The Christmas Orphans Club(57)
“Well, you’d know about pathetic,” I yell. “You’re so obsessed with Christmas. You moped around all afternoon when Priya left for two whole hours, you hate it whenever any of us have lives outside this group that don’t involve you, and you’ve always been jealous of Theo.”
“Oh, I’m jealous? Do tell!” She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one side.
“You’ve been jealous of Theo since the first day I brought him around. You’re threatened by him, terrified that I’ll get closer to him than I am to you. So now you went and kissed him. To what? Steal him from me? Make me jealous? Just because you’re content living this sexless loner lifestyle doesn’t mean the rest of us are. You know I’m not your boyfriend, right?! You know what, Hannah, this was too far. You should have known better.”
“Oh? Just like Theo should have known you’re in love with him even though you’ve never told him? And you probably never will? That’s not how it works, Finn. We’re not freaking mind readers. You’re never going to be with Theo because you’re a coward. And I’m sorry you went out and got yourself a new boyfriend you don’t love, but that’s your shit to deal with.”
For a minute we stare at each other, both of us out of breath from screaming, waiting to see if the other one cracks.
I’m prepared to wait all night, but Hannah caves first. Her tone is softened. “I think we should talk about this in the morning, once we’ve both sobered up and cooled off.”
“I’ve said everything I need to say.”
“Well, I haven’t,” she says and stomps her foot like a petulant toddler.
“Can I go inside now?”
“Fine.” She moves aside to unblock the door. “I’ll text you in the morning. Late breakfast at Waverly Diner? This is nothing hash browns can’t solve. I’m, uh, going to go back to the bar and get my jacket. I can get yours, too. I’ll bring it for you in the morning.”
I scoff. Like I give two shits about the dumb, bedazzled jackets she made us. “Frankly, Hannah, I don’t want to be part of any club that would have you as a member.”
I open the door and pull it closed behind me so she can’t follow me in.
That’s the last time we speak for a year.
fifteen
Finn
This year, December 14
My cab pulls up to Theo’s building and I swipe my credit card while the driver wrangles my bags from the trunk. Two hard-shell suitcases, a shopping bag of gifts, and my beat-up old backpack are all that’s left of my life in New York. Everything else I own is on a moving truck heading for LA.
Until the truck’s slatted rolling door slammed shut, the move didn’t feel real.
It didn’t feel real when I signed my job offer or when I told my friends. It certainly didn’t feel real when I flew to LA two weeks ago to find an apartment. That felt like playing the Game of Life, picking a place to live for a fictional version of myself. My little blue peg is moving up in the world!
But it is real. An hour ago, I closed the door to my newly empty apartment and left the keys under the super’s doormat. It’s weird to think I’ll never see the inside of the place I called home for the past three years ever again. I snapped a few pictures on my way out as a keepsake, but they already look like nothing. The kind of photos you take when the camera app opens by accident.
“Are you excited?” my sister asked when she called last night, and I didn’t know how to answer.
On the one hand, my new apartment—a two-bedroom in a West Hollywood high-rise—is way nicer than my old studio. The real estate agent regaled me with lists of amenities: new chrome appliances, central air, and a walk-in closet, but what impressed me most were the clean, freshly painted walls that weren’t pockmarked with dozens of tiny holes, hastily spackled over by scores of former tenants. This apartment was shiny and new. It even smelled like a fresh start, although that was probably the linen-scented candle the real estate agent was burning on the kitchen island.
The problem is, I can’t picture what my life in LA will look like. I can picture myself driving to work, sitting in traffic listening to one of Hannah’s podcasts. I can picture my office, mostly because it was shown to me when I stopped by for a tour. But I can’t picture my life outside of work.
Whenever I try, I can only conjure scenes from TV shows, and I’m pretty sure my life won’t look like New Girl—unfortunately, I’m not moving into a loft with three built-in best friends—or The Hills with their rowdy pre-games. The clubs they went to don’t exist anymore, and I don’t think I’d get in if they did.
The biggest blank is who I’ll hang out with. Sean Grady, my college boyfriend, lives in LA, but according to a quick Instagram stalk, he’s married with two pugs he gushes about in lengthy monthly birthday posts about their evolving likes and dislikes as if they’re actual children. A girl I went to high school with is trying to make it as an actress in LA. I know because she posts braggy status updates on Facebook about how lucky she is every time she books a commercial for IBS medication or car insurance.
This is the part of moving that scares the shit out of me: I have to make new friends. What if I’m too old to make new friends? Will I even have time? And I already know if I do manage to make new friends, they’ll never be as close as the ones I already have.