"Best Friends"

Chapter Eight

For the first Christmas morning in my life, I’m not home. Not just not home, but not going to see my dad or any other family members all day. Nope, I’m at the Wilson’s… sleeping in the guest bedroom across from Jonah’s room. Hades is still a little freaked out about being here rather than my room, so he sleeps in the little house I brought over with the heating pad bottom that I’ve tucked between pillows on the top of the bed. So, it’s just me, watching the fan, at six in the morning. Or seven-thirty-two as my FitBit lights up.

Well past the years of Santa Clause, well past the years of knocking on my parent’s door to run downstairs before the Sun even rises. The past couple years, in fact, I’d woken around ten or eleven, which was usual for any non-school day. That’s usually when I would get a ‘Merry Xmas!’ text from Jonah and a ‘Have a Merry Christmas, Candice’ from Clark.

Knowing that if I even took a long bath, let my hair dry naturally, did subtle makeup, and got a b*a under my Christmas pajamas, I’d still be sitting here for like three hours. Shoving off from my temporary bed, I slide on my Pusheen slippers and ease to the door. Door opened quickly and closed quietly, I look down the long hall to the main stairs. Maybe some hot cocoa would do the trick.

Footsteps muffled by the slippers; I am not worried while making my way down to the kitchen. But then I hear soft guitar from the formal living room, and I freeze. Playing my birthday song again, Clark’s voice is soft, if not a little strained. Feeling like I’ve not only stepped into his private space by being on the main floor, but I also feel like I’ve creeped into a very vulnerable moment. Should I just go back upstairs? Should I just go into the kitchen, make a little noise, but act like I never heard him?

Thinking he could use some hot cocoa as much as I could, I slip into the back of the kitchen. Not being totally quiet-as-can-be, I don’t hear him continue playing. After the beeping of the microwave for the first mug, there’s a soft cough from the front of the kitchen.

Barefoot, grey sweatpants, no shirt, bedhead for days, Clark slowly meanders to the breakfast bar. “Can’t sleep?” his voice rough.

“No.” I bring him over the first mug. “You?”

“Thanks. And no… mind’s kind of loud.”

I laugh shortly. “I get that.”

“Did you even get eight hours?”

I put the next mug the microwave. “Yeah.” I eye him as he blows the hot drink. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A bit.”

“Clark,” I say with stress.

He smirks, “Candice?”

I huff and turn back to the microwave.

The chair he’d been in scrapes against the wood, and he slides against the counter next to me. “You liking the guest bedroom okay?”

He smells fresh from the shower, plain old soap and the Old Spice deodorant smelling like evergreen and mint. I try to either keep my eyes on my hot cocoa or his face, not looking at his healthy and beautiful and strong muscles. “It’s nice. A bit different, but Hades seems okay.”

He nods and takes a sip. “It’s yours but opposite right?”

“Yeah, Jonah’s technically has what would be my bedroom.”

I turn against the counter too, standing next to Clark. I keep my eyes on my drink and sip at it slowly. Moments pass and I notice him give me a once over, “You warm enough?”

Looking down at my oversized Christmas-green sweater which I have Cuddle-duds shirt under, plus bottom Cuddle-duds under my black sweater leggings, then my Pusheen slippers. “Yeah, why?”

His large, calloused hand grips the top of my mug, lifting it away from me. I turn as he puts our mugs on the counter and my heartbeat picks up as he grips my hand, “Come’re.”

There’s a soft glow coming from the front of the house, a little brighter than the streetlights. I peek around Clark has he slips on shoes and grabs a random jacket; the Sun must be rising. Out the front door he leads me.

Thick fluffy snow blankets the world around us from sight line to sight line. Every lawn, every car, every mature tree, every roof top. The sky waking with the Sun, colorful as any painting or picture - a brilliant array of colors both vivid and pastel. Sunlight seeping through the left-over clouds, the normally white puffs seeping with color. The world is quiet, is at peace in this display of magnificence.

I feel Clarks arms wrap around my waist the same way he did in the pool, his cheek against my hair like all the times he’s comforted me. “Merry Christmas, Candice.”

Eyes teary, chest fluttering, I place my hands over his. “Merry Christmas, Clark.”

*

Laughing so hard she snorts and falls back against the carpet; I lean back in my armchair and watch Candice and Jonah sit on the floor to go through out possible music collection for our annual New Year’s Eve party – seeing as it’s only three days away. Even though Mister Robinson has been back in town, Candice has made it clear she wants to take advantage of the guest bedroom until the first.

The tradition of being The Party to go to starting with our parents - all four of them inviting everyone they knew, including their kids (which is probably what made it so popular). The adults changed venues but now almost the whole school shows up. Even though a lot of people beg/insist my band to play, we always reply we want to enjoy the party too.

This, of course, leads to the endless music conversation. I get final say on the playlist, trying to be unbiased as possible. But as soon as I see Jonah even looking a musical soundtrack I lean forward “Hand it over.”

“Ha! I told you,” muses Candice.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re five, ten, fifteen - no musicals.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll just plug in my iPod after you’ve had enough to drink.”

I throw The Greatest Showman on top of Moulin Rouge and Rent. “I really don’t plan on drinking much this year.”

Candice looks to me quickly, “Really?”

Given that alcohol mixed with unrequited feelings usually is what leads to me making out with random girls a couple hours into the party, yes really. “Think I’ll get my hookah out instead, maybe.”

Purse lips, head tilted down, eyes on the CD’s, Jonah lets out a long, snarky “Mmhhm, sure.”

Ignoring him, I gesture to the cases strewn over the floor, “So what are we looking at. We have a sort of theme this year or?”

“Obvi. I was thinking throw-backing to, like, late two-thousands. Last year we did mostly nineties stuff – which was fine ‘cause the nineties didn’t really end until two-thousand-five and it was in so many movies and TV we watched growing up. So, why not go the next decade? We’ve got early Panic, Evanescence, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, MCR, Flyleaf, Skillet….”

“So, we’re just going emo then?” I smirk.

Candice smiles and looks to me, Jonah rolls his eyes. “It is what’s playing on throwback radio, you know. At the gas stations, on TV even! Maybe it’s ‘cause my head is so wound by Buffy –”

“And Moonlight,” Candice points to him.

He holds a hand to her, “Right, can’t forget that. Which had ‘The Bird And The Worm’ by…” he picks up another CD, “The Used. And we could def put some A System Of A Down In There, maybe some Disturbed if we are more selective.”

Now I roll my eyes, “Right, because if you ‘can’t hear the lyrics it’s not music’.”

“Which is why no Bullet For My Valentine or any other screaming bull shit.”

“It’s not a bad mix,” I confess when I think about. “No modern stuff though?”

Jonah shakes his head, “I know your band has already said you guys want to do our Valentine’s Day party, so I figure that’ll have newer stuff when you’re not planning. And next year!” He smiles wide and points to Candice, “we get to have a motherfucking Roaring Twenties Party!”

She claps a little. “I already have my Flapper dress! It’s fabulous! I cannot wait.”

“The gold one with the black?”

“Of course!”

Now picturing her in a Flapper dress and the whole get up, I smile. I love how ready and willing she is to dress up and have fun. “I could totally rock a mobster look.”

Jonah smirks. “Now, if you wanted to not drink, that would be the year! With the prohibition and everything? That would be so aesthetic.” He whips his head to Candice. “Oh my gawd, we totally need to do like a whole Speakeasy thing! Like actually send invites with the password! Yasss,” and both his hands go up for a double-high-five.

“Well cool,” I try to rein the conversation back in. Gesturing to the CD’s and the room, I ask “Normal set up?”