Page 93 of Goodbye Again
“Five minutes,” JP answers and changes the channel on the TV to the East Coast countdown. Anderson Cooper is bundled in a peacoat and scarf, looking dapper as ever as he directs everyone’s attention to the last performance before the countdown.
Alyson is fast asleep on Austin’s shoulder so he runs her upstairs to her bed and returns with Emily who’s holding Anjali, changed and fed. I take her from my sister so she can dance with her husband one last time before the year ends. I sway in the living room with Anjali in my arms feeling incredibly thankful for this entire year. My new practice. My new niece. Alyson. My wonderful sister and brother-in-law. My amazing apartment and stupendous dog. My wonderful friends who have texted me selfies from their night out in downtown Chicago with the message, “miss you, bitch!”
I smile at the memories I made this year—so many great ones. Then I glance at JP and try to push away the good memory of the previous year that belongs to him.
When the song ends, Anderson Cooper immediately starts the countdown, and we’re all whisper-shouting, and I try my best to cover Anjali’s ears. She fusses a bit, and we all adjust our whisper-yelling to a plain old whisper.
“5... 4... 3... 2... 1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Hearing five grown adults on our tip-toes whisper-yell at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve is comical, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Austin grabs Emily’s face and kisses her, just as Audrey wraps her arms around JP’s neck and kisses him. Bitterness coats my tongue but I play it off and kiss Anjali on the nose.
“Happy New Year, sweet baby.”
“Happy New Year, sis,” Emily says, kissing my cheek and Austin bear hugs us from behind, then takes his daughter in his arms and kisses her face.
Emily and Audrey hug, and I feel JP’s hand on my back. There’s hesitation in his fingertips but an eagerness, too. “Happy New Year, Jules.”
“Happy New Year, JP.” I keep my voice steady even though my nerves are shaking.
These are simple holiday pleasantries.
Happy New Year.
Merry Christmas.
Happy Hannukah.
Happy Kwanza.
Hello. Good to see you again.
And yet, any direct words from him knock my soul unsteady. It’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t be this affected by him. But I am. So I clear my throat and hold my hands out for an awkward hug. Only when his arms wrap around me it isn’t awkward at all. It feels exactly how I remember it the first time.
I think of our flight and how hard I laughed while chatting with a stranger.
I think of our first dinner and how desperately I needed him to kiss me.
I think of fortune tellers and fireworks on the pier.
I think of his need to protect me from my mother’s ridicule.
I think of the summer I let him love me. A wholly desperate feeling that left me aching for him for weeks.
I think of how we couldn’t finish making breakfast and had sex in the kitchen while the eggs burned and the possibility of us blossomed.
I think of how I realized this was impossible and I’d have to walk away.
I think of how he sat with me at the hospital with throw-up breath and ratted hair.
I think of how he took me home to meet his family on Thanksgiving.
I think of how we texted. Until we didn’t.
twenty-six
I HATE THIS FEELING: missing someone I never truly had.
I hate it so much that I turn away and let my heart break in silence. And it’s a good thing because Audrey stumbles back into his arms.
