carried away,” Bill says. “We’re playing each other tomorrow morning.”
“Baby, I can beat you guys hungover,” Jack says.
“Don’t call me baby,” Bill shoots back.
“It’s not too late to back out. No judgment.” Jack rests an elbow on Griffin’s shoulder and looks up at his man. “Seriously, I get if this isn’t your scene.”
“We’re not backing out. Whatever you and your friends drink, we’ll match. And we’ll kick your ass on the ice tomorrow,” Griffin says. Does he realize his mouth is writing checks his body definitely won’t be able to cash?
“Shit, yeah!” Jack presses his lips to Griffin in a sloppy but excited kiss. It’s plain as day how into Griffdog he is. “My boyfriend is a badass.”
I gaze at Nick, taking in his unassuming gorgeousness, wondering what it’d be like to call him boyfriend. Which I know is a crazy idea because he’s leaving soon.
“You okay?” Nick asks, tilting his head.
His voice is calm, careful. Like he’s always listening for something underneath what people say.
“Yep,” I say immediately, too fast. “Totally fine. Full of cheer.”
Last night flashes through my brain without permission. The fact is that I still feel it sitting right behind my ribs, like a puck waiting to be shot.
Nick smiles, soft and private, like he knows something I don’t—or maybe something I’m pretending I don’t.
I raise a fist. “Let’s get drunk!”