“Is there an outlet I can borrow?” I hold up my charger and phone. By this point I’m practically leaping out of my own skin, and it’s a huge effort to keep my voice in a normal register.
“You can unplug the toaster,” he says flatly.
I do, and then I plug in my charger and attach it to my phone. “Thanks. I have to make a phone call. It’ll be quick.”
“Okay.” He sits at a small table in the breakfast nook, props his feet on the chair next to him, and pulls a clunky textbook onto his lap. The chapter heading reads “Introduction to Philosophy.” An open bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos sits next to him. He grabs a handful and tosses them in his mouth, crunching loudly.
“Um … it’s kind of private?” I hate the way my voice goes up at the end.
“That’s what texts are for.”
“This is too delicate to deal with over text.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even think about it. He resolutely does not budge. I could try to find another room, but it seems weirder for me to barge into one of the bedrooms than to stay here.
“I hate to ask, but can you leave?”
He cocks his head for a moment, considering this. Or at least, pretending to consider it. “Nah.”
I sigh and pull up Fitz’s number. Fine. Whatever. I don’t have time to debate with him, and I don’t have time to rummage through the apartment looking for another outlet. I dial.
Fitz picks up after the first ring. “Hey, Collins!”
My face breaks into a smile and all my senses heighten. Fitz may as well be in the same room with me, for how happy I am to hear his voice. “Hi,” I practically sigh, the word breathy with relief. Harrison looks from his book; I angle my body away from him. “I need to ask you for a favor. And I can’t explain why I need it, but it’s important.”
I swear I can hear Fitz sit up on the other end of the phone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m in New York and I’m fine.” I glance at Harrison, who’s listening with open curiosity.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t open the letter.”
He pauses for too long. “I already said I wouldn’t.”
“But you said Gray might—”
“It was a joke.”
“Please get rid of it. It’s embarrassing.” My cheeks flame. This is awful. He’s going to figure it out.
“Paige—”
“I wrote you a letter that said something it shouldn’t have. I did something without thinking—”
“Is this a murder confession?” he asks playfully.
“I’m serious. I can’t explain it right now. But please, as your friend, I’m asking you to do this for me.”
Another pause, and then he says, “If that’s what you want.” My muscles unwind for the first time since I witnessed the failed proposal on the plane. “How’s New York?”
We chat for a few minutes about his sisters and my flight, until his nephew pulls him away from the phone for an epic superhero battle. I turn, expecting to find Harrison still watching me, but his gaze is back on his book.
“Thanks again.”
“I’ll forward you the next electric bill,” he deadpans.
“I’m Paige, by the way.”
“I know.” His gaze flits up to me. “We’ve met.”
“Right. It was, what, like ten years ago?”
“Eleven.”
“I didn’t think you’d remember!”
“What can I say? The popcorn made quite an impression on me.” He smirks as my cheeks redden. “That and the heat. It was brutal for March.”
“I don’t think heat will be a problem here,” I joke. He doesn’t comment, so I keep talking. “This is my first time in New York.” Again, nothing. Not so much as an eyebrow raise. I barrel on. “I’m really excited to be here. I made a list; I want to do everything. My mom is thrilled to be here too, obviously, but she told me they wouldn’t get out much.”
He sighs and finally looks at me, but I wish he wouldn’t. It’s more of a withering stare than an actual look. “Yeah, I reckon my dad’s degenerative disease is going to keep him from traipsing all over the city.” His voice is icier than the biting wind outside. My insides shrivel in embarrassment.
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean … it’s just that …” I trail off, hoping he’ll save me from this excruciating moment with a “don’t worry about it” or “it’s cool.”
He doesn’t.
I recognize a loss when I see one. It’s time to take my mumbled apologies and hide out until Harrison is in a better mood. My fingers close around my phone, and I’m hit by a thought.
No. I didn’t come here to hide inside with a dirty, wet foot and nothing to do. I’m here to make myself into a different kind of person with a different kind of life.
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I didn’t abandon the snowy, romantic Christmas of my dreams to sit in an apartment. I have a New York bucket list. It’s filled with all the things I want to do while I’m here. I was hoping you’d help me out, maybe show me around a bit.”
He blinks slowly. My pulse kicks up a notch as my skin flushes. “Not that you have to—like, spend your whole break chauffeuring me around the city.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Um. Obviously I don’t expect that. Wouldn’t ask for that. But your dad told my mom you’d be willing to show me Christmas in New York.” I hold my breath, waiting. “I’ve never been anywhere,” I add as an afterthought. An appeal to his sense of humanity.
He studies me for an uncomfortable length of time before he says, “Nah.” He flips his book closed and stands.
“Nah? That’s it?”
“It’s a complete sentence.” He shrugs and moves to leave the kitchen. I step in front of him, blocking his path.
“No is a complete sentence. Nah isn’t anything.”
“Fine,” he sighs indulgently. “Ask me again.”
“Will you go with me to the Central Park ice-skating rink?” I ask. He takes a deep, slow breath, and my hope soars ridiculously high. He’s going to say yes, because how could he not?
“No.” The corner of his mouth twitches. An almost smile? He dodges me and leaves the kitchen. “Oh, and Paige—” he says, turning suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“That guy you were talking to? He knows you’re in love with him.” He disappears down the hall as my embarrassment licks my insides like a wildfire.
For a full second that feels like twenty, I cannot breathe. And then common sense kicks in. What does Harrison know about me anyway? Nothing. He knows nothing about me or about Fitz, and also, he sucks. He sucks and I cannot believe I gave up my chance at spending Christmas with Fitz, in an actual winter wonderland, to be stuck here in a cheerless apartment with him. I pick up my wounded pride and head to the room where my mom and Harrison’s dad are laughing loudly.
They’re sitting on opposites ends of an old, worn couch. On the end table is a small, fake, scraggly Charlie Brown Christmas tree with no ornaments. It’s the only sign of Christmas in the house. There’s no delicious pine scent or stockings hanging on the wall or spicy gingerbread in the oven. Tyson is wearing worn jeans and an old Oasis T-shirt. He has shaggy brown hair that looks unintentional.