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“Thanks, buddy. Maybe I’ll wear it later.”
“Or you could wear it tonight,” my mother presses. “To a certain party.”
“Are we going to a party?” Otto asks.
“No, buddy. It’s just us tonight.”
“Okay. Cool.” He yawns—a big yawn. “Because I’m thinking about bed soon maybe.”
My poor boy has been exhausted lately. The dialysis has eradicated the seizures, but it also knocks him out. It’s 10:00 p.m. and he can barely keep his eyes open.
I slip my fingers through his hair. “Don’t you want to stay up and watch the ball drop, buddy?”
Otto shakes his head, blinking heavily. “Just tell me how it ends…”
The kid is exhausted. I can’t blame him.
I’m tired, too. Tired and wired, all at the same time. Even after I read to Otto and tuck him in, I feel on edge. I try brewing a cup of tea, hoping the warmth of it will kick in and lull the frenetic parts of my brain to a tamer state.
No luck.
“Do you think Anderson Cooper is single?” my mother asks as she watches the TV and fans herself with her 2019 crown.
My eyes land on the dress. She’s draped it across the chair, and now it’s sitting there. Waiting for me.
I tighten my fingers around my mug. I can feel my mother’s eyes on me, questioning. I glance at the clock.
It’s only eleven. There’s still time…
Maybe I can turn these flats into glass slippers yet.
“Screw it,” I mutter. I lift the dress from the chair.
“That’s my girl!” Pearl smiles.
60
Donovan
“Do you think she’ll come?”
Jason hasn’t taken his eyes off the door all night.
The Anchor is packed. Regulars. Doctors off shift. Fishers and seasoned boaters. I prefer this crowd over tourist season. They drink stouts, laugh heartily, and have that same sun-leather skin my dad had.
The Anchor is a haven for locals, which is why it’s my go-to spot. The walls are a dark, polished oak, decorated festively with mistletoe and pine. They’ve got booths, round tables, a pool table, and a couple of muted TVs with an eye on the Times Square ball drop. There’s also a stage, where they’re doing karaoke all night long. So far, it’s been a lot of Billy Joel and Jimmy Buffett.
I’ve been hanging out by the bar, where Maria is bartending. But it’s hard to enjoy my discounted cabernet and the fourth rendition of “Piano Man” when Jason keeps pacing, looking for Kenzi.
I haven’t seen him this glum in a while. He looks good tonight—he’s wearing a button-up that stretches across his biceps, top buttons released enough to show off a sliver of chest underneath. Black pants that rest snug on his hips.
He could have his pick of the litter for his New Year’s kiss. He’s already gotten lingering stares from every woman at the Anchor.
But he’s laser focused, eyes on the door. Waiting for her to walk in.
“She’ll come, right?” he says. “I mean, it’s New Year’s.”
“You need a fucking fidget spinner,” I tell him. “Settle down.”
