The Christmas Orphans Club(22)
In August, Finn invited Theo to his twenty-fifth birthday party at Wilfie & Nell. “This is the last olive branch,” Finn told me. “There’s only so much rejection one person can take.”
Theo wrote back he would be in Mallorca and was sad to miss it. But at the party, a waiter brought over a bottle of champagne with sparklers sticking out the top, courtesy of Theo. Finn beamed as the waiter set the bottle down in front of him, relishing the spectacle and impressed that Theo had sprung for Dom.
“Does he get another chance?” I asked as I poured Finn a glass.
“Just one,” he said, unable to hide the lovesick grin on his face.
The next time we heard from Theo, he was the one who reached out. On November 1, he texted Finn: What’s the plan for Christmas this year? Happy to host! And after our second Christmas together, our group of four was cemented. Theo was just as much a part of our Christmas tradition as any of the rest of us.
“Get in the way?” I echo his words back to him. For a moment, I forget about the tomb-like silence of the gallery, and my protest comes out louder than is necessary or appropriate. The gallery girl pokes her head up from her laptop to see if she’s missing anything worth eavesdropping on.
I adjust my tone to a whisper and grab Theo’s arm, pulling it so he faces me and can see how serious I am. “You could never be in the way. It wouldn’t be Christmas without you. You’re part of the group.”
“Oh? I thought I was a stray?” The left side of his mouth quirks up into a wry smile. He’s teasing me. I’m pretty sure I have him.
“It just so happens those are the sort of people I like best.” I wind my arm through his and let him lead me to the other side of the room to stand in front of another painting by the same artist, this one of four people swimming. While the other two swimmers looked like they were floating along serenely, these people look like they’re having fun, maybe splashing around. I like to think they might be the four of us, even though the “people” are just thick abstract globs of flesh-colored paint.
But after a few minutes of silent consideration, there’s no “yes” forthcoming. I try again, “Why wouldn’t you come?”
He sighs. “Things are finally good between you and Finn. And I know Christmas is so important to you both, I don’t want to upset the peace. I’m worried I don’t know the whole story about what happened.”
From what I’ve heard about what Finn told him, he’s right. But that’s not my place. Instead, I say. “We’re great. Truly. Water under the bridge.” And even though I’ve avoided part of the question, it’s the truth.
“And you’d tell me if you two were not fine, right?”
“There’s seriously nothing to tell.” I shrug, offering my empty palms as proof.
He mulls this for a minute while he studies the painting in front of us. “Well then, I only have one more question,” he says. “Do you want help planning?”
I throw my arms around his neck and squeal into his ear. The noise is too much for the gallery girl, who pops her head around the corner. “Is everything alright in here?” she asks.
“We’ll take this one,” Theo says, pointing to the four swimmers in front of us.
“I’ll start the paperwork,” the woman tells him. She returns to her desk and comes back a few seconds later to affix a red dot sticker to the painting’s information card. It’s a done deal.
six
Finn
This year, November 18
I survey my collection of sweaters, which I’ve taken out of their drawers and stacked in piles on my bed. I’m trying to decide which to bring to LA and which to donate. I can’t picture what my life will look like in LA—I’ve only been twice, once on a family trip as a teenager when we took a bus tour that drove us past what they claimed were celebrity homes, and once for my final round interview at Netflix—but I’m pretty sure LA Finn will wear more T-shirts than turtlenecks, so sweaters feels like as good a place as any to start my pre-move purge.
To avoid making any actual decisions, I’ve organized them by color and arranged the stacks in rainbow order. I’m saved from my indecision by the door buzzer.
“Hello?” I say into the intercom. I’m not expecting anyone, and I’ve been trying to curb my online shopping until after the move. I don’t need any more stuff to box up and bring to LA.
“It’s me,” the voice on the other end announces.
I hold down the button to open the lobby door and smile to myself as I crack the apartment door so Theo can let himself in.
Theo comes bearing iced coffees.
“This is a nice surprise!” I tell him and take a long pull of my coffee. Cold brew with oat milk, my usual. I like that Theo knows my usual, and he feels comfortable showing up unannounced.
“I’d sit down, but it looks like the sweaters beat me to all the good seats.” Theo gestures to the chaos around us. “Are you going on a ski holiday?”
“I wish. I’m trying to get a head start on packing.”
Theo sits down in the spot I clear for him at the foot of the bed.
“I called to get a quote from a moving company yesterday. Did you know it takes two weeks to get your stuff when you move cross-country? So, either I pack everything up by December fifteenth or wait around for two weeks in LA in an empty apartment.”