“Fine, I guess we can watch that.” Nathan sighs. “But it’s noPaul Blart.”
Gage and Chelsea nod in agreement, and Morgan rejoins us while I’m setting up the movie, dropping an arm full of pillows and bedding onto the floor in front of the couch.
Once everyone is settled, Morgan turns off the overhead light and settles into his nest of blankets at my feet. His head rests in the small gap between my knee and the arm of the couch, a few short inches away from my hands. My fingers itch to close the gap and bury themselves in his silky curls.
I don’t think any of us truly watch the movie; it’s impossible to with Karis and Nathan interjecting every few minutes with their best quippy one-liners. The two of them feed off each other’s antics, and it’s not long before the rest of us join in, trying to one-up and get the most laughter out of each other.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
The credits roll, and everyone lapses into silence for the first time since it began.
“This was great, Jamie,” Evelyn says, stretching as she stands from her spot on the floor, “but I should head out. I’ve got a final tomorrow and need to get some last-minute cramming in.”
Evelyn grabs her things, and Morgan walks her to the door. The thorny tendrils of jealousy lash out as they stop to talk for a few moments longer at the threshold, and I actively have to fight to prune back its sharp vines. Karis and Gage follow behind her not too long after, leaving Chelsea and Nathan as the last ones remaining.
“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to help?” Chelsea asks as I try to herd her toward where her boyfriend waits by the cracked door.
“No, Morgan already cleaned up the kitchen. Plus, you did more than enough by bringing the turkey.”
“Well, thank you for having us. We had fun.” She pulls me in for a tight hug.
Nathan echoes her sentiment, and they finally make their way into the hallway. Morgan shuts the door, and the softclickof the latch resounds through the now-silent apartment, signaling Friendsgivmas’s end.
I let out a heavy sigh of relief and sag on the couch, the tension melting from my shoulders as the last remnants of my anxiety dissipate. He picks up the last of the trash from around the living room without breaking our tranquil bubble of silence, then drops down on the couch beside me, mirroring my sprawled posture.
Grover’s pitiful whine bursts the moment of peace and brings me back to reality. The party might be over, but my plans for tonight aren’t. There’s still one more holiday for us to celebrate tonight.
“Would you mind taking Grover out for me?”
He nods as he moves to grab the leash and clips it onto Grover’s collar.
“Be right back,” he says, slipping on a pair of ugly foam shoes and flashing me one of his brilliant, dimpled smiles before walking out of the apartment.
He pulls the door shut behind him, and then the heavythunkof the deadbolt latches into place. I stay frozen in place as I watch the door, but my body tenses like a coiled spring.
One second passes.
Then another.
Yet another ticks by, and I’m convinced he isn’t about to turn around and walk back through the door anytime soon. I shoot up from the couch in one explosive burst of movement and dart to my room to collect my secret stash of supplies. My room looks like a carnival just came through, and not in a fun way. The floor is littered with the assortment of multicolored balloons I’ve blown up over the past few days, and long strands of paper chain garland sit in neat stacks near my bed. The growing disarray has been eating at my sanity over the past few days, but it will be worth it if it brings him joy.
He doesn’t know about these plans. Everything has to be perfect before he gets back, and that could be five minutes or thirty, depending on Grover’s mood.
With no time to waste, I grab balloons by the armful, kicking some out into the hallway as I wade back and forth to scatter them throughout the living room. Once I finish with the balloons, I collect the delicate paper chains and drape them over the blades of the ceiling fan above the couch. It’s tacky as fuck, and Morgan will love it.
I pull up a video of last year’s New Year’s Eve ball drop on the TV and grab the last bag of supplies—the one that takes my plan to a whole new level of cheesiness—spreading its contents over the coffee table. The lock turns in the door, and I throw myself back onto the couch, picking up a plastic noisemaker in the process. He starts to walk through the door but freezes as I blow into the small device, filling the apartment with a loud trill.
“Surprise!”
He surveys the room with wide eyes, his lips curling into a smile as he takes in the chaos. “What is all this?” he asks, shutting the door and letting Grover off the lead.
“We did Thanksgiving and Christmas already, now it’s time to celebrate New Year’s Eve.”
“James…” he says, his voice thick with emotion, and his eyes take on a glassy sheen.
My heart swells, and I have to shove back the unexpected surge of emotions his reaction summons.
“Come sit.” I pat the spot next to me on the couch in invitation. “I got us hats and noisemakers, and even those stupid glasses with the year number on them.” My arms wave over the coffee table, emphasizing the collection of overpriced junk I bought to make today special.
