The Christmas Orphans Club(56)

Three dots appear, then disappear.

I look back over at Hannah and Theo on the dance floor. And . . .

WHAT THE HELL?

No.

It can’t be.

But it is.

They’re kissing?

They are definitely kissing. And they look into it.

I don’t have a good angle from my barstool, but I’m pretty sure there’s tongue. I count in my head as I watch.

Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . fifteen.

This isn’t a friendly peck. This is an I want to rip your clothes off make-out.

Maybe I’m drunker than I realized. Maybe I’m hallucinating. This can’t be right.

“Excuse me,” I call to the bartender, who’s wiping down a bottle of well vodka at the other end of the bar, and signal for the check. When he returns with my card and receipt, I add a hefty tip and scrawl an illegible signature.

I take a final glance over my shoulder as I head up the stairs to the street. They’re still kissing. Hannah’s hands are in Theo’s hair, his are on her ass.

Upstairs, I push the door open with so much force it bounces off the brick wall of the building and comes flying back at my face. Of course it does.

On my third lap around my block, I realize I left my coat at the bar. That’s okay, my rage will keep me warm. I’m too keyed up to go inside my apartment. I want to scream or punch a wall or send an eviscerating text to Hannah and Theo letting them know what awful people they are. I’m workshopping the wording in my head as I storm up Seventh Avenue and hang a right on Leroy.

By the time I make a right on Bleecker, I’m back to considering screaming to see if it will make me feel any better. My rage feels like a teakettle set to a full boil. I’ve seen far stranger things than a man shouting at the sky on the streets of New York at two in the morning, but then I spot a middle-aged man in a parka up ahead, coaxing his corgi puppy to pee, and decide to scrap the screaming so he doesn’t think I’m crazy or, worse, ask if I’m alright. Then I’d have to explain that my best friend kissed my other best friend who I’m in love with even though I have a boyfriend, and I don’t think I could make anyone understand that.

It sounds like petty bullshit, but it’s not. It’s fucking betrayal.

On my fourth lap around the block, I see Hannah sitting in the doorway to my building as I approach my stoop. She’s in a tank top with her arms wrapped around herself. My first thought is She must be freezing. But then I remember her heart is made of ice so she’s probably plenty comfortable out here.

I consider walking the other way and pretending I didn’t see her, but I’m starting to get cold, and I want to go inside. Maybe I’ll try punching a wall in my apartment and see if that works—straight bros seem to love that move. Maybe I’ll leave the city and move back to Boston and the hole I punch in the wall can be someone else’s problem. My friends are the only thing keeping me here and clearly they don’t give a crap about me.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I announce when I’m a few yards away. She can sit out here all night and freeze for all I care. I note that Theo hasn’t even bothered to show up.

“Well, too bad. I’m not leaving,” she yells back. Her voice is too loud and betrays how drunk she is.

“Suit yourself. I don’t care if you stay out here all night. I’m going inside.”

She stands up and puts herself between me and the front door. You know what, if she wants to make a scene on the street, that’s fine with me. We can have it out and end things. Right here, right now. There’s no coming back from this. There’s no explanation that makes this acceptable.

“I’m sorry.”

The fact that she thinks she can fix this with a simple apology makes blood ring in my ears. “I don’t care.”

“But clearly you do care.”

Ugh, fighting with drunk people is the absolute worst. “I don’t care that you’re sorry,” I clarify. “Let me save you the time because there’s nothing you can say to make this alright.”

She tries again anyway. “I shouldn’t have done it. We were drunk and on molly, but we still shouldn’t have done it.” She pauses, probably waiting for me to forgive her.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have done it,” I say. “There. Are we done? Can I go upstairs, please?”

“No, we’re not done here, Finn. I’m trying to apologize, which, let me say, is ridiculous. You have a boyfriend. One you haven’t stopped talking about all day. Jeremy looooves tea. Did you know Jeremy’s parents have a German shepherd? Have you seen Jeremy’s dumb bubble butt from his dumb bike he never shuts up about?” she says in a whiny voice that’s supposed to be an imitation of me. World’s worst apology. “So, yeah, it shouldn’t matter who Theo kisses. You have no claim on him, plus you know it didn’t mean anything. It was a stupid drunk kiss.”

Mentally I am shouting at full volume off the side of a canyon. Physically I am standing on my stoop trying not to slap my ex–best friend, who would definitely deserve it. “You should have known better! This isn’t some rando, this is Theo. It’s . . . I . . .”

“Oh, you love him? Maybe you should tell him instead of telling me over and over and over. Then maybe you’d be with him instead of with this boyfriend you clearly don’t even like and are only with to prove a point to yourself. Or maybe to Theo? I can’t decide which is more pathetic.”