At least she’s not calling to yell at me. I hadn’t ruled it out that after more time to process she’d come back angry I hadn’t told her I was applying to jobs outside New York. Before she left her job at Z100, we had months of late-night confabs, curled up on the couch at Orchard Street with glasses of red wine and bowls of popcorn doing our best Olivia Pope–level fixing. The problem: Hannah’s dead-end career at the radio station—all her colleagues were lifers and there was no room for promotion. We had a legal pad full of pro and con lists before she finally decided to leave.
I thought about telling her when I applied to this job, but figured it was a long shot. My resume isn’t exactly sterling. And I worried if we talked about it, I might lose my nerve to hit the submit button in the first place.
“Christmas is on!” Hannah’s voice is full of pride. I was nervous she wouldn’t be able to rally everyone after the last two years—both at least partially my fault—but I’m glad she did. This will be the perfect end cap on my time in New York. One last Christmas.
Once he realizes there’s no scandal about to go down, Theo pulls out his own phone and starts scrolling through Instagram.
“That’s great, Han! It means a lot to me that you got everyone to agree. I’m really excited. One last time for the record books!”
“That’s what I told Theo. Speaking of Theo, did you hear that he and Elliot broke up?”
“Mhmm,” I tell her, careful about what I say since Theo is six inches away.
The worst part about Elliot was that we look alike. He’s tall and half Black and looks like the version of me if I got a movie makeover montage. Shinier, more handsome, better dressed. But the similarity of our features rankles me. Then, of course, there’s the major difference: Elliot is successful. He actually achieved his dream of playing with a professional orchestra. Maybe that’s why Theo was attracted to him. His type is always accomplished. Meanwhile, I’m coated in a fine dust of failure. I’ve spent the past three years languishing in educational cartoon purgatory after four years of blundering my way through every audition I ever had. I get it, not a turn-on.
“I was thinking now that he’s single, you should tell Theo,” Hannah says.
“Tell Theo what?” Theo perks up at the sound of his name.
“You know . . .” I’m positive this isn’t a conversation I want to have with Theo in earshot. I hold up a finger to signal I need a minute and point to the window opposite where we’re sitting.
“Gimme a sec,” I tell Hannah as I wedge the phone between my chin and shoulder so I can shrug on my coat.
“Oh, shit, is he there?”
“Mhmm.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
I push through the side door onto Spring Street. “It’s fine. I’m outside now. What were you saying?” I pace to stay warm, dodging groups of tourists loaded down with shopping bags.
“I saw Theo yesterday and he said Elliot moved out. You’re finally both single at the same time and I thought it might be the right time to tell him how you feel.”
I’ve been down this road before. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t trust your advice on my love life.”
“Raj?” she asks. “I didn’t know about him. This is different!”
“Yeah, it’s different because I’m leaving. So there’s no point. It’s game over.”
“The point is you love him, and you should tell him.”
“If I never tell him, he won’t have to smash my heart into pieces and stop talking to me because I’ve made it too unbearably awkward to be friends. I’m not trying to burn it all down on my way out of town.”
“Counterpoint: if you never tell him, you might spend your whole life wondering what would have happened if you did.”
“I don’t have to tell him. I know what he’d say.”
I gaze through the fogged window at Theo. The bartender is leaning in close with one arm bent on the bar between them, laughing at something Theo said. Theo makes friends wherever he goes. He makes people feel special. That’s his superpower. I know better than to read into it. I think of this morning and the sweaters. He’s not interested. He’s had every opportunity to make a move, and he hasn’t. He only thinks of me as a friend, and I need to accept that.
“Promise me you’ll at least think about it?” Hannah says.
“Fine,” I tell her. “But I have to go.”
After we hang up, I keep pacing with the phone to my ear to give myself a minute before heading back inside. I stare at Theo through the glass and remind myself of what I know to be true: He doesn’t feel that way about you. You’re just friends, I chant over and over in my head.
seven
Hannah
Christmas #7, 2014
The elevator opens directly into Theo’s apartment.
Holy shit.
I thought that only happens in movies. I turn to Priya and see my shocked expression mirrored on her face.
We’ve heard Finn recount his visit to Theo’s ad nauseum over the last year, the apartment getting nicer with every retelling. I assumed he was exaggerating, but realize I owe him an apology.
Priya and I stand glued to our spots outside the elevator gaping at the enormous Christmas tree taking up most of the foyer. It looks like it was plucked from a department store window. The tree is wrapped in rainbow lights and dotted with quirky candy-colored ornaments. A stick of butter, a hot-air balloon, a glittery pink roller skate. Clumps of silver tinsel, the kind my mother objected to on account of the mess, are heaped on its branches.
Finn comes skidding around the tree, eyes wild, and almost knocks off a hot dog ornament with his elbow. He grabs my arm. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”
“Okay, then tell us,” I say.
“It would have been so much better if you guessed. But get this—Clementine Del is here!” He bounces on his toes waiting for our reaction.
“The singer?” Priya asks, confused.
“Yes, the singer! Here! In the living room! She’s even prettier in person. Theo knows her!” he gushes. Only a genuine celebrity could eclipse Finn’s excitement over seeing Theo again. Good thing we skipped the guessing, or we would have stood in the foyer all night. Her music is a little too bubblegum for my taste—in her most memorable music video she’s unironically dressed in a pink tulle gown in a life-sized replica of a Barbie Dream House—but I’m still impressed she’s here.
He leads us down the hallway and into the living room where, true to Finn’s word, Theo and Clementine Del are sipping cocktails on a cobalt velvet couch while Nat King Cole croons from a record player in the corner. Clementine, dressed in black-and-white polka-dot palazzo pants and a cropped yellow sweater, looks at ease here. Her sky-high gold platform heels are cast aside beneath the coffee table, and her white-blond hair is twisted into a messy knot held in place by a pen. When we walk in, a throaty bark of laughter explodes from her like Theo just told a particularly bawdy joke. She grabs his arm as she cackles.
Theo pops off the couch when he notices us, somehow every bit as excited to talk to us as he is an actual pop star. “You’re here!” He gives us both a double cheek kiss while Finn settles back into an armchair opposite the couch.