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Henry moves with such an easy confidence in this space. I don’t think it’s the fact that he’s in his home, which still feels somewhat sterile to me even after being here for days. It might be that he’s extremely comfortable in the kitchen; I don’t want to take too much credit. But there’s a part deep inside of me that thinks the answer is me. Us. That something as simple as cooking dinner together could be a perfect moment. That whatever’s happening between us is natural enough to feel like forever.
The fact that this doesn’t actually scare me terrifies me most of all.
* * *
And then suddenly, somehow, it’s the last day of the year.
New Year’s Eve is a nightmare in New York. There are too many people, the subway is a mess, and you can never get a cab that’s not surge-priced to the extreme. The worst thing you can do here on New Year’s Eve (besides going anywhere near Times Square) is travel any distance.
Which I suppose is how Henry and I find ourselves in our first fight as a couple. Maybe fight is too strong a word. It feels more like a quiet standoff.
My friends and I were going to attend the Sick Hypnotic dance party. Luisa and I often went to their monthly parties, whose locations shifted to different clubs and warehouses throughout the city, but their NYE parties are the best, and Luisa had assembled a whole group to go dance the last year out of our bodies.
Henry had other plans. A dinner party at the home of a friend and former colleague from the brokerage he worked at before Karlin Stein. In Jersey of all blasphemous places.
Neither of us wanted to budge, but we didn’t discuss anything until that morning, too consumed by our love bubble to think about what comes next. The only explanation that seemed to make sense, Henry suggested, though it looked like it pained him, was that we go our separate ways this evening, but meet back up later to spend the night.
“I’ve never done New Year’s with a guy I actually liked before,” I tell him, sitting cross-legged on his bed, body turned to face him but still closed off.
Henry shifts toward me, his head propped up with his hand. “You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?” he asks with a slight smile, his fingers grazing my knee.
I guffaw at the question. “No, dummy, I’ve had plenty of those.” I take a deep breath. “Just never with someone I cared about. Someone who actually meant something.”
Henry sits up, turning fully toward me. He places a hand on each of my knees and looks at me with intention. “I think we can do both. We can go into Jersey for dinner, and then come back to the city after, do the dance party thing, spend midnight here.”
“Am I even invited to the dinner party?” I ask tentatively.
“Of course,” Henry says without hesitation, and I try to push the lingering thought that maybe he already had a plus-one for Genevieve out of my mind.
* * *
We can’t come up with a solid logistical plan for the ludicrous idea that we’re going to Tenafly, New Jersey, and then to Brooklyn tonight, but Henry insists on driving us. It’s been days since I’ve been home, and it’s going to be a journey to even figure out an outfit that can double for the events of this evening, so I head home first, knowing that Henry will pick me up later.
When I get to the apartment, Luisa gives me an appraising look. “You can’t just disappear for days at a time,” she greets me. “You have to text me that you’re still alive.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I say.
“And with some random dude I don’t even know.” Luisa shakes her head.
“He’s not some random dude. He’s…” I pause, knowing the reaction I’m about to get. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“The three-day pipeline of first date to boyfriend is a slippery slope,” she says. “Seems a little much? Especially for you. No offense, I just…I know you, Nor. And I only just heard about him.”
“It’s not like we met three days ago. I’ve known him basically my whole life. And I appreciate the concern,” I say, not entirely appreciating the concern, “but none of this is normal. So normal rules”—I channel Henry’s words from the other night like a crutch—“don’t really apply.”
Luisa shrugs. “Are you still coming tonight?”
I nod and explain the situation. She raises an eyebrow and disappears into her room. I stand there, in the living room, about to go shower when Luisa reemerges with a sparkly black minidress.
“This will work for both,” she says simply. “Just wear a cardigan or something at dinner.”
I fling my arms around Luisa, who wraps me up in a hug.
“Thank you,” I say into her ear. “And you’re going to love him, by the way.”
“Yeah, I better,” she says, the ever-overprotective friend.
Luisa and I spend a few hours watching old episodes of SVU, and then Michael arrives with Thai takeout, which we eat on the floor, until I realize I should have started getting ready an hour ago. I lost track of time, and hear Henry buzz up while I’m in the shower, legs half shaved, moisturizing mask still in my hair.
