“Moulin Rouge!” she yelled back.
People started congregating in the family room, so we followed. Somehow in the chaos of trying to seat that many people in that small of a room, Adrian and I ended up sitting together on the love seat. Way off in the shadows of the room sat Meg, Steph, Laura, and Jenny. Jack had gotten stuck sitting next to Paul and Jimmy on the floor.
I wondered where Mark was. Just as the movie started, I saw him slip into the corner. Jenny didn’t react, but for a moment she closed her eyes. I looked at Adrian and saw he was surreptitiously glancing over at the corner every now and again.
I settled into the love seat more comfortably, curling up next to Adrian (because people would expect us to look all lovey-dovey, especially on New Year’s Eve) and he put his arm around my shoulders, but like earlier, he seemed to hesitate. I didn’t have time to think about it because Ewan McGregor went into a spitfire narration about the children of the revolution and bohemians and narcoleptic Argentineans.
I watched the rest of the movie feeling like I had a little golden ball of happiness inside me that was engulfed by a cold, crushing mass of sadness. It didn’t help that Ewan McGregor was singing every five minutes about how great love was and all you need is love and we should be lovers forever and ever and all that sentimental crap that somehow seemed so sincere coming from him.
And of course, she dies—even after they defeat the creepy-ass duke, she dies anyway. He couldn’t save her. Love didn’t win.
I wasn’t the only girl who was teary-eyed at the end of the movie. Who the hell’s idea was it to watch Moulin Rouge! anyway?
As we let the melancholy credits roll, Trish solemnly announced that it was almost time. I hadn’t realized the movie was that long—but here we were, five minutes from midnight.
Trish switched the channel to a news station and the TV host talked animatedly about the upcoming countdown. Everyone perked up and got chatty as Trish passed around champagne poppers and kazoos. I closed my eyes, afraid my face revealed how upset I was.
“Caitlin?” I heard Adrian ask, sounding mildly concerned.
I turned my face toward his and smiled. “I’m just tired,” I told him, which was true, if not the truth, per se.
“One minute!” Trish yelled. The excitement in the room rose tangibly.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and kept the smile plastered on my face, trying to make it look relaxed and natural. I was going to have to get better at lying to him. Which would be a trick, considering he could read my emotions.
I guess I’d have to get better at lying to myself.
“Thirty seconds!”
Somehow over the course of the movie I had pretty much wriggled my way onto his lap. I leaned my head back against the armrest and looked up at him; his dark, wavy hair partly shadowing his face. I reached up and slowly brushed it back.
“Ten seconds! Nine!”
I slid my hand down his jaw, over his chest, and splayed my fingers over his heart, listening with my fingertips to the incredibly slow beat.
“Eight! Seven!” the crowd yelled on the TV. “Six!” everyone in the room shouted. “Five!”
I wanted to tell him. He had to know, it was important that he know—
“Four! Three! Two! One!”
—I was done pretending.
“Happy New Year!” a dozen voices cried out as an avalanche of confetti burst onto the TV screen and filled Times Square.
But I barely heard them.
I leaned close—so close my lashes brushed his cheek—and waited, giving him a chance to pull away. But he didn’t. He tilted his face toward me a fraction of an inch—
And I kissed him.
It was soft and still, like one breath would break us both. He drew in a sharp breath and pressed his lips to my temple, eyes flared into their luminous silver. He pinched them closed, resting his cheek against mine. I slid my fingers through his hair and let my cool hand rest on his warm neck, slowly folding him into my arms. He buried his face in my shoulder and hugged me tightly.
We didn’t say anything.
I held on to him as long as he would let me, and then I let him go.
As we were leaving, Adrian intentionally bumped into Mark while helping me on with my coat, to get a better “read.” When we got into the truck, he told me that Mark was definitely human—he could actually sense his emotions and they all felt “light,” which I guess was a good thing. Basically, there was no way he was Adrian’s dad.