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Many people thought Thomas Jefferson felt at home anywhere when it couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, Thomas hardly ever felt at home anywhere. When he’d arrived in Paris for his year abroad he’d expected the usual mix of homesickness and anxiety he usually felt amped up to a level only a foreign country could provide. However, the opposite happened. Thomas had immediately felt like he was home. He’d felt so comfortable that he’d somehow forgotten to secure his flight back to his actual home for the holiday break until it was too ostentatious an enterprise to fix it even for him .
This was how Thomas ended up alone on Christmas Eve, wallowing.
Frank Sinatra crooned old carols on the stereo. Thomas had all of the lights in his small Parisian apartment off except for the string of Christmas lights he’d wrapped around the pathetic little tree he’d dragged up the steps a few days ago. The haze of street lamps came through the windows, which only added to the moody ambiance.
Thomas sat on his loveseat with a tumbler of expensive scotch in front of him. He took a healthy sip from it and watched as the clock ticked closer and closer to Christmas.
Flurries were falling outside the window, glittering in the lights from the street. Thomas watched them and remembered the way the fresh snow had settled on Jemmy’s ridiculously thick scarf and long eyelashes the winter before. Jemmy had basically begged to get out of the house so they could make a snowman together after the snowfall had slowed. Thomas had given into Jemmy’s soft, private smile and Jemmy had ended up stuck in bed for the rest of break with a terrible head cold. He’d insisted it was worth it but Thomas hadn’t been able to rid himself of his guilt and worry.
Thomas shook the memory from his head. He wasn’t supposed to think of Jemmy like that.
Instead, he downed the rest of his scotch. His movements were sluggish and sloppy from the alcohol when he refilled his glass. Thomas wasn’t used to having to monitor his own alcohol intake; wasn’t sure when to stop or slow down without Jemmy to guide him.
He took another swig. He concentrated on the burn as the liquid slid down his throat and ignored the gaping hole in his chest that felt like homesickness and denial.
Thomas’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking him out of his stupor. Thomas picked up the bejeweled cellphone and flipped it open to see a text from Jemmy. His heart flipped in his chest when he pressed the button to open it.
U up?
Thomas sighed and corrected his friend’s grammar before shutting his phone and returning his gaze to the window. The flurries had stopped. Thomas sighed again.
He jumped when jazzy midi notes blared from his phone. Thomas flipped it open to answer without thinking.
“Merry Christmas, Thomas,” Jemmy’s voice said through the phone, his calm tone only muffled partially by long distance static.
Thomas’s heart flipped in his chest. “What?”
Jemmy sighed heavily into the phone, making the speaker crackle in protest. “It’s midnight where you are, right?” He paused so Thomas could nod dumbly. “So, Merry Christmas.”
Thomas’s face broke into a smile. He felt the hole in his chest shrink up slightly. He settled back against the back of the loveseat and swirled his glass, watched the amber liquid swirl. “Merry Christmas, Jemmy. How’s home?”
“The usual. Brown. No snow yet but we’re hoping for an inch or two before New Years.” There was a pause. Thomas heard Jemmy shuffling around. He waited. “It’s gonna be weird without you here drinking up all my champagne and then complaining about your migraine the next morning.”
Thomas chuckled. “I’ll still text you to complain about my migraine, don’t you worry.”
“You better,” Jemmy insisted.
His tone was so fond that Thomas’s chest felt strange, almost like an ache or an inch he couldn’t scratch. Thomas cleared his throat.
“Well, I’d better go. Who knows how much these minutes are costin’ us,” he replied gruffly.
Jemmy scoffed. “We can afford it, Thomas,” he chided. Thomas heard a muffled voice in the background. “I guess I should go eat dinner or I’ll never here the end of it from Ma. Just… wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, since you’re too much of an idiot to make it back here.”
Thomas felt his throat get tight. “Yeah, thanks. Tell your folks Merry Christmas from me.”
“I will. Don’t forget to call yours tomorrow.”
Thomas winced. “I won’t. Night, Jemmy.”
“Night, Thomas.”
With a click the call ended. Thomas flipped his phone closed and set it down on the table. He looked back out the window with a small smile on his face.
The flurries had started up again.