“Trust me, I’m equally shocked.” Theo locks eyes with me, uncharacteristically serious. “Of all the restaurants in Manhattan, this is where you wanted to bring me?”
“Well, there isn’t a Chili’s in Manhattan, or we would have gone there,” I tell him.
“I’m more of a Taco Bell gal myself.” Priya’s eyes go dreamy at the mention of the fast-food chain.
“I’m sure I’m sorry to have missed both of those,” Theo drawls.
“Make fun of it all you want, but we used to go to Olive Garden or Chili’s every Friday night when I was a kid. You’re never too old for soup, salad, and breadsticks. You took me to shop for things your parents would like, now I’m taking you somewhere that mine would like.”
“Now I feel bad for making fun of it,” he says with a sigh.
A waiter arrives at the table, interrupting our play-bickering. “One Tour of Italy,” he announces as he places my meal in front of me.
“And your Zuppa Toscana, sir. Flag me down when you’re ready for more. Or if you want to try a different kind of soup, that’s fine, too. However you want to make the most of it,” he says, oblivious to the disdainful glare Theo’s giving his bowl of soup.
“And should I bring you a menu?” he asks Priya.
“No, thanks, I’m good. I already ate.” It doesn’t slip by me that Priya doesn’t volunteer any details about where she’s coming from, but I decide not to press the issue. I’m just glad she came.
“But we are definitely going to need to get a photo of this for Finn,” she says. “He won’t believe Theo stepped foot in here without photographic evidence. Smile,” she tells Theo. And reluctantly, he obliges.
As Priya takes the photo, I’m struck with a realization. “This is so weird,” I say aloud.
“I know,” Theo agrees. “I can’t believe they use iceberg lettuce.”
“No, you snob, not that. It’s weird that it’s just the three of us. This is how it’s going to be next year. Us sending photos to Finn because he’s not here.”
“Shit, you’re right,” Theo says. A silence settles over the table as we process the imminent reconfiguration of our friend group. Suddenly, it feels so much more real.
“Speaking of Finn, have you two figured out what we’re doing for Christmas this year?” Priya asks.
Theo and I both shake our heads.
“I don’t have any ideas,” I say. “I’ve been wracking my brain all week, and nothing feels big enough for Finn’s last Christmas.”
“Wait a second,” Theo says, “The Tour of Italy. Is that what that’s called?” He gestures at my plate with his spoon.
“Yeah, so?” I say as I twirl my fork in the supersized helping of fettuccine alfredo, ready to savor the taste of my suburban childhood.
“What if we did a trip for Christmas? We could actually go to Italy, because I regret to inform you that the food there looks nothing like this.”
“I don’t know . . .” Priya plucks one of Theo’s breadsticks out of its basket.
“It would be something different,” Theo prods.
“I feel like whatever we do has to be in New York, right?” I ask. “Isn’t that the point? Finn’s leaving, so we give him one last New York Christmas?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Theo concedes. “What about Bobby Flay? I met him at a charity gala a few years ago, something about hungry children. He does much better Italian than this. Should I ask if he’d cater?”
“Right,” Priya says, “because Bobby Flay wants to spend Christmas making dinner for four randos instead of with his own family?”
“I think he’s divorced. Maybe he trades off holidays with his ex and it’s not his year. Maybe he’s a bit of a Christmas orphan as well?”
“So, you’re saying we’d be doing him a favor?” I ask.
“Is that a no, then?”
“Oh, I’m totally game,” I say. “I just think we might want a backup plan.”
“Well, do you have any better ideas?” Theo asks, his tone a bit huffy.
I have zero ideas. Nothing feels special enough to top our past Christmases. We need a grand finale, something worthy of the decade of Christmases Finn has given me.
Mid-bite of chicken parm, it hits me. “What if we didn’t need a new idea?” I ask.
Theo looks intrigued. “That would be excellent because all of ours are rubbish. In fact, I think they’re getting worse. What do you have in mind?”
“What if we re-created our first Christmas together?”
The proposal hangs in the air between us as we mull it over.
“Bloody brilliant!” Theo bangs his hand on the table for emphasis. Some soup sloshes onto the paper place mat.
thirteen
Hannah
Christmas #9, 2016
“Finn, thank you!” Priya says, holding up a glittery lilac travel mug.
Finn beams at her reaction. “It keeps your tea warm for five hours.” This is a nod to their tradition of “tea time.” I often come home from work to find Priya and Finn curled up on our couch partaking in their sacred tradition of drinking mugs of actual tea while gossiping about an array of D-list celebrities I’ve never heard of, but they share an outsized knowledge of thanks to their mutual obsession with the celebrity gossip podcast Who? Weekly. At some point the gossip transitions to the minor players in their own lives: Finn’s cubemate, Priya’s nephews, Theo’s doormen. I’ve thought of starting to listen to the podcast just so I could participate in these recaps.
Theo’s living room floor is littered with wrapping paper. Cartoon penguins wearing scarves from Priya, classic brown Kraft paper from Theo （but he went all out on bows）， and tiny red station wagons with trees strapped to the top from Finn. In the corner, a ten-foot Christmas tree—this year a silver tree with a disco theme—presides over our gift exchange. Framed photos of each of our last three Christmases have earned a place of pride on Theo’s otherwise austere shelves.
My knee bounces as I wait for my turn. I did so much better.
This year we put a $50 price limit on gifts after Theo got us all iPads last year. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate his gift. In fact, I love mine, especially since I found out the New York Public Library has an app that lets me borrow e-books. But I felt like an idiot when he gave me an iPad and I gave him sweatpants as a joke. I’d never seen him wear anything less formal than jeans and thought he’d be grateful I introduced him to athleisure, but they haven’t made an appearance since. They’re probably buried in a drawer with the tags still on.
Even with the price limit, I’m positive I nailed it. The gift, not the wrapping paper. My wrapping paper blows. It’s a cheesy cartoon Santa motif, the only gift wrap left in stock at Duane Reade at 11:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.
Priya rips the last of the paper off the second part of Finn’s gift and shows off a mint-green tin of Fortnum & Mason tea. “Oooh, the Royal Blend,” she announces before taking the lid off and burying her nose in it. She makes that satisfied humming noise people make in Folgers commercials after they have their first sip of coffee.