The part of me that was very desperate, and embarrassingly wet, clenched.
A piece of chicken suspended on a fork between Natalia’s mouth and her plate dropped back into the risotto as her expression turned from intrigued to utterly disbelieving. Watching in real time as the line blurred somewhere vital in Frankie and I’s arrangement. He was a very hands-on friend.
“You know when you’re kind of in a fog while driving,” Frankie said, “and you start daydreaming, and all of a sudden you can’t even hear what’s playing on the radio anymore? It’s like a mindless autopilot because your brain is just somewhere else entirely? One second you’re in the car, and the next you’re home and you don’t even remember how you got there?”
My nerves lit up like fireworks, a surge of energy pilling the skin hiding beneath my dress in goosebumps. I slid my hand from my lap to rest secretly just above Frankie’s knee, his quad flexing on impact and then relaxing under my palm.
“Maria’s boyfriend was that bad, huh?” Mateo laughed.
I felt his eyes on my profile, but remained purposely aloof.
“Funny,” Frankie answered, “I didn’t think about that once.”
My nylon-covered toes dug into the carpet in the living room, finally free from the much too ambitious and half a size too small pair of stilettos I’d thieved out of Natalia’s closet. I had never been the best at sensible fashion, and the fanciest restaurant in Pine Ridge was the Applebee’s on Main, so there’s to say the red bottoms didn’t exist in any universe of mine.
Embers crackled to life across the room as Frankie, bent over on his knees, fiddled with the mechanics at the base of their fireplace. His jacket was tossed over the armchair, the top button of his dress shirt flicked open, and then the second…and another under that one. A flirty display of his chest tickled my already reprimandable adoration.
I only realized I’d been staring when my eyes unfocused and the room turned into a watercolor painting of blue-black darkness. Muffled voices from the kitchen rose over the telling sound of cabinets closing and glasses clinking, the Christmas tree buzzed faintly, the lights burning for two weeks and remaining twinkling against all fire safety and hazard warnings.
Back in Colorado my parents would just be sitting down for dinner, Dad and Amy having brought the kids to church an hour before, Mom and Josh standing over the stove together cooking. The already unending energy of my siblings at dangerous levels, as if the day itself was a drug and the Santa tracker on the iPad in the corner was a new high every hour.
I did a perfunctory web search on my phone out of curiosity as Frankie plunked down beside me, pinning me unwittingly into the corner of the couch.
“Santa Claus is in Iceland,” I informed him.
“We better get to bed soon then,” he joked, the amber reflection of the fireplace turning his brown eyes caramel, melting me just the same.
I thoughtlessly lifted my fingers to brush the wild hair off his temples and run my nails softly across his scalp. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling my thigh to rest on his lap, connecting us eagerly and intentionally.
My mind raced with the things Mateo had told me the night before. I hadn’t had a moment alone with Frankie yet, and while our bodies sparred for things we’d yet to address, I wanted to be more to him than a warm bed. “Are you really okay?” I asked. “Yesterday…”
“I’m perfect right now,” he insisted casually. “Magic’s back.”
“Magic’s back,” I agreed. Silver bells faintly chimed beneath the brandish of the holiday. I felt relaxed for the first time since I was a child, safe, in someone’s embrace. Sure of myself and the future I wanted, the type of person worth building it with, the hopeless romantic in me that grew up watching Hallmark movies sighing on the sidelines as the credits rolled.
Myself. I was me.
Not their Ophelia. Not a biennial statue, or forgotten plate setting, the extra folding chair on the end of the table, or the last few gifts under the tree in the morning. If someone had told me a month ago the answer was in leaving it all behind, that what I didn't know I was looking for meant individuality, freedom, independence, confidence, bravery—I wouldn’t have believed it. Because I liked who I was before I became this fuller version. Now I liked her more, and I loved the person I was with him.
“Not too bad for a third date.” Frankie’s thumb traced ovals into my knee. “Fancier, more serious, romantic.”
The corner of my lip curled. “You’re very impressive. I just have one qualm.”
He hummed, a singular eyebrow arching patiently.
“Too much company.”
On cue our friends glided into the room with an extra glass of sparkling wine in each hand. A sharp laugh croaked out of me at Mateo, garnished head to toe in his infamous Santa suit once again.
“No, please—I’m still having nightmares from the last time I saw this outfit,” I said.
“Ho, ho, ho.” Mateo bent down to hand Frankie his champagne, which instead slipped through his white-gloved hands and doused his roommate's dress shirt.
“Matty, for fuck’s sake,” Nat groaned.
“Jesus Christ.” Frankie jolted, untangling from me quickly.
Mateo grimaced, running his sleeve uselessly down the buttons of Frankie’s shirt. “My bad. But hey, this is perfect because it’s showtime anyway, big guy.”
Nat joined me, snuggling into my shoulder, tucking her bare feet under her legs while I rested my head on top of hers.
“All right,” Mateo clapped. Frankie reluctantly stood beside him, wet and towing a thread-thin line between aggravation and anxiousness. “Let me set the mood.”
A stream of music started playing out of the tiny speaker on Mateo’s phone, the cacophony of bu-booms followed in turn with the low horn rhythm and unmistakable sound of Eartha Kitt’s voice singing “Santa Baby”.
“No, Cap, you’re on your own—” Frankie shook his head, the apples of his cheeks deepening a shade.
“Tradition is tradition, Pike. The ladies deserve to know.” Mateo swayed back and forth with the melody, training his eyes on his girlfriend lovingly and crooking a finger toward her to join him. “We strip.”
“What?” I gasped.
“You ever seen Jarhead, Ophelia?” Mateo asked.
I shook my head, staring back and forth between him and Frankie.
“Jake Gyllenhaal, look it up.”
“You idiots were in the Army.” Natalia laughed as Mateo pulled her off the couch and spun her in a circle. The long tips of her hair shined with every twirl past the fireplace.
“Delta is made up of all kinds of salty motherfuckers, my love. MARSOC, Air Force Pararescue, Army Rangers. I’ll give you a pass because you’re goddamn beautiful and I’m taking you directly to bed after this.”