Okay, well, I was really looking forward to rewatching Elf. But I get down on the floor and listen to the first few tracks with her.
Not going to lie, “Growing on Me” hits a little too close to home. But as the song gives way to “I Believe in a Thing Called Love,” I relight the joint I'd let go out earlier and have to admit, “Your cousin was right. This is weirdly nice.”
“Kiki says it's the next best thing to being at the concert,” she shouts over the loud music with a laugh.
“Kiki?” I take a lazy drag of the joint before handing it to her. “That’s your cousin's name, right? You talk about her a lot.”
She stiffens beside me and takes a careful drag on the joint before answering. “She’s my cousin, but she’s more like my sister. Actually, she’s better than a sister. She's my best friend. That’s why we call each other best cousins.”
It’s a sweet detail, but her voice sounds sad, and for some reason, I find myself wanting to pry.
“But you're not spending Christmas with her?” I ask instead of letting the subject drop.
Another long silence. Then she says, “Yeah, things between us have been a little weird lately. Growing up, she was always the out-loud one—the one with dreams she wasn’t afraid to tell people about. And I guess I was kind of the quiet one who stood in her background. I accompanied her on guitar whenever she sang at church. I was the dependable person she texted when she went to meet her future husband in that cabin. She had these big dreams, and she was always doing outrageous things. And I was . . . I don’t know, just staying here in Tennessee where we grew up and being boring like everybody wanted me to be.”
Her voice trails off along with the song’s guitar solo but then picks up again before the big finish. “She's my best friend. But I think she wants me to stay the same person. She wouldn't understand who I am now—who I’m trying to be. Someone who takes risks because I want to, even if it is just to feel that thrill going through my chest. She'd be scared and worried, and I guess I just didn't want to deal with that this Christmas.”
I don’t exactly understand everything she’s saying, but I get it.
“I’m not spending Christmas with my dad and brother,” I tell her. “And they both live in Nashville. I get not wanting to play the role your family put you in sometimes.”
“How about the Reapers?” Her voice takes on a teasing note as she hands me back the joint and asks, “Do you think you'll regret staying here with me for six days of nonstop movies instead of hanging out with them?”
I take another puff. “Maybe. I kind of hope so. To be honest, my decision to keep you here feels crazy. All this week, I wouldn't have minded getting sick of you and kicking you out and going about my normal hard-partying business.”
I brace myself for her to be offended, but she just laughs and takes back the joint.
“Yeah, you probably should have been kicked me out,” she agrees, her Black Tennessee accent coming on a little stronger. “This waiting out my period stuff is some kind of crazy, if you ask me.”
She takes another pull on the joint, so her voice sounds a little choked when she adds, “And I bet that country star you’ve been on tour with throws some sick parties. Let me guess. He probably lives in one of those crazy-expensive bachelor pads in the Fairgood building.”
The weed must really be doing its job. Instead of panicking, I chuckle and admit, “Actually, that’s exactly where he lives. Matter of fact, after Colin Fairgood decided to get married and buy a house, the guy I work for upgraded to renting his top floor penthouse unit.”
“Why are you lying?” she demands, giggling as she hands back the joint.
“I’m dead serious,” I answer with a wry shake of my head. “He’s that big of a cliché.”
We collapse into laughter as the drum intro to “Love Is Only a Feeling” sounds. And I can’t tell if it’s because we really find my supposed boss’s situation that funny because we’re on weed, or because of something else.
Something else that makes us look over at each other in the low light and stop laughing with smiles trembling on our lips.
We’ve been so friendly over the last few days. That’s because I’ve managed to keep my dick down, like a good dog, with a combination of weed, whisky, and stupid after-dinner comedies.
But I never did fish out those bottles of bourbon from my dad’s office stash. And tonight’s stupid comedy is paused on the DVD player, still waiting to be watched.