The Deal

I miss him.

“Hey, sweetie, are you coming down to watch the ball drop with us?” Mom appears in the doorway and holds up a bowl of popcorn enticingly, and I’m reminded of the first time I spent the night at Garrett’s, when we stuffed ourselves full of popcorn and watched hours of television.

“Yeah, I’ll be down soon,” I answer. “I just want to change into comfy clothes.”

Once she walks off, I climb off the bed and dig around in my suitcase for a pair of yoga pants. I wiggle out of my skinny jeans and replace them with the soft cotton pants, then head downstairs to the living room, where my parents, my aunt and uncle, and their friends Bill and Susan are all lounging on the L-shaped couches.

I’m spending New Year’s Eve with three middle-aged couples.

Par-ty.

“So, Hannah,” Susan pipes up, “your mother was just telling me that you won a prestigious scholarship recently.”

I feel myself blushing. “I don’t know about prestigious. I mean, they give them out every year for the winter and spring showcases. But yeah, I did win.”

Take that, Cass Donovan, my inner smug monster shouts.

I hadn’t planned on going back to the auditorium after I ran into Garrett at the showcase, but Fiona ended up catching me just as I was trying to sneak out and dragged me back to the stage. And yep, I can’t deny that hearing my name announced at the scholarship ceremony gave me a total victory high. And I’ll never forget the outrage on Cass’s face when he realized they hadn’t called his name.

Now I’m five grand richer, and my parents can take a breather because I’ll be able to pay my residence and meal expenses on my own for this upcoming semester.

At ten to midnight, Uncle Mark puts an end to our chatter by unmuting the television so we can watch the Times Square celebration. Aunt Nicole hands out cardboard noisemakers with pink streamers on them while my mother passes around handfuls of confetti to everyone. My family is cheesy, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

My eyes are surprisingly misty as we all count down along with the announcer on the TV. Then again, maybe the tears aren’t surprising, because when the clock reaches zero and everyone screams “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” I remember that the strike of midnight doesn’t just indicate the start of a new year.

January 1st is also Garrett’s birthday.

I clamp my lips together to stop the rush of tears, forcing a laugh as my father spins me around in his arms and kisses my cheek. “Happy New Year, princess.”

“Happy New Year, Dad.”

His green eyes soften when he notices my sad expression. “Aw, kiddo, why don’t you pick up the phone and call that poor boy already? It’s New Year’s Eve.”

My jaw drops, and then I swivel my head at my mother. “You told him?”

She at least has the decency to look guilty. “He asked why you were mopey. I couldn’t not tell him.”

My dad chuckles. “Oh, don’t blame your mom, Han. I figured it out all by myself. You’ve been so miserable I knew it had to be boy trouble. Now go wish him a happy new year. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I sigh. But I know he’s right.

My pulse speeds up as I hurry upstairs. I fish my cell phone out of my purse, then hesitate, because really, this is not a good idea. I broke up with him. I’m supposed to be moving on and seeing other people and blah fucking blah.

But it’s his birthday.

I exhale a shaky breath and make the call.

Garrett answers on the first ring. I expect to hear noise in the background. Chatter, laughter, drunken yells. But wherever he is, it’s as quiet as a church.

His husky voice tickles my ear. “Happy New Year, Hannah.”

“Happy birthday, Garrett.”

There’s a slight pause. “You remembered.”

I blink through my tears. “Of course I did.”

There are so many other things I want to say to him. I love you. I miss you. I hate your father. But I tamp down the urge and say nothing at all.

“How’s the dating going?” he asks cheerfully.

My stomach goes rigid. “Uh…it’s great.”

“Yeah? Doing lots of exploring? Conducting a thorough search for the meaning of love?”

There’s a mocking note there, but more than anything, he sounds amused. Smug, even.

“Yep,” I say lightly.

“How many guys have you dated?”

“A few.”

“Awesome. I hope they’re treating you right. You know, opening doors for you, laying their jackets on the ground so you can walk over puddles, that kind of stuff.”

God, he’s such a jackass. I love him.

“Don’t worry, they’re all very chivalrous,” I assure him. “I’m having a blast.”

“Good to hear.” He pauses. “I’ll see you in a few days. You can tell me all about it.”

He hangs up, and I curse under my breath.

Damn it. Why is he pushing this? Why can’t he just accept that it’s over between us and focus on his stupid hockey team?

And how the hell am I going to convince him I don’t want to be with him when I can’t even convince myself?