CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
To say that I’m not in a festive party mood is a gross understatement, but Maddie is absolutely adamant that I come with her to the rooftop New Year’s Eve party being thrown tonight by some of her artsy friends.
I’ve hung out with them before, and I like them.
But they all seem so much more chic and interesting than me, I always feel like a bit of a dud when I’m around them.
And those were times when I wasn’t jet-lagged and heartbroken.
“I can’t, Mads. Someone will make small talk with me about how my Christmas was, and I’ll end up sobbing into my drink.”
“Then we’ll get you something that tastes great with a bit of extra salt.” Maddie tugs on my arms. “Tequila shots.’ She grunts. “Margs.” She braces her foot against the bed frame, still pulling. “Palomas.”
I will my body to sink into the mattress. “I can’t just pretend I’m OK. I’m a terrible actor.”
“Honey, we’re in New York. Every party in the city is going to be loaded with terrible actors.” Maddie climbs onto my bed, squeezing herself between me and the wall. She draws up her knees so she can press her feet flat against my back, pushing against the wall for leverage.
To my great dismay, she actually manages to start shoving me towards the edge of the bed.
I go boneless and flop onto my belly, groaning into the comforter.
But Maddie doesn’t relent. “I’m not letting you make this be the last thing that defines your year and the first thing that defines the next.
” She digs her toes into my ribs. “Arise, you beautiful slob.”
* * *
While I brush my teeth for the first time today (it’s six o’clock in the evening, I’m not proud), Maddie starts the shower so the water can heat up.
I look like a ghoul in my reflection in the mirror, and I’m thankful for the condensation that begins to creep in from the corners of the glass to obscure my view.
Maddie slips out as I undress and step into the stream of hot water.
On the other side of the shower curtain, I hear the bathroom door creak open again, followed by the sound of small things being placed on the side of the sink.
A moment later, the melodramatic opening saxophone riff of “Careless Whisper” wails from a tiny Bluetooth speaker.
It’s so unexpected, I can’t help the unhinged laugh that breaks loose.
I pull back the shower curtain for a peek.
Maddie’s also left me her beloved plastic Dollywood tumbler full of ice water, and a lit aromatherapy candle.
Afterwards, she trims off the new half-inch of hair that grew in London, plus another two inches for good measure, because I can’t bear the thought of braiding it.
Now, I can’t, even if I wanted to. She does my makeup, and it’s bold and lovely and nothing like I’d do for myself. And importantly—cry-proof.
She bundles me into a Kelly-green satin slipdress from her closet, assuring me there will be patio heaters on the rooftop. I’ve never seen her wear this dress before, and it somehow fits me perfectly even though I’ve got a few inches on her in every dimension.
This is the post-breakup movie montage of my life. I never had one after Calvin, because Maddie didn’t push for it. I think she knew he didn’t rate the emotional acknowledgment that’s inherent to the process. But Jake, though? It’s like she knows I don’t need his erasure. I just need a reset.
* * *
The party is fine. Everyone is impossibly cool, in vintage velvet blazers and mod jumpsuits, patterned tights and thigh-high boots.
There’s a guy everyone calls “Fancy Mayor” wearing a faux-fur top hat.
He’s hit on me three times. I spend most of the night feeling like I’ve arrived in the middle of conversations, even in ones I was present for when they began.
I’ve gotten so good at standing at the periphery while trying not to look like I’m standing at the periphery, I’m considering adding “human shrubbery” to my résumé once I start my job hunt.
I wonder what Jake is doing right at this moment. The distance between us feels cosmically vast now. He’s several hours into an entirely different year than the one I’m still in.
It’s ten minutes to twelve, and I haven’t seen Maddie for the past half an hour. Not that I’m surprised, really. I’d just hoped that since she brought me with her tonight, she’d at least be with me for the countdown to the new year. I’m not upset, though. I’m just numb.
Then she’s there, weaving towards me through the crowd of sparkling people settling in for their midnight moment.
She’s got a freshly fizzing glass of sparkling wine in one hand and an …
envelope? in the other. She presses her cheek to mine and says, “Read it somewhere quiet,” then she disappears before I have the chance to ask for more context.
Quiet isn’t really an option here, but I manage to find a spot near the rooftop’s edge that’s not packed with people. When I open the envelope and pull out the note inside, I feel like every muscle in my body has slipped loose from its proper place. I have to lean against the railing.
If you’re keen to give us a new start, I’ll be in New York in the New Year. I miss you.
J.
Oh my god.
I tuck the paper under my arm and yank my phone out so quickly I almost bobble it to the ground. My thumbs shake so hard, I mistype my passcode four times, and I’m horrified that I might lock myself out. It’s 11:57.
Pausing to breathe, I realize what this note means. It’s handwritten. And Maddie just gave it to me, in person. The only way she could possibly have had it in this very moment is if Jake gave it to her in person.
He’s here.
He has to be.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text notification.
Some love stories don’t end, they just switch time zones.
It’s 11:58. I’m whirling like a pinwheel in a hurricane. The note falls from under my arm and the wind catches it, lifting it high into the air before sending it over the edge of the building. Somewhere in the city, a single premature firework explodes in the sky.
It’s 11:59 when I see him. In a small nook in the corner of the rooftop, half-enclosed with evergreens still covered in Christmas sparkle. Still managing to find the most festive spot possible.
My Jake.
He’s wearing that long travel coat he was wearing the first moment I saw him. He has his luggage with him, too. He must have come straight from the airport.
All around us, the crowd erupts in unison. “Ten!”
I step towards him and immediately wobble in my heels. Bending without taking my eyes from his, I slip them off and leave them behind to race to him. The deck is cold underfoot.
“Nine!”
Stopping just out of his reach, I whisper, “You’re here.”
“Eight!”
Jake takes a halting step towards me. “I’m here.”
“Seven!”
A tear breaks loose and coasts down his cheek. For once, I’m not the one crying.
“Six!”
I reach out with a trembling hand, drifting my fingers down the center of his chest, testing if he’s real. I can feel his heart hammering beneath.
“Five!” The volume escalates now. The air vibrates with it.
When I close my fist around the soft blue wool of his sweater, he whispers, “Thank god,” then he’s pulling me into him, burying his face in my hair.
“Four!”
I push away, cupping his face in mine. “You can’t be here.”
“Three!”
“Getting some mixed signals from you now, my love,” Jake chuckles.
“Two!”
“We were leaving it”— my voice breaks—“in London.”
“One!”
“You might have left it in London.” His chin trembles. “I brought it to New York.”
Jake’s mouth meets mine the moment the sky explodes in shimmering light above us. Around us. Inside us. The noise of it booms through my body, magnifying the racing beat of my heart.
He came for me. He’s here.
And now, I really am home.