Our Year in Love and Parties

by Karen Hattrup

Tucker pointed at the line.

  “Bobby, I’m sorry, but we have to do this. For our moms. Because not long from now, we’ll be off at college, ignoring all of their calls except when we need money.”

  Bobby sighed very loudly and put down his plate.

  “Don’t worry,” Bobby told Santa. “We’re just going to stand next to you.”

  “No, no,” Tucker said. “It will be much funnier if we sit on his knees.”

  Santa rubbed his temples and sighed loudly, wearily.

  “Look, I get paid either way. Do whatever you want.”

  “Fake Dumbledore was much nicer than Fake Santa,” Tucker whispered to Bobby.

  “I’m concerned about the way you’re using the word fake,” Bobby whispered back. “You do know there’s no real version of either of those people, right?”

  Tucker pretended to look hurt, and then as soon as they sat, he started laughing and couldn’t stop. That made Bobby laugh, too, even though he kept acting like he was pissed, yelling at Tucker to shut up and get this over with. As soon as they were done, they gave their email addresses to an elf, who promised they’d receive their photos momentarily.

  They both took out their phones and waited. The message pinged through seconds later, and Bobby immediately insisted that the file be destroyed.

  “Too late,” Tucker said. “I sent it to my mom.”

  Bobby rolled his eyes, then looked out at the room, asking what it was like to be Ryan, to live here. Tucker mumbled that he was actually really nice, and that was true, but he felt funny saying it. He was uncomfortably aware that he’d been here half a dozen times since school started in the fall, more times than he’d been over to Bobby’s house. It was just hard to go over there, to see some other car in his old driveway . . .

  Tucker was struck by a sudden thought that he and Bobby might be drifting apart, but no—he was being paranoid, right? They were a little out of sync maybe, because of the move, this stuff with Tucker’s dad, Bobby being busy with Skylar. All of that would pass; none of it could change them. He and Bobby were too good a team, had always balanced each other perfectly. Tucker was outgoing where Bobby was quiet; Tucker’s sense of humor was goofy where Bobby’s was dry.

  Bobby’s phone beeped, and he looked at it, his face growing serious.

  “Who is it?” Tucker asked.

  Bobby frowned down at a text. “It’s Skylar. She’s just . . . checking in.”

  Tucker almost let it go at that, but Bobby seemed upset.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Bobby put away his phone, crossed his arms. “I didn’t want to get into all this before, but we had a long talk tonight, and . . . it’s not working. She broke up with me.”

  “Oh!” Tucker said, genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry. That sucks. I thought . . . the way she was talking outside of History the other day, I can’t imagine her breaking up with you.”

  Bobby crossed his arms and looked away, and Tucker could instantly see that he was pissed off.

  “You were annoyed that day, when she was talking,” Bobby said. “I know you were. You rolled your eyes.”

  Tucker’s stomach dropped. He stuttered for a second, and wanted to bat this conversation away, but that Santa picture had brought up all these feelings in him, about their friendship, how much he cared about Bobby. He felt like he needed to be honest.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. But she kept going on and on about how cute it was that she was your first girlfriend and you were her first boyfriend. It’s not even true! She was totally seeing Tyler Reed at the beginning of the year.”

  For a second, Tucker thought Bobby was going to walk away, but then he took a step toward him instead and spoke more softly.

  “Do you know Tyler?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Me neither, but apparently he’s a creep. She wants to pretend that never happened. And she decided she doesn’t really want to date anybody for a while, which is why we’re not together anymore.”

  Tucker tried and failed to come up with something to say. His skin tingled all over, and he wanted to crawl under the table, to curl up and hide there.

  Skylar can say whatever she wants, one million percent. The world would be a better place if everybody’s first boyfriend was somebody like you.

  Tucker wanted to say all that, but the words got caught in his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled. “I’m really sorry. I . . . I didn’t know.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  As they stood there, Tucker started to remember things from the past couple weeks, times when Bobby had clearly been trying to talk to him about this and Tucker hadn’t picked up on it, or worse, hadn’t wanted to deal with it. He’d been too distracted by his own stress or too annoyed by his friend being wrapped up with a girlfriend when he didn’t have one.

  Tucker couldn’t believe how pathetic he felt.

  “I’ll go look at the Harry Potter stuff with you, but can we go to the video game room first?” Bobby asked. “I really want to see this video game room.”

  Tucker told him where it was, adding that Ryan and Nina and everybody were probably still up there. Then he said Bobby should go ahead without him.

  Tucker needed a few minutes alone, a few minutes to walk around and clear his head.

  17

  Erika

  Erika made her way back to the library, pulled by the sound of the horn section happily blaring, the singer’s voice coming through bright and clear on the chorus of “Sleigh Ride.” When she arrived, though, she could barely squeeze her way in, the room was so packed. She scanned the crowd and finally spotted Marissa, who was hopping up and down and waving to her, looking like she was about to burst.

  The girls inched their way toward each other, and as they did, Erika heard the first notes of her song—“All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

  The band was playing it perfectly, starting quiet with all the promise of a big, grand finish, and Marissa dragged her onto the last square of dance floor available.

  “Can you believe we found each other, right as they are starting this song? This is total magic. Also, you look even sexier than I remember, and definitely not like an elf. And one more thing, Marco gave me my Christmas present. He gave me a ring.”

  The song was still in its slow build, as Erika did her best to absorb everything that Marissa had told her.

  “Well, that’s nice,” she finally said. “Though it’s awfully romantic, considering you just got back together. I hope it’s not an engagement ring.”

  Erika laughed, a little too loud, but she was feeling jumpy and off, still thinking about Nina, about those stupid feathers. She didn’t really want to tell Marissa what had happened, but Marissa might find out anyway, so Erika was anxious to get through this silly talk about Marco and get her confession over with.

  Marissa had gone strangely quiet, though.

  “It’s not a real engagement ring. Like, it’s not some big-ass diamond. But it’s, I don’t know. A symbol of something serious. We’re committing to each other. For the long haul.”

  Silence descended while Erika’s brain caught up.

  “I don’t understand. Are you engaged right now?”

  “In a way. Yeah.”

  Was she supposed to say congratulations? She should definitely say congratulations. Or say how sweet it was or something. Her stomach was jittery, though. She had questions, so many questions, and she was pretty sure they were all going to sound judgmental.

  “What about this fall? Spain?” Erika finally asked.

  “I’m still going to Spain.”

  There was defensiveness in Marissa’s voice, and it brought out the edge in Erika’s own.

  “Is that why he’s doing this? So you don’t hook up with people over there?”

  She was trying to not talk too loud, and it made it seem like she was hissing at her friend, which was ridiculous. But everything about this was ridiculous, w
as it not? Her pulse was racing, and Marissa was taking way too long to answer again.

  “He’s doing this because he loves me. Sorry if that seems pathetic to you, but I’m actually pretty happy about it.”

  We’re twenty, Erika wanted to scream, twenty! What could she be thinking? And how were she and Marissa supposed to get a crappy apartment in DC together after college like they’d always planned, if Marissa was on the verge of getting married?

  You need to calm down. You’re being overly emotional, because this night has been so weird. Chill, chill, chill.

  “What is up with you, by the way?” Marissa asked. “You look totally freaked out right now.”

  Erika started chewing on her thumbnail.

  “This is kind of hard to explain, but Nina told me that she likes Tucker, and she was worried that I liked him, too. So I told her that I definitely didn’t, and that I’d try to help get the two of them together. Only then she walked in on us in Ryan’s guest room.”

  Marissa stared at her, blinking slowly. “You were making out with him?”

  “No! We were playing video games. And I guess having a pillow fight. But it’s not what it sounds like.”

  “So you told Nina you didn’t like him, then you two went up to a bedroom and had a pillow fight?”

  The song was at its peak now, Mariah hitting that pitch-perfect, neverending you, and every second of it was grating to Erika’s ears.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped at Marissa. “Jesus, you’re the one who’s always been so desperate for me to jump his freaking bones.”

  Marissa was running her hands through her hair, and Erika saw the little ring on her finger, gold and glinting. It was probably really pretty. She should have asked to see it, but it was too late for that, much too late.

  Erika’s throat was dry. She had to swallow before she could talk again.

  “This always happens, you know this always happens. Girls hate me!”

  “And that’s girls’ fault?”

  Erika’s cheeks flared. She had no good response. A waiter went by, and she snagged a champagne when he wasn’t looking, chugged it right there.

  “Fine. It’s my fault. I suck, all right? I’m the same old ho I’ve always been.”

  “Don’t do that. What are you even talking about?”

  “You know, don’t pretend you don’t know. You always wanted to live vicariously through my hookups, but you think I’m trash, like everybody else does. Whatever, okay? I’m over it. Go do your thing and be a child bride.”

  Marissa’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  Erika turned and started pushing through the crowd, desperately needing some space, needing to get away. She’d only made it a few feet, though, when she started to crumble. She turned around, ready to apologize and ask for forgiveness . . .

  Marissa was already gone.

  18

  Tucker

  Tucker barely squeezed his way into the library; he couldn’t believe how crowded the place had gotten. He’d been wandering around for twenty minutes now, looking for Erika, not wanting to leave things on a bad note.

  He spotted her standing stiffly by the wall, and he made his way over, reaching her as the band launched into that stupid, sad John Lennon song.

  Great. Just fantastic.

  He said hello, but she didn’t even look his way, staring instead at the dance floor where everyone was wrapping up in pairs. She was scowling and chewing on her lip.

  “Hey, uh . . . I’m sorry if it looked weird before, up in Ryan’s room.”

  Now she looked like she might cry.

  “I feel terrible,” he said. “You have no idea. I should have told everybody that it wasn’t anything . . .”

  “I’m not upset about that. It’s fine. Forget it.”

  Tears were officially running down her cheeks. Tucker panicked.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  Slowly, she turned to look at him. She seemed to be considering if he was the stupidest person in the entire world.

  “I’m not trying to hit on you, I swear. When I’m trying not to cry, the only thing that helps is having something to do.”

  A part of him couldn’t believe he’d said that out loud, but it was true. He’d cried way too much as a kid—when he said something dumb in class or screwed up at T-ball. When his dad was being his dad. Eventually, he’d learned to control it by moving around, distracting himself. In his mind, he called it staying busy, and it also helped to say it again and again in his head, while he was sharpening his pencil or tightening his shoestring or whatever.

  Staying-busy-staying-busy-staying-busy.

  Erika was still giving him a disgusted look, but her tears were gone.

  “See!” he said. “It’s already working. You’re so blown away by what an idiot I am, you forgot to be upset.”

  Erika crossed her arms, and just as he was about to apologize and leave her alone, she turned toward him, her face suddenly blank.

  “Why the hell not, at this point? Let’s dance.”

  Erika elbowed her way through the crowd until she found a small opening on the floor, then stood there waiting. Tucker, operating on a delay, finally tripped his way over and planted himself across from her.

  After a few seconds, she reached up and put her hands very lightly on his shoulders. He did the same to her waist. Her dress was soft, and she felt nice in his arms, but he stopped that train of thought as quickly as he could.

  More people were crowding in around them, and the song was reaching a crescendo now, talking about hope for the year to come, that it would be free from fear . . .

  “This song is the worst,” Erika said. “It’s so depressing. I was trying to explain this to Marissa, on the way over here. Christmas songs are supposed to be happy. A three-minute sham that helps you forget how much the world sucks. Give me pure, fake joy or give me nothing.”

  Tucker started nodding in agreement. “Yeah, this song’s awful. Who wants war in their Christmas song? Even if it is over.”

  Was she laughing or was she back to crying? He wasn’t sure.

  “I drove tonight, and I feel like I drank too much champagne,” she said. “I’m going to have to abandon my car. My mom is going to be so pissed.”

  Tucker kept swaying to the music while his mind worked. He couldn’t undo his mistakes from tonight, but maybe he could do something nice for her now. As the last notes of the song were bleeding out, he decided to take a chance.

  “I didn’t drink at all. I can drive your car home.”

  He was about to add more, to explain that he was happy to help, that he could drop off Marissa and Marco, too, and then call an Uber for himself . . .

  “Okay,” she said. “If you don’t mind. Do you want to go now?”

  19

  Erika

  She texted Marissa and apologized for leaving, promising to pay for her Uber. Then, afraid to see how Marissa might respond, she busied herself controlling the music, pumping out dreamy-sounding women who seemed to be moving the car with their breath and their words, pushing them past strip malls, drug stores, the hospital that never slept.

  She’d made this decision in a moment of recklessness, and she’d been hoping to chase that feeling, only now here he was in her car, being very particular and careful about everything—the lights and the wipers and the side-view mirrors. It was sweet, and that was taking her from all the anger and embarrassment that had sent her down this road in the first place.

  She gave him directions, and they merged onto the highway. Now they had a five-mile stretch of straight driving, and she needed to start talking.

  “Where are you going to school next year? I just realized I have no idea.”

  He hesitated before he answered.

  “University of Michigan, I think. I mean, I hope. It’s where my mom went—we’ve got family out there. I always liked the idea of going somewhere big and far away that still kind of seemed like home.”

  “That sound
s nice.”

  The car grew quiet again, and she could sense Tucker fumbling for something else to talk about.

  “So, uh, what are your Christmas plans?” he finally asked.

  “Nothing much. Going to see my mom’s family in Virginia.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Erika noticed a hole starting in her tights. She covered it with her finger so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

  “They’ve been divorced since I was ten, but lately I see him less and less. He’s in sales and he travels a lot.”

  She almost let it go at that, but she felt like Tucker was waiting for more.

  “He’s getting married soon, and they’re having a kid in the spring. They’re in Mexico right now on a ‘babymoon.’ In case you needed any proof that he’s a total douche.”

  “What about her—do you like her?”

  The Beach House song faded out, and there were a few long beats before Florence and the Machine crept up out of the silence. As she sat listening to the music, contemplating his question, she realized that she wasn’t drunk in the slightest, those couple glasses of champagne just a memory now.

  “I’ve never met her,” Erika said.

  She was surprised that she was saying all this, but it always felt easy, talking to Tucker. She wondered if he felt the same.

  “You don’t see your dad much either?” she asked.

  His fingers were nervously drumming on the wheel now.

  “He’s hardly been around. Just here and there, my whole life. He and my mom were never married, they . . . They worked at a restaurant together, right after my mom got out of college. I don’t even have his last name.”

  He fiddled unnecessarily with the windshield wipers, then kept talking.

  “Actually, I see him every week now, because he moved up this way. He’s been staying with a friend. Not far from your house. We’ve been having dinner at the Athena Diner on Thursdays. You know that place?”

  “I love that place,” Erika said quietly. “They have the best pancakes.”

  She shifted in her seat, looking out the window to search for a few stars that managed to glow brighter than the lights of the suburban sprawl. She watched the landscape pass, much of it familiar, though it was always changing, here and there.