Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

“We were actually thinking about taking a walk,” says Leah.

I look at her. Something in her tone is a little strange. “Okay,” I say. “Let me get dressed.” I’m still wearing my golden retriever pajama pants.

Five minutes later, I’m in jeans and a hoodie. I throw a leash on Bieber, and we’re out the door.

“So you guys just wanted to take a walk, or what?” I ask finally.

They look at each other. “Yeah,” says Nick.

I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting to see if he’ll say more, but he looks away.

“How are things going, Simon?” Leah asks, in this strange, gentle voice.

I stop short. We’re barely out of my driveway. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She fiddles with the pom-poms that string down from her hat. Nick stares at the road. “Just seeing if you wanted to talk.”

“About what?” I ask. Bieber crosses over to Leah and sits on his haunches, staring up at her with pleading eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that, sweet one?” she asks, ruffling his ears. “I don’t have any cookies.”

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask again. We’re not walking. We stand by the curb, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

Leah and Nick exchange another look, and it hits me.

“Oh my gosh. You guys hooked up.”

“What?” Leah says, turning bright red. “No!”

I look from Leah to Nick and back to Leah. “You didn’t . . .”

“Simon. No. Just stop.” Leah isn’t looking at Nick. In fact, she’s bent all the way over with her face pressed against Bieber’s snout.

“Okay, then what are we talking about here?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“Um,” says Nick.

Leah stands. “Okay, yeah. I’m gonna go. Merry Christmas, guys. Happy Hanukkah. Whatever.” She gives me this curt little nod. Then she bends down again and lets my dog kiss her on the lips. And then she’s gone.

Nick and I stand there in silence. He touches his thumb briefly to the tip of each finger.

“Hanukkah is over,” he says finally.

“What’s going on, Nick?”

“Look—don’t worry about it.” He sighs, staring up the street at Leah’s retreating form. “She’s parked at my house. I guess I have to give her a minute, so it’s not like I’m following her.”

“You can come in,” I say. “My parents won’t care. Alice is home.”

“Yeah?” he says, glancing back at my house. “I don’t know. I’m just going to . . .” He turns to me, and there’s this look on his face. I’ve known Nick since we were four years old. I’ve never seen this expression before.

“Look.” He puts his hand on my arm. I look down at his hand. I can’t help it. Nick never touches me. “Have a good Christmas, Simon. Really.”

And then he takes back his hand, and waves, and trudges up the road after Leah.

Spier family tradition dictates that Christmas Eve dinner is French toast, per my grandma’s technique: thick slices of challah aged one day for maximum egg absorption, cooked in tons of butter in pans partially covered by pot lids. When my grandma makes them, she constantly moves the lids around and flips the bread over and fusses with all of it (she’s kind of a hardcore grandma). It never comes out quite as custardy when my dad makes it, but it’s pretty freaking good anyway.

We eat it at the actual dining table on our parents’ wedding china, and my mom brings out the manger scene centerpiece that rotates like a fan when you light a candle beneath it. It’s really hypnotic. Alice dims the lights, and my mom puts out cloth napkins, and everything feels really fancy.

But it’s weird. It doesn’t really feel like Christmas Eve. There’s this spark missing, and I don’t know what it is.

I’ve felt like this all week, and I don’t understand it. I don’t know why everything feels so different this year. Maybe it’s because Alice has been gone. Or maybe it’s because I’m spending every minute pining for some boy who doesn’t want to meet me in person. Or who’s “not ready” to meet me in person. But he’s also a boy who signs his emails with “love.” I don’t know. I don’t know.

In this moment, all I want is for things to feel like Christmas again. I want it to feel how it used to feel.

After dinner, my parents put on Love Actually and settle in on the love seat with Bieber wedged between them. Alice disappears again to talk on the phone. Nora and I sit for a while on our opposite ends of the couch, and I stare into the lights of the tree. If I squint my eyes, everything looks sort of bright and hazy, and I can almost catch the feeling I remember. But it’s pointless. So I go into my own room and fling myself back on the bed and listen to my music on shuffle.

Three songs later, there’s a knock on my door.

“Simon?” It’s Nora.

“What?” Ugh.

“I’m coming in.”