My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories(4)

“Dance with me. It’s our anniversary.”

“I don’t like dancing with a bunch of people.”

“But that’s the best way to dance! Dancing is a communal experience!”

“For you,” Mags said, pushing his thigh. He wavered, but didn’t fall. “We’re not the same person.”

“I know,” Noel said with a sigh. “You can eat tree nuts. Eat one of those brownies for me—let me watch.”

Mags looked at the buffet and pointed to a plate of pecan brownies. “These?”

“Yeah,” Noel said.

She picked up a brownie and took a bite. Crumbs fell on her flowered dress, and she brushed them off.

“Is it good?” he asked.

“Really good,” she said. “Really dense. Moist.” She took another bite.

“So unfair,” Noel said, holding on to the back of the love seat and leaning farther over. “Let me see.”

Mags opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.

“Unfair,” he said. “That looks delicious.”

She closed her mouth and nodded.

“Finish your delicious brownie and dance with me,” he said.

“The whole world is dancing with you,” Mags said. “Leave me alone.”

She grabbed another quiche and another brownie, then put Noel behind her.

There weren’t that many places to sit in Alicia’s basement; that’s why Mags usually ended up on the floor. (And maybe why Noel usually ended up on the coffee table.) Pony had claimed the beanbag by the bar in the corner, and Simini was sitting on his lap. Simini smiled at Mags, and Mags smiled back and waved.

There wasn’t any booze in the bar. Alicia’s parents put it away whenever she had a party. All the barstools were taken, so Mags got a hand from somebody and sat up on the bar itself.

She watched Noel dance. (With Natalie. And then with Alicia and Connor. And then by himself, with his arms over his head.) She watched everybody dance.

They had all their parties in this basement. After football games and after dances. Two years ago, Mags hadn’t really known anybody in this room, except for Alicia. Now everybody here was either a best friend, or a friend, or someone she knew well enough to stay away from …

Or Noel.

Mags finished her brownie and watched Noel jump around.

Noel was her very best friend—even if she wasn’t his. Noel was her person.

He was the first person she talked to in the morning, and the last person she texted at night. Not intentionally or methodically. That’s just the way it was between them. If she didn’t tell Noel about something, it was almost like it didn’t happen.

They’d been tight ever since they ended up in journalism class together, the second semester of sophomore year. (That’s when they should celebrate their friendiversary—not on New Year’s Eve.) And then they signed up for photography and tennis together.

They were so tight, Mags went with Noel to prom last year, even though he already had a date.

“Obviously, you’re coming with us,” Noel said.

“Is that okay with Amy?”

“Amy knows we’re a package deal. She probably wouldn’t even like me if I wasn’t standing right next to you.”

(Noel and Amy never went out again after prom. They weren’t together long enough to break up.) Mags was thinking about getting another brownie when someone suddenly turned off the music, and someone else flickered the lights. Alicia ran by the bar, shouting, “It’s almost midnight!”

“Ten!” Pony called out a few seconds later.

Mags glanced around the room until she found Noel again—standing on the couch. He was already looking at her. He stepped onto the coffee table in Mags’s direction and grinned, wolfishly. All of Noel’s grins were a little bit wolfish: he had way too many teeth. Mags took a breath that shook on the way out. (Noel was her person.) “Eight!” the room shouted.

Noel beckoned her with his hand.

Mags raised an eyebrow.

He waved at her again and made a face that said, Come on, Mags.

“Four!”

Then Frankie stepped onto the coffee table with Noel and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Three!”

Noel turned to Frankie and grinned.

“Two!”

Frankie raised her eyebrows.

“One!”

Frankie leaned up into Noel. And Noel leaned down into Frankie.

And they kissed.


Dec. 31, 2014, about nine p.m.

Mags hadn’t seen Noel yet this winter break. His family went to Walt Disney World for Christmas.

It’s 80 degrees, he texted her, and I’ve been wearing mouse ears for 72 hours straight.

Mags hadn’t seen Noel since August, when she went over to his house early one morning to say good-bye before his dad drove him to Notre Dame.

Noel didn’t come home for Thanksgiving; plane tickets were too expensive.

She’d seen photos he posted of other people online. (People from his residence hall. People at parties. Girls.) And she and Noel had texted. They’d texted a lot. But Mags hadn’t seen him since August—she hadn’t heard his voice since then.

Honestly, she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember ever thinking about Noel’s voice before. Whether it was deep and rumbled. Or high and smooth. She couldn’t remember what Noel sounded like—or what he looked like, not in motion. She could only see his face in the dozens of photos she still had saved on her phone.