I don’t have time to question the two seemingly disparate words that came out of Theo’s mouth because Priya says, “Not for me, I’m going over to Ben’s parents’ apartment for a few hours.”
“What?” This is the first I’m hearing about it.
“I’ll meet up with you guys tonight. I’m only going for lunch.”
“But we always spend Christmas together,” I tell her.
“And we’re still spending Christmas together. I’m here now, and I’ll meet back up later,” she says. At my wounded expression, she adds, “Seriously, this is not a big deal. From everything I’ve gathered about this holiday, lunch is like the least important meal. I’ll be back before you know it.” Finn and Theo’s eyes ping-pong back and forth between us as we negotiate the terms of Priya’s departure.
I bite my tongue to keep from pointing out that she and Ben aren’t even together. They might have been at one point back in college, but now Ben is in his third year of med school at the University of Wisconsin. He keeps her on his bench for when he passes through town.
“Whatever,” I say. If she doesn’t get why this is important, I can’t force her to understand. Finn rests a hand on the middle of my back, which I interpret as his solidarity. Our Christmas isn’t a stopover, it’s the main event.
Priya slips away, still wearing her jacket, while Theo leads us into the dining room.
At each place setting there’s a plate, a mug, a champagne flute, and an individual toaster. In the center of the table are plates heaped with a dozen varieties of Eggos, Pop-Tarts, and Toaster Strudels. I smile at the mental image of Theo in the frozen food aisle at Gristedes, filling his cart with box after box of frozen waffles.
“I’ve never had a Pop-Tart,” Theo announces, “and all the American sitcoms I watched as a child made them look so good, so I figured we may as well remedy that together.” He takes a pink frosted Pop-Tart and deposits it in his personal toaster.
“Dig in!” he urges.
This is my ten-year-old self’s dream come true, but I can’t muster the right level of enthusiasm. Priya leaving dampened the magic.
* * *
? ? ?
?After a lazy afternoon of mimosas and Monopoly （something else American Theo missed in childhood—not because they didn’t have it in the UK, but because his brother was so much older, there was no one to play it with）， we head downtown to the West Village. Finn forces everyone to wear their jackets knowing no one will bat a false eyelash at a gang of thirsty gays with a poor aptitude for spelling where we’re going, a Christmas-themed drag show billed as The Ladies of the North Pole.
When we arrive, we separate. We each know our jobs. Theo heads to the bar to change twenties for singles for tips and Priya, reunited with us after lunch at Ben’s parents’， follows to order a round of dangerously strong vodka sodas in Dixie cups. Finn and I claim a sticky cocktail table by the stage. In here, it feels more like Halloween than Christmas. There’s a crew of shirtless boys wearing butterfly wings and body glitter at the table next to us, and across the room is a graying bear in a red latex catsuit straight out of the “Oops, I Did It Again” music video. A buzz of tipsy chatter complements the soundtrack of pop divas.
Across the table, Finn’s absorbed in his phone. I reach over and give his thigh a squeeze to bring him back to the moment, annoyed he’s not giving our festivities his full attention. He looks up with a guilty expression, and when his phone inadvertently tips toward me, I catch a glimpse of a shirtless selfie of Jeremy. His cycling conditioning routine is working for him.
The show is fantastic. Halfway through, Theo runs out of singles and starts tipping with fives, then tens, then twenties, making our table the center of attention. Afterward, two burly bouncers push aside the tables to make room for a dance floor. Priya and I are breathless and sweaty after an hour of dancing to remixes of early Madonna and late Cher. I’m also more than a little drunk after tequila shots with the butterfly boys and a drag of a cigarette and a Jack and Coke in the back alley with the show’s emcee, a drag queen dressed like a sexy Grinch. This is on top of the steady stream of vodka sodas in kiddie cups Theo keeps passing my way. I’ve lost track of how many drinks I’ve had, which is probably for the best because the number is alarmingly high.
Finn and Theo have each been off on their own since the show ended. Finn is on his phone at the bar, probably texting Jeremy, while Theo hit it off with a drag queen dressed as “All I Want for Christmas Is You” Mariah Carey. Fauxriah Carey is grinding up on Theo, who has the top four buttons of his shirt undone. It’s gaping open like a Romeo + Juliet–era Leonardo DiCaprio.
Theo dances his way over to me and Priya.
“Hey,” he yells to be heard over Donna Summer. He rakes a hand through his sweaty curls and leans in like he’s about to tell us a secret. “Do you want some molly? I bought it off Mariah Scary.” He flashes a miniature plastic bag with four pills in it from the front pocket of his jeans.
“I don’t know,” I say, “I’ve never—”
“Absolutely!” Priya shrieks with glee. She grabs the baggie of pills from Theo. Her excitement washes away my hesitance and I find myself holding my palm out for a pill. If there was ever a time to try molly, tonight is the perfect night. I’m with my friends, I have a week to recover from what is already sure to be an epic hangover, and I’m in a tinsel-covered gay bar full of happy people. Hell, most of them are probably rolling, too. I take a swig of vodka soda to wash down the small yellow tablet stamped with a smiley face.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Theo says and grabs my hand. “I’ll be your trip chaperone. You’re in good hands.”
True to his word, Theo stays glued to my side and keeps checking to make sure I’m okay. The drugs kick in after thirty minutes, but it’s not scary at all. I feel like a melting strawberry Popsicle, warm and happy. Everything’s a bit prettier, too, like someone’s applied an Instagram filter over reality. I know I’m feeling something when one of the butterfly boys dances into my periphery and I reach out to run a finger through the glitter on his hairless chest. He laughs and twirls before dancing off in another direction.
It turns out Theo is a great dancer. How is it possible that in all our years of friendship I’ve never seen him dance? We went dancing at China Chalet our first Christmas with Theo, but I mostly remember him and Finn talking by the bar. Theo’s dancing is surprisingly sexual. There’s a lot of hip gyrating, and I try to mirror his moves.
We make eye contact and both dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Tonight is the best!
Theo reaches for my hand and spins me away from him and then back in. I land with a thud against his chest. He puts his other hand on my shoulder to steady me. Then his hands are reaching up into my hair. Gross, my hair is soaked with sweat. I reach up and run a hand through his hair to see if it’s as sweaty as mine.
He pulls his hand out of my hair and cups my cheek. His other hand, the one on my shoulder, skates down my arm before coming to rest on my hip. I look up at him and smile. I’m having so much fun. I want to tell him. But then we’re kissing.