At the Stroke of Midnight: A Best Friends to Lovers New Year’s Eve Romance

by Ember Flint

  I take off my white coat and drape it on the back of the swiveling chair, then I pick up Sally’s latest offering —a brightly colored, crayon rendition of a pink, wobbly princess on a pink unicorn and I try to find a spot for it on the big corkboard taking up a good portion of the wall off the side of my desk, all covered in children artwork.

  I finally pin it between a green dragon spewing orange flames over goblins to save Santa under a starry night sky and a Rudolph smiling from under his red nose, sitting amongst the snow at the base of a slightly crooked Empire State Building.

  I pick up my red wool beanie —I do love the holidays and I like to cling to their festive colors to the last minute of the last hour of the last day of December, most people think it’s cheesy, but since I’m definitely not most people I don’t care about what they think— and shove it on my head, throwing my long blonde hair over one shoulder, then I put on my matching overcoat, buttoning it all the way to my throat.

  I might be only going to stand outdoor for a couple of minutes, but it’s freezing cold outside and the city has been waking up covered in a thick layer of fresh snow every day for weeks now.

  I put my oversized bag over my shoulder and slip my fuzzy mittens inside it, then I think better of it and pull them out again. Seth always teases me that my hands are a furnace no matter the weather, but they still feel cold to me and I’ll probably end up with frostbites outside even by standing in the snow for a minute, no matter how much of a thick-skinned, born and raised New Yorker I am.

  As I finish pulling the second wool red mitten with white snowflakes embroidered on it over my left hand, my cell goes off with a Christmassy tune —yes I am that annoying— and my eyes almost pop out as I read the caller ID. Gillian Suxon, Her Royal Bitchness.

  Why is she calling me?

  Scratch that. How does she have this number?

  Saying this is an unforeseen occurrence and an unpleasant one at that would be putting it mildly.

  Gillian is Seth’s catty, Grinch-before-his-heart-grew ex-girlfriend. She made his life miserable while they were together and let’s not forget the small detail that she hates my guts so bad she has to take Maalox just to look at me —a reciprocal feeling, by the way.

  I stare at her name a little longer —there’s no picture of her on the screen, I’m not that crazy— and then I take the call.

  “Evelyn speaking, what do you want, Gillian?”

  Okay maybe I’m being a little short or even rude, but I don’t care: I’ve had a long day and I don’t need her crap right now.

  “Evelyn, dahling, how are you?”

  I roll my eyes. I hate her stupid, fake, condescending ‘dahlings’.

  She is so phony she probably has a Mattel brand stamped on her bony ass. I mean, you hate me for fuck’s sake, can’t you at least own up to it?

  “Just peachy, Gillian, how did you get this number?”

  She scoffs. “Why you gave it to me!”

  Not likely.

  I huff, closing and locking the door of my office behind me. “Yeah, I don’t think so… anyway, how can we make this as short as possible?”

  She titters —elegantly, or at least she believes that’s what she sounds like— what has to be the fakest laugh from here to the North Pole.

  “So sardonic all the time, Evelyn. I could just eat you up, but then I’ll have to starve myself for a year after that.”

  I shake my head. Did I say I was being too short with her?! Fuck that.

  “Weight-related barb one-thousand-thirty-three, Gillian: you should totally write them down and pitch them to a comedian from Saturday Night Live or better yet to a clown the next time the circus comes to town so that you could then ask them if they would mind too much taking you with them.”

  I hear just silence on the line as her mushy brain tries to catch up with what I said and then she titters again. “You’re the funniest of my friends, dahling, really.”

  “I’m surprised,” I mumble, turning off the last light from the hall; even the custodian has left already.

  “That I think you funny?”

  “No, that you think we’re friends. One more time, Gillian: did you call for something in particular?”

  “Duh, I need to ask you something important,” her voice trails off as if she wants to keep me in suspense or something.

  “Something important?”

  I doubt that she could ask me something important if she had a month to think her question over.

  “Vital, dahling, vital… what color and style are you going to wear tomorrow?”

  My hand stops on the push-pull bar placed over the big glass exit doors.

  Well, I can’t say I’m that surprised at her shallowness.

  Still, why would she care what color I— no way.

  No fucking way.

  It can’t be what I’m thinking.

  Seth is going to flip!

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, completely unable to hide the mixture of trepidation and disbelief from my voice.

  She sighs. Apparently I’m exasperating her. Here’s my good action of the day.

  “For the big New Year Eve’s bash at the Trentons.”

  The Trentons, aka Seth’s parents.

  “You’re coming?”

  “Of course. I could never miss it: it is the event of the year in New York. Besides, it was Karen’s particular wish to have me there tomorrow.”

  Meaning my dad and Seth’s father have business with her father and that’s probably how she squirmed her way back in.

  That’s great. That’s just great.

  Seth ended his relationship with this snooty bitch a little over four months ago and the day should be declared a public holiday. Not only she was yapping about Seth being dour, boring, and whatnot to all the people in our circle of friends, she was also freaking cheating on him. As soon as he found out about her being a total sleazy slut, Seth send her packing.

  However, being the gentleman that he is, he kept the reasons of the breakup a secret even from his parents. Out of kindness for her family and in particular out of respect for her father: he merely let it be known that they had mutually broke up because they wanted different things.

  I knew that this was going to come back to bite him on his ass —and I told him as much— and here we are now.

  After flirting her way through another gazillion of boyfriends, Gillian has probably come to the realization that she can bear Seth’s stern ways if the prize in the end is setting her cap at him and becoming the future First Lady of ST Worldwide, Seth’s family’s Fortune 500 multinational company.

  After all Seth, is an only son and at thirty he’s already CFO and VP of Special Projects, a rising star bright enough to make her shine, so here she is again.

  She probably tested the waters with Karen, realized that the poor woman has no idea of her many misdeeds and used her ignorance to gain her support in her ‘Let’s get Seth back’ campaign and the logical first step is of course attending the annual party that the Trentons give for New York’s crème de la crème every year on December 31.

  What better way to corner my unlucky friend than to recruit his mom against him as an unwitting ally and to be at his house for an entire day and night?!

  The closest friends and business acquaintances of our families not only hang around well after the end of the event —some of them even stay the night and not leave until after brunch on the first if they are from out of town—, they unfailingly arrive early in the afternoon or even the day before in some cases to talk business with Simon and my dad and I’m sure her father will be amongst them this year and of course he will bring his snobby wife and unsupportable children along. So not only I’ll have the pleasure of her company, but it would be nearly impossible for me to shake off her brother Ross.

  Perfect.

  “Well?”

  Gillian’s imperious voice jolts me out from my unappealing reverie.

  “W
hat?” I almost bark out.

  Seth doesn’t need this stress: he has been working so hard lately on this huge special project for ST Worldwide and he’s been under a lot of pressure.

  “What are you going to wear, Evelyn?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea. I’ll pick something from my closet tomorrow.”

  She gasps. “You mean you’d choose something you wore already? What would Karen say?” her voice is dripping with disgust.

  “God, you’re such a snob, Gillian!”

  I don’t think Seth’s mom is going to have to say anything about it: she’ll probably just wear something from her wardrobe as well. Because of the prominence of our families in New York, we go to a lot of functions, fundraisers, ceremonies and parties and as much as we don’t like it, we have to look the part and this means buying haute couture and wearing it more often than we would feel comfortable about; it would be unthinkable —not to mention unethical— to wear a gown that expensive just once and then throw it away.

  She groans. “Why do you have to be so difficult? Can’t you at least tell me the shade?”

  I close my eyes, trying to stop myself from telling her to get lost. Our fathers are business partners sometimes and I don’t want to make things awkward for them.

  Mr. Suxon is actually a nice guy, nothing like his daughter —or his slimy son, for that matter.

  “One more time, Gillian. Slowly so that you can follow my meaning: I cannot tell you which color I’m going to wear, ‘cause I don’t know it yet.”

  “Can I give you a friendly advice?” she asks.

  “Not really,” I deadpan.

  “No matter your inexplicable desire to be on the sidelines of high society, people will take notice of you because of your father’s position. You cannot embarrass him in such a way with your careless attitude and your shabby outfits. And being so… hmm… round and unfashionably tall as you are, when dressing for an event you should always pick out the style, color, not to mention make of your outfit carefully and plan as much in advance as possible so that you can get proper shaping underthings too, you know… to… contain as much as possible: to display so blatantly a bosom as big as yours as you seem to constantly do, is unseemly.”

  Round, sure.

  Unfashionably tall too, uh?

  And not even my boobs are alright now?

  “Well, thank you for your thoughtful advice, Gillian. As I told you, I have no idea of what I’m going to wear, but I think I could still help you with your choice. Do stay away from wearing those nighties you pass for dresses, you would not want to cheapen Karen’s soiree with your… uh… modern sense of style and also steer clear of ivory, cream and off-whites otherwise being the stick insect that you are, you’ll blend in with the walls of their penthouse and also do try not to stand in profile for too long: you could get even more invisible than you usually are, no matter how much you try to belong, and someone might stumble on you and chip a tooth over your sharp bones.”

  Childish to stoop to her level?!

  Maybe.

  But I’m not perfect, what can I say…

  The line stays silent for so long I think she finally tired of bothering me, but then her bitchy voice comes back on.

  “Aren’t you hilarious. But let’s go back to the matter at hand, dahling: can’t you go check that wardrobe of yours and tell me what you’re going to pick, since you care so little about it?”

  I sigh. “No can do. I’m not home.”

  Nor am I going to be.

  It’s a Trenton/Bridgeford tradition that my father and I spend the week between Christmas and the first of the year with Seth and his parents and in the last ten years since Karen started to throw her New Year’s Eve party we have been their guests so that I can help her with all the arrangements.

  “Oh. So at least you do one thing right.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re at a spa, being prettified for the event.”

  “Once more I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You should always go at least one day before, considering your general conditions.”

  My general conditions?

  What am I, a car for sale?

  “One should always be in expert hands for as long as necessary to be at least presentable,” she states it like it’s a fact and I’m even more confused.

  “And are you?” I bite out.

  “What?” she asks offhandedly.

  “Going to be presentable tomorrow night?”

  “But of course…”

  “Does this mean you’ve been going at spas for the last month, then?”

  She splutters incomprehensibly.

  Okay, I need to end this now.

  “Anyway, I’m nowhere near home. I’m in the Bronx, at one of the free clinics we support, so there’s no way I—”

  She interrupts me almost screeching. “At the free clinic? Volunteering, I presume,” she spits the words out like a filthy accusation and I cringe in embarrassment for her.

  Is she for real?

  “Yeah, volunteering it’s a thing, Gillian.”

  “Don’t you already give money to the poor or whatever it is that you do at your father’s foundation, you have to even give up your own free time to help a bunch of losers? I will never understand you, I swear.”

  “That’s just fine by me, I wouldn’t want you to understand me. Ever,” I say and end the call.

  Now I really have to get Seth to bring a date to his parents’ party: avoidance of total nervous breakdown for both of us might depend on it.

  I don’t want her to mess with him.

  Our fathers have been best buddies since they were children and business partners since they graduated from college and Seth and I have followed in their steps and have been best friends practically since we were toddlers with him being only two years older than me and both of us being only children. I’ve known him all my life and we’ve always had each other’s back and I’m not going to let the Marchioness of Slutland hurt him again.

  I take a breath and push the door open. As I go to put my phone away, I see I have a text from my dad and I smile.

  Dad: “Are you still at BWB, princess?”

  Me: “No, Dad. Left the building after lunch. I’m @ the free clinic down in Bronx. Seth is about 2 pick me up.”

  Dad: “Good, I don’t want you to wander around alone, it’s getting dark.”

  Me: “Don’t worry, Daddy. I can already see his car :)”

  Dad. “Good.”

  Me: “R U still at the office?”

  Dad: “Yes, just finished last minute board meeting.”

  Me: “I’ll see U in a bit @ Simon and Karen’s. Don’t work too late, Dad! Love U.”

  Dad: “I won’t, princess. See you there. Love you.”

  I put my phone away and skip the last step of the small staircase at the entrance of the clinic, waving at Seth and Jackson, his driver, as the town car approaches the curb.

  It’s so cold, I can see my breath coming out in foggy puffs in front of me; my boots are nearly disappearing in the glinting white blanket covering the street and snow is falling heavily around me in huge, feathery flakes and no matter how pretty it looks, I’m glad I won’t have to wait in it.

  Chapter 3

  EVELYN

  As I walk to the car, I see Seth practically jumping out of it and coming over to open the door for me and I laugh a little at his antics.

  We don’t stand so much on formality, of course, but there’s no way we can get Jackson not to adhere to what for him is basic etiquette and with his arthritis always making its presence known this time of the year, Seth wouldn’t wish for him to be in the cold needlessly hence his forced chivalry.

  “Hi, Eve.”

  “Hey,” I say, grinning a little up at him.

  Unfashionably tall I may be, but I’m st
ill short when I’m standing in front of him: with his six feet four and muscular frame, the man is a giant.

  Seth gives me what most women would consider a heart-stopping smile and brushes some of the snow off my hat as I slide in the backseat.

  “Hello, Jackson.”

  “Hello, Miss Bridgeford. Homeward, Mr. Trenton?”

  Seth takes a seat next to me. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Very well, sir,” Jackson says, rising the partition back up and starting the car again.

  Of course there’s no way we can get him to use our first names: I remember him calling us this way since I was about three.

  I slip my bag off my shoulder and take off my beanie and mittens, then I carefully put my book away.

  Seth smirks down at me, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you’re already reading it again, you had your nose buried in its pages less than two weeks ago!”

  I shrug. “At least I don’t spend all my time pouring my heart and soul over dreary financial reports every moment of every day like someone I could mention.”

  Seth flicks my nose, grinning and then pulls gently at the ends of my hair. “Any man that falls for you is going to end up crazy jealous of that Mr Knightley of yours.”

  I smile sweetly up at him then show him my most talkative finger. “Let Mr Knightley be, Seth. I just got off the craziest call of my life and Oh. My. God. Guess who finagled herself an invitation to your parents’ party?” I blurt out.

  My best friend sighs and I see a shadow coming over his icy blue eyes. “Gillian.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You know? When did you find out?”

  Seth grasps at his slightly unkempt, wavy, black hair and his shoulders slump. “A couple of hours ago. I’ve had the happy news straight from my mom. She totally thinks I’m getting back with her, Eve. Don’t know what the fuck that bitch told her exactly. I couldn’t ask as I was in the middle of a meeting when she called to tell me.”

  I shake my head, huffing a little. “I told you: you should have blacklisted her, Seth. Why didn’t you tell your mom the truth about her is beyond me!”

  I can see Seth’s sharp jaw setting. “It’s private stuff, Evelyn. Plus, it’s embarrassing.”