“I don’t need help getting a date, you douchewaffle,” I grumble as I shoot off a text.
Me: Can u at least come be a brat at my place?
Sunshine: OMG! It’s like you’re obsessed with me or something.
Me: Accurate. Please? I leave tomorrow n won’t be back til after xmas.
Sunshine: I can’t, ok?? I’m on my period.
Me: Ok, and??
“Did you just call me a douchewaffle? What the fuck even is that?”
I honestly don’t know. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jennie. Her insults are colorful, to say the least, and she’s rubbing off on me. A few days away from her over Christmas will probably do me well.
But it’s not Christmas just yet, so I shoot off another text with ten question marks.
Sunshine: I’M. ON. MY. PERIOD.
I lean between the front seats. “Hey, why would a girl not wanna hang out when she’s on her period? Are they really that grumpy?”
“What’s the nature of the relationship?” Jaxon asks.
My nose scrunches. “Huh?”
“Physical or emotional?”
“Uh, physical.” Right? Maybe emotional too? Ugh, I don’t know. I like eating her pussy, tickling her back while we watch TV, and it’s cool when she tells me things no one else knows. “I don’t know,” I admit on a groan, sinking back in my seat.
Adam’s suspicious, scary gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror.
“Physical,” I quickly clarify. “Just a girl I’m…fucking around with.” I frown. That doesn’t sound right. Jennie means more to me than that.
“There’s your reason,” Jaxon replies. “If she’s on her period, not a whole lot of fucking around you can do.”
“Oh.” I drum my fingers on my knees, then lean between them again, hands on their shoulders. “Does that mean she doesn’t wanna hang out with me if there’s no sex involved?”
Jaxon smiles slowly. “It means she’s giving you an out, dude. She’s telling you now so you don’t come over hoping to get some. Be grateful.”
I guess, but the longer I mull over the words, the more they don’t sit well with me.
That’s probably why hours later, when the tree is up and dinner is on the way, I make my way down to the twenty-first floor.
“Go away!” Jennie yells through the door when I knock.
I knock again, louder.
“I already told you, Emily! I don’t have any fucking wine! Sorry I’m sober! Unless you’ve got a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for me, leave me here to die!”
Huh. I’ve never been more grateful to have six provinces between me and my little sisters.
I try the handle, pleased when the door swings open. The second I step inside, though, I’m considering turning right the fuck back around.
Jennie’s sobs are fierce, hair piled in a mess on top of her head, where it hangs off the edge of the couch. Tissues litter the ground, and an open tube of cookie dough sits on her coffee table.
She throws a popcorn kernel at the TV. “I hate you, you evil…snail! You should’ve never taken him in if you couldn’t take care of him.” She flings her arm out, gesturing at the cartoon fox on the TV. “Look at his sweet face! How could you do this to him? He’s your family!”
“Jesus fuck. You’re riding the hot mess express, eh?”
Jennie shrieks, rolling off the couch and crashing into the coffee table. She sits up, hair spilling out of her bun. She blows a thick wave off her face, illuminating her tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes. “Garrett! Get out! Why are you in here? Who let you in? What are you doing?”
“Watching you cry, apparently. Again.”
She gestures violently at the TV. “The old lady’s leaving him in the forest all by himself! It’s dark and raining, and he doesn’t understand! She’s supposed to love him! You don’t leave someone you love!” She swats at the tears streaming down her face, and I pull her to her feet, wrapping her up, rubbing her back as we sway.
“Shhh. It’s okay. I know.”
“She’s so mean,” Jennie cries softly, wiping her face on my shoulder. She hiccups and pulls back, scrubbing her eyes with her fists. “Tod doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, he doesn’t, you’re right.” I kiss her forehead and pat her ass. “Go put pants on. You can’t ride the elevator in your underwear, and you’re not spending all night in here crying over Disney movies.”
Jennie’s nose is pink, lips swollen, but when the words finally settle, she still manages to look like she could rip my balls off. “I’m on my period.”
“Yeah, you said that. So what?”
“So you don’t wanna hang out with me on my period! I’m hungry and growly like a bear, emotional like a toddler who missed nap time, and you’re not getting any!”
“I hate to break it to you, sunshine, but you’re always hungry, growly, and emotional. But, hey.” I take her damp face in my hands. “You’re my hungry, growly, emotional bear.” I kiss her lips. “Come on. I need help with something. And I promise to feed you.”
She disappears slowly and backward, eyes skeptical as she watches me, and I survey her mess. Beyond the tissues and cookie dough, a framed picture lays facedown on the coffee table. I turn it over, smiling at the blue-eyed brunette grinning from ear to ear from her dad’s shoulders, clutching a pink bunny—Princess Bubblegum. A silver locket hangs from her neck, barely visible in the photo, and my heart aches for my friend.
When Jennie reappears, she’s draped in my hoodie and sweatpants, and I’m content in knowing I’m never getting them back.
I follow her out the door and into the elevator, and she sighs.
“I really hope you have ice cream, Garrett.”
“First thing I put in my cart for you.” I lead her into my apartment. “I’ll make you a sundae, but first you have to help me—” I point at the tree, the boxes of decorations on the floor, “—with that.”
Jennie squeals, clasping her hands. “We’re decorating?” She dashes to the tree, fingers fluttering over the pine needles, eyes glittering with wonder. “We haven’t decorated since my dad died. It makes my mom too sad. I thought it made me sad, too, but now…now I think it’s just one more thing we’re missing.” She graces me with a grateful, breathtaking smile before hugging me tightly. “Thank you for including me.” Her eyes light up. “Do you have hot chocolate? We need hot chocolate if we’re gonna decorate. And Christmas music. Can I put the star up top? My dad always put me on his shoulders. It was my favorite part.” She squeezes me once more, then rips open a box of decorations.
“Do you want marshmallows in your hot chocolate?” I ask as she tears around my living room. At this rate, she’ll be done before I’ve even heated the milk.
“Yes, please! Just bring the whole bag!”
It’s an odd request, but I do as I’m told, all while Jennie hooks her phone up to my speakers and starts pumping old Christmas tunes.
She’s maybe the cutest thing ever as she sings to herself, hips swaying back and forth as she works. She asks for the story behind every handmade childhood ornament and takes a hot chocolate break every two minutes. It’s essentially her spooning the marshmallows from her mug into her mouth, then dumping another handful on top.