“Let’s get out of here,” Finn suggests. “We can still make the Waverly Diner.”
“Now that I’m on board with,” I say. It’s one of the few spots that has hash browns instead of home fries, making it our favorite. “Breakfast for dinner is kind of a Christmas thing for us.” I tell Priya.
“Okay, highs and lows of your first Christmas,” Finn prompts as he leads the way down Bleecker toward the West Village.
“My high was definitely your song, Finn. I’m still not over it. You had the whole bar on their feet.” Finn’s face lights up at her gushing praise. “Seriously,” Priya continues, “I don’t have any real basis for comparison, but this Christmas easily takes my top slot.”
I beam back at her, glad she gets it. “Want to do it again next year?” I ask.
“I would be honored.”
five
Hannah
This year, November 16
Wait for me on the boyfriend couch. Finishing up one thing! 5 mins! Priya texts.
I’m not sure what a boyfriend couch is, but it’s self-explanatory when I get to Glossier’s Lafayette Street office and spot three men scrolling through their phones on a pink tufted sofa in the reception area while their girlfriends shop for makeup in the attached showroom, sampling the brand’s minimalist shades and taking selfies in the perfectly lit mirrors.
Since Priya started her new job in April, it’s all she can talk about. She mentions the brand every other sentence like she has a crush. Glossier is going to be the next unicorn. Glossier gave me stock options. I read on Into the Gloss that Priyanka Chopra uses yogurt to exfoliate her skin. Priya didn’t just drink the Kool-Aid, she did a twenty-second keg stand and is wasted on it.
And it’s nice to see her excited about work after three years of career misery. Before this, she was cobbling together an income from an increasingly bleak slate of freelance writing assignments. Toward the end, all she was getting were SEO articles designed to bait readers into clicking affiliate links. But now she has her dream job as an editor for the brand’s blog.
When she started, I placed a massive online order for products with names like “cloud paint” and “haloscope” despite not knowing how to use them. I was just happy to see Priya so happy and wanted to support her.
After a quick wait, Priya rounds the corner into the reception area shrugging on a furry blue coat that looks like it’s made from a Muppet pelt, her eyes rimmed with matching glittery blue eyeliner. “Ready?” she asks.
* * *
? ? ?
?“Tell me what this class is again?” I ask as we cross Canal Street, making our way toward Tribeca. I’ve seen a lot less of Priya since she started her new job and we moved out of Orchard Street. The last three times we had plans just the two of us, she bailed with an 8:00 p.m. text that she was stuck at the office. I figured she was less likely to flake if the plan was her idea, but now I’m wary about what I’ve gotten myself into.
It turns out, I was right to be scared. Ostensibly, it’s a dance cardio class, but by the end of the fifty-five-minute session I feel like I showed up to an advanced Navy SEALs training in a pair of water wings and a string bikini. My T-shirt is soaked through with sweat, and I tripped over my own feet no less than five times. At the end of class, Priya finds me lying prostrate on the mats we rolled out for cooldown. I’m not sure I can get up, never mind wipe down my mat and walk home.
“So fun, right?” she asks once we’re on the street outside the studio. “Imagine how ripped you’d be if you did that three times a week.” Priya’s blue eyeliner is still intact while I have mascara tracks dripping down my cheeks.
“I will never know because I’m never coming back here. I think this fulfilled my workout quota for the next year at least.” I hope I haven’t accidentally opted into a new tradition. I much prefer the old hits, like Sunday nights eating pad thai and spring rolls from our favorite takeout place while we binge episodes of 30 Rock. But I guess we’ve only managed to do that once in the five months since moving out.
“We could have done something else,” she offers.
“I wanted to spend time with you, and this is what you wanted to do,” I tell her.
“You really are a secret softie.” She nudges my shoulder with her own.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I urge. “It’s not good for my street cred. Now, can we please go get a huge plate of fries, and maybe a yellow Gatorade if we pass a bodega on the way?”
She loops her arm through mine, and I lead her to Terroir, a neighborhood spot David and I love. I rationalize that being a regular gives me the right to show up in workout clothes with my sweaty hair plastered to my head.
Once we’re installed at a table with a cheese plate between us and an order of fries on the way, I broach the subject that’s been nagging at me ever since Finn’s announcement earlier this week. “So, about Christmas—”
“I was wondering if this would come up,” Priya interrupts. “Hannah, I don’t get it. I thought you’d spend Christmas with David’s family this year. Are things not going well?”
“Things are going great with David. But this isn’t about him, this is about the four of us.” I’m frustrated that everyone seems willing to give up on our Christmas tradition so easily.
She arches an eyebrow at me. “You haven’t even talked to David about Christmas yet, have you?”
I gulp half my glass of water in an attempt to dodge her question. She knows me too well.
My time apart from Finn brought me and Priya even closer. Before, I would split my confidences between them, never wanting to be too much of a burden to either. But when my relationship with Finn evaporated overnight, Priya was promoted to my sole sounding board. I’m afraid if I give her the chance, she’ll talk me out of Christmas the same way she talked me down when I nearly broke up with David twice in our first months of dating.
“Don’t you think he sounds a little too good to be real?” I asked Priya after our fourth date. “I mean, first of all, intellectual property lawyer sounds fake, right? That’s exactly what a catfish would say. And he asks so many questions—about my job, about all my favorite things, about my childhood. It’s like he’s trying to figure out my online banking password. Do you think this could be some kind of identity theft scam?”
“Hannah.” She gave me a look like I was the densest person in the world, which maybe I was. “I think he’s actually trying to get to know you. And I hate to break it to you, but you make seventy-five thousand dollars a year and spend half your post-tax income on rent. I don’t think your identity’s worth that much. What if he’s just a good guy?”