Page 16 of Pining for You

It was legit shocking. Audra without academic excellence is like Mariah Carey without Christmas. But for Izaac, it meant losing his one source of stability at home. It also sent him into a productivity spiral; ever since the news, he’s seriously amped up his already through-the-roof efficiency and output, like it’s up to him alone now to bring home the accolades. Izaac has always spent a lot of time posted up at Rhapsody in Brew, our so cleverly named local coffee shop with its overstuffed couches and swimming-pool-sized cappuccinos that look ripped from an episode of a nineties sitcom. But now he’s always there working, reading, researching, and formulating informed opinions, a campaign HQ away from his parents’ drama. He has a huge TikTok following for his hot takes on social issues, and since he’s been done with his own applications for months, he’s even launched a peer review program to help our classmates with their applications between school and his shifts at Trader Joe’s. Which is why it’s probably extra frustrating to him that he hasn’t been able to get me to finish mine.

“You sure you don’t want me to take a look at what you have?” he asks once again.

“Not just yet,” I say, not admitting that’s because what I have is a single attempt in which I started strong, then veered into some personal territory about finding my first kiss, which I can’t imagine he’ll find to be suitable material. “But thank you. And thanks for bringing the snacks, too.” I nod to the selection of Trader Joe’s seasonal treats, which he brought from work.

“We’re going to have to get you to eat real food someday,” he says. “But one battle at a time.”

“Speaking of time…” I look at the clock, ignoring his usual knock to my sugar-based diet. “I can manage if you’ve got to get to family stuff.”

It’s still days away, but Izaac’s family has a big Christmas party every year and they spend the whole week leading up to it in preparation—decorating, cooking, baking and freezing cookies, shopping and stocking the bar. His parents, Robert and Roxanne Evans, of Evans & Evans law offices, are both hotshot attorneys, and their clients and partners always show up, drink way too much Scotch, and tell stories about crazy cases that probably borderline break confidentiality. Izaac considers the event to be the networking mixer of the year and he usually tries to put his own stamp on the party, to impress guests he may someday need for favors or votes or a job.

“Actually…” Izaac pauses, holding on to Naomi’s bedazzled cowboy boot ornament. “I’m happy to keep off the premises this year.”

I hang a Mickey Mouse dressed as Santa Claus on a branch in my sight line, then turn to him. “Wanna talk about it?”

From the outside, Izaac’s family seems perfect, but even though he doesn’t bring it up often, we know his parents find reasons to fight about everything from politics to furniture placement to whether their dinner is undersalted.

He takes a deep breath like he isn’t sure he really wants to get into it, but he does anyway.

“Ever since Audra went rogue, they’ve decided their new favorite pastime is a rousing round or twelve of the blame game—who’s responsible for ‘how she turned out,’ as they put it. They’ve been at it nonstop,” he says, shaking his head. “I honestly wish they would stop pretending and get a divorce already.”

I pause. I want to give him a chance to clarify, or say he’s joking, or maybe even rescind the statement altogether, because that feels pretty intense. But then he continues with it.

“I mean, they only stay together for the power couple optics anyway.” He sighs. “Anyway, with Audra excommunicated, there’s no relief, no distraction, and definitely no fun. So I’m happy to have all those things on my own here with you,” he concludes, turning to me with a very forced smile, looking like he’s ready to move on.

“And I am happy to deliver!” But I’m not ready to drop it just yet—if Izaac has any hope of having his family together for Christmas, it’s worth a try, right? “Have you tried talking to Audra, though?” I ask as delicately as possible.

“Pretty sure she’s avoiding me so she doesn’t have to be reminded of our insane family,” he says, without really answering the question. The Christmas lights glint off the glassiness in his eyes as he looks away. “Which sucks, ’cause it’d be really helpful if I could talk to her right about now.”

Hm. Izaac isn’t the type to ask for help, so that seems serious. Maybe he thinks they’d fight less if Audra were here. Or that they could talk to their parents together, maybe about getting therapy or working through their issues—I’m sure he doesn’t actually want them to get a divorce. Or maybe he just wants the moral support.

In any case, I wish I could snap my fingers and have Audra come home, but here is yet another gift I’m not capable of giving. Lately it seems what the people I love want and need the most are getting bigger, more abstract, and harder to pull off.

“Well, if you need an Audra stand-in, I’m great at a holiday party,” I say anyway.

“Oh, no one doubts that,” Izaac says. “The story about you teaching everyone to speak Elvish after you pounded the spiked punch is now legend.”

“I didn’t know!” I say, remembering my invented language—and my headache the next morning.

“Riiiiight.” He smirks, but then he frowns.

“Shit, I’m sorry, B. I know, with Michelle… talking about Audra…”

“You’re good,” I say, holding up a hand and waving off his concerns.

“I didn’t mean to… It’s just been…”

“I know, my dude,” I say, though it doesn’t change that it still hurts to hear.

“How’re things on that front?” he asks, but today especially I want to stay away from the subject.

I haven’t told my friends what Naomi asked me earlier this week. I don’t want to talk about it, or think about it, or have to deal with it. And more than anything, I really don’t want to face the fact that I haven’t answered her.

“Just holly-jolly,” I say, smiling disingenuously, and he gives me a look. I reach up to lay an emphatic hand on his shoulder. “Really, I appreciate you asking, but nothing I can’t handle. Marley will help.”

For now, I just want to bathe in some of Marley’s light, listen to Kacey Musgraves’s Christmas album spinning on Naomi’s record player, and try to help Izaac, because making others’ spirits bright always makes me feel better.

“Okay, but the door is open,” he says. “I know you’re not exactly inspired to discuss the future, or anything that’s less than festive, but you know… it might feel good to get some of it off your chest.”