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Kim gazes towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, the dark Albuquerque sky reflecting a blurred, twinkling version of HHM’s New Year’s celebration back inside of the enclosed hotel rooftop. The party theme is white and gold, and the sparkles mirrored in the glass create the illusion of being trapped in a snow globe, as if someone could shake the room and swirl around the shine and sequins until they come back to rest on their rightful owners.
The bartender places a glass of champagne in front of her and Kim looks back to the man and smiles, murmuring a thank you before sidling away from the bar and turning to face the festivity. She takes a small sip as she watches her colleagues mill around in groups, sees two second-year associates dragging a first-year onto the dance floor to mild protest, watches them stumble past an older couple swaying together properly, light glinting off the woman’s gold brooch as they skirt the edge of the crowd.
The energy in the room is palpably loosening up as the clock ticks closer to midnight; conversations are becoming louder, movements more slack, drinks sloshing closer to the tops of glasses. Kim takes another sip of champagne and feels the bubbles tickle down her throat, tries to envision her shoulders relaxing in the same way she imagines the fizz settling in her chest, tiny pops of warmth blossoming under the neckline of her white dress.
She spots Ernie making his way through the crowd towards the bar, smiles when he catches sight of her and waves, veering towards her corner.
“Kim!” There's a pink tinge in his cheeks as he approaches, the ice in his empty drink clinking around the insides of the glass “Where’s Jimmy?”
“Other plans,” she says, hoping he doesn’t push further, but Ernie only nods.
“I don’t blame him.” He holds up his glass and tips it back, brow immediately creasing as if he’s just realized that it’s empty, bringing it down to rest at his side instead. “All anyone is talking about tonight is Chuck, I wouldn’t wanna be spending my night with these holier-than-thou lawyer types either—oh,” he stops when he realizes what he’s said, looking stricken. “Sorry, Kim—”
“It’s okay, Ernie,” she waves a hand. “I know. Like your tie, by the way.”
“Hey, thanks!” Ernie’s face lights up again, hand coming up to finger the bright orange paisley. “My mom got it for me for Christmas.”
“Sharp,” Kim says and Ernie nods, glancing towards the bar. She can almost hear Jimmy’s voice in her ear, his low gravel remarking on how well the orange pairs with the green stripes on Ernie’s dress shirt and she bites her lip to stop from smiling at the thought, tucking the hand holding her champagne flute against her chest as if she can keep it physically contained.
“I’m gonna go grab another,” Ernie gestures towards the bar with his empty glass, taking a step backwards. “Happy New Year, Kim! And tell Jimmy I said so too!”
She holds her glass up in his direction and nods, and Ernie smiles, throwing up a wave before disappearing back into the crowd.
She fundamentally knows why she’s there—look good in front of the partners, make small talk with the big clients, set a good example for the first-year associates—but for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, she's craving the comfort of Jimmy’s presence, the familiar feeling of being stretched out atop him on the sofa, watching whatever DVD they had pulled out of her massive stack from Blockbuster, poking him in the chest every time he asked her a question about a movie neither of them had ever seen.
She hates that she sometimes has to remind herself that HHM existed for her before Jimmy arrived in Albuquerque, that there was a time that big blue building represented something singular and simple that didn’t involve a second McGill.
Even after she had gotten hired as an associate and moved out of the mailroom, there were afternoon cigarette breaks, a doodle slipped between two pieces of mail (which he always seemed to deliver, no matter the changing routes), an evening coffee before he would head home and she would settle in for a night at her desk. Even after he had passed the bar and started his own practice, there were takeout dinners on the floor of her new office, ABA mixers in the lobby, increasingly more frequent cigarette breaks over the last few months as he dropped in to see Chuck with regularity.
And now, with Chuck officially on leave and all traces of Jimmy absent from the physical space, his presence is somehow magnified in every whisper around the corner of the office, in the mocking laughs echoing up the stairwell, in each conciliatory look thrown her way when Mr. McGill’s condition comes up in conversation.
Worse is the hush that greets her when she eventually rounds the corner, clears her throat to make her presence known, avoids her fellow associates’ eyes. The silences all echo Jimmy’s scornful voice from his last visit to her apartment: You’re really siding with Hamlin on this?
She hadn’t been, of course, and they both knew it; but she hadn’t been siding with Jimmy, either. She had never expected him to understand how Chuck's illness looks to HHM, but she did expect him to understand why Kim might have to reckon with that, why there were concessions for her to make to the firm. Yet each time she’s tried to take a cautionary step back from the edge of the Chuck chasm, the space between her and Jimmy seems to widen instead, the canyon growing into something that now feels impossible to cross.
Downing a larger sip of champagne, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, attempting to ease the discomfort of her heels.
The near-silence in the weeks since that conversation had been easy to brush away while she was busy with a case, telling herself that she was giving Jimmy space to figure out how to factor Chuck’s needs into building a law practice; but now that the holiday dust has cleared, she's having the horrible notion of standing alone, at this party, in the rubble of something she might not have noticed was slowly collapsing.
She flexes her knuckles around the champagne flute, the low-grade yearning that has been simmering in her all night reaching a breaking point, and she looks towards the windows again before setting her half-empty glass down on a nearby table. Weaving her way through the crowd, she excuses herself past groups before she can be drawn into their circles and reaches the edge of the room, pushing the large wooden door handle against the wind.
The thin fabric of her dress whips around her thighs as the door shuts behind her, a few strands of hair blowing loose from her updo, and she pushes them back from her face as she makes her way to the railing. Albuquerque lights stretch out before her in every direction, winking up like the luminarias that line the streets every Christmas.
She’s alone, save for a couple at the other end of the roof, the man’s suit jacket wrapped around the woman’s shoulders. One of the arms of his starched shirt is pointing at something on the street below, and she hears the woman giggle.
Kim pulls a cigarette out of the pack in her purse, cupping a hand around the end and clicking her lighter once, twice, three times before she gets the flame to catch, inhaling a lungful of smoke and staring up into the sky before releasing the breath in an easy sigh. Before she can think, she drops her lighter back into her purse and grabs for her phone, hitting the speed dial and holding it up to her ear.
She can feel her heartbeat hammering against the speaker, the ringing sound shrill in the silence of the rooftop, and she takes another deep drag.
“Hello?” comes Jimmy’s voice on the other end of the line and she exhales, a cloud of smoke hovering over the edge of the railing. “Kim?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” she says, and pauses, feeling stupid. She can hear loud conversation in the background, the distant sound of glasses clinking together.
“How’s the party in the sky?”
“Starry,” she answers honestly, bringing the cigarette to her lips, the loud crackling of her inhale a stark contrast to the merriment on Jimmy’s end of the line. “How’s your night?”
“Oh, great,” he drawls exaggeratedly. “Meeting some curious folks. Taking in some of the finest well liquor that Billy’s has to offer.”
“Mmm,” she replies. “And what have you been teaching those curious folks in exchange?”
“Ah, Kim.” She hears his grin through the receiver and holds her phone against her ear more tightly, as if she’ll be able to press her way through. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
“Generous,” she says dryly and hears him laugh, a moment of comfortable silence settling in. “Are you with anyone?”
She cringes at the way the question came out, but Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice, breezing by the implication. “Nah, Burt ended up having a hot date. I’m flying solo tonight.”
There’s silence again while she takes a pull of smoke and Jimmy clears his throat, the din of the bar fading out followed by a creaking sound on his end of the line. After a sharp intake of breath, Kim can hear the whoosh of cars on the road, a rustling sound as he adjusts the receiver, the sound of Jimmy’s palms rubbing together.
“Kim? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She breathes out her last drag and drops the cigarette on the ground, crushing the butt beneath her heel, resists the urge to grab another. “I wish you were here.”
“I don’t,” Jimmy mutters, and Kim laughs.
“Alright,” she admits. “I wish we were somewhere else.”
“Alright,” he echoes, and there’s silence again as Kim surveys the city, trying to picture a tiny version of Jimmy standing outside of the bar somewhere below. There’s a distant honk of a horn through the receiver, and she opens her mouth—
The sound of the party suddenly swells and she jumps, turning in time to see the door slam behind her as the couple re-enters. People are gathering in the center of the room and she looks at her watch. 11:45 PM.
“I better get back,” she sighs, leaning her weight into one foot and flexing the other, the heel of her shoe tapping against the cement floor. “What are you doing tomorrow? Can I give you a call?”
“I have to head over to Chuck’s in the morning—maybe later in the day?”
“Of course,” she says quickly. “Whenever. I’ll be around.”
“Okay.” He’s quiet, and for a moment Kim thinks he might have already hung up before he speaks again. “Happy New Year, Kim.”
“Happy New Year, Jimmy.”
She ends the call and stares down at the screen, not realizing that her thumb is still pressing into the glowing red button until the phone beeps up at her, powering down. Shaking her head, she throws it back into her bag and walks up to the window, studying her reflection before smoothing her dress down and pulling open the door.
The sudden warmth of the room rolls over her like a wave and she snags a glass of champagne from a passing tray for show, joining a group of senior associates near the dance floor, accepting a noisemaker. She joins the cacophony of whoops and hollers as the clock strikes midnight, cheersing with her neighbors and watching foam spill over the tops of glasses in tipsy exuberance, the bubbly gold turning to small, dark spots as it blooms against the carpet.
She begs off being pulled into a dance circle and instead makes the rounds to thank the partners for the party, shaking Howard’s hand as he commends her for all of her hard work that year, making it to the coat check by twenty minutes after midnight. The dance floor is scaling back into full swing as she waits for her shawl and there’s a twinge in her chest, not for the want of being out there, but for their loose, easy state of celebration.
The elevator dings upon arrival in the lobby and she returns the doorman’s friendly nod as he pulls open the front door for her, angling her head down against the night air. It’s cooler now than it had been on the roof and she picks up her pace, heels clacking against the pavement as she rummages around in her purse for keys.
She doesn't glance up until she’s approaching her parking spot and then stops in her tracks at the sight of Jimmy leaning against the side of the car, hands in his pockets, grinning.
“Jimmy?” She says dumbly, the hand holding her keys suspended in midair. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs his shoulders, his windbreaker making a swishing sound against the fabric of his green t-shirt. “Thought you might need a new year’s kiss.”
“It’s...” Kim finally unfreezes, twisting her wrist to check her watch. “12:25 AM.”
“Well, your phone’s off,” Jimmy shrugs again, his hands coming out of his pockets to splay out in front of him in an I tried gesture. “But you haven’t technically kissed anyone in 2001 yet, right?”
The edges of Kim’s lips curve into a smile and she watches Jimmy’s eyes dart down to her mouth before drifting up again, his grin growing wider.
“Bold guess, given all of the eye candy up there,” she jerks her head towards the roof of the hotel, taking the final few steps up to her car but not quite touching him, and Jimmy’s mouth slackens slightly as his eyes sweep down once more.
Kim cranes her neck forward and closes the distance, softly pressing her lips to his.
“Oof,” she pulls back after a moment, wrinkling her nose. “You taste like booze.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Kim!” He shouts joyfully, pitching his body towards her, and she shushes him but laughs, her hands coming to rest on his torso. The metal of the keys feels even colder against the warmth of his chest and Jimmy gently grabs her wrists, the pressure of his thumbs a gentle grounding against her pulse point.
“I took a cab here,” Jimmy offers, anticipating her question, and she hums in response, backing out of his grasp.
“I guess I have no choice then.” She feigns an eye roll, waving the hand holding her keys towards the driver’s seat. “Come on.”
Kim unlocks the door and climbs in while Jimmy jogs around to the passenger side, flopping into the seat and breathing into his clasped palms, rubbing his hands together. The engine rumbles as she turns the key in the ignition and Jimmy immediately begins fiddling with the vents, sighing in relief at the blast of warm air.
She hangs a left out of the parking lot and he moves on to fussing with the radio, eventually landing on Bing Crosby crooning “Auld Lang Syne,” and Jimmy turns up the volume. The low baritone fills the car, fusing with the warming air to create a feeling of snugness as they cruise down the mostly empty road, an occasional car passing in the opposite direction.
Kim’s eyes flick up to the streetlights, following the amber light briefly flashing on her hands against the steering wheel, brightening Jimmy’s fingers as they drum a pattern into his jeans before leaving them in the dark again. She thinks of how different the glow seems here than from the rooftop’s aerial view, how the perpetual twinkle becomes a short burst, the dim pockets between each beacon of light.
Jimmy begins to warble along with the radio, half of his lyrics correct and the other half complete nonsense.
“Is that so?” Kim says in response, eyes on the road.
“What does this song even mean?” Jimmy asks, turning to face her, and she sneaks a glance towards the passenger seat, watches the yellow wash over his features before retreating. “Why do we sing this on New Year’s?”
“I don’t know, Harry Burns.” She makes a right turn at the stoplight and they both pause to listen, Jimmy’s fingers ceasing their drumming. “I suppose it’s a reminder to not forget the old times for the sake of welcoming the new.”
“Huh.”
They ride in silence the rest of the way, and the radio turns to a jaunty Christmas tune as Kim pulls into her apartment complex and kills the engine, both of them climbing out of the car and up the steps in tandem.
Jimmy spots the pile of Blockbuster cases as soon as she unlocks the door and makes a beeline for the coffee table, his legs folding beneath him onto the floor as he begins to sort through the DVDs. She kicks off her heels before padding into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for a glass and flicking the tap.
“You’ve been busy,” he raises his voice over the running water, sounding impressed, and holds up a case. “How was The Perfect Storm?”
“Sort of a bummer,” she says, switching off the faucet and coming to sit on the edge of the couch closest to his position on the floor. “Wet.”
“Wet,” he repeats, placing it back on the table. “That should be on the cover. Kimberly Wexler calls it: Wet.”
She watches his fingers deftly sort through the rest of the pile, the shuffle of plastic lulling her to believe this could be any other Sunday night as they’re about to settle in for a movie. She brings the glass of water to her lips and takes a sip, closing her eyes, and when she opens them, Jimmy is kneeling in front of her, his fingers curling lightly around her calves.
He’s grinning at her like he was in the parking lot, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Kim feels like she can see the exhaustion flecked in his irises, her own eyes darting back and forth between them. She moves to raise her hand to his cheek, but before she can reach him, Jimmy surges up, crushing his lips against hers.
The force of the kiss momentarily pushes her backwards but then Jimmy’s arms are pulling her into a standing position, encircling her to reach the back of her dress, and she hears the sound of her zipper lowering as his tongue brushes against the seam of her mouth, head tilting to one side as she grants him access.
He leaves her dress hanging off her shoulders and reaches a hand up to tug the clip out of her hair, moving to kiss the side of her face, her neck, sucking at her pulse point.
“Jimmy.” She tries to sound firm but her voice comes out thready, twisting her neck as his mouth works at her clavicle. He moves lower, a hand coming up to peel back the neckline of her dress and she involuntarily groans as he palms her breast, hand flying to grip the back of his head.
“Jimmy,” she repeats his name, fingers twisting in his hair even as she brings her other hand up to his bicep, attempting to push some space between them again. “Hey, what’s—what’s wrong?”
He pulls back, then, arms falling slowly to his sides. One hand comes up to brush through the hair falling into his face, and he looks down at the floor instead of meeting her eyes, opening his mouth before closing it again.
“You don’t deserve to be alone, Kim.” He brings his gaze up to meet hers. “Not on New Year’s Eve.”
She stares back at him, lips parting slowly, and he raises his arms in surrender. “Auld lang syne, right?”
They stare at each other across the divide, and Kim can see the gaping edge of her dress out of the corner of her eye, rising and falling in time with her breaths. Her gaze drifts down, watches his own chest move in jagged tandem with hers. He’s still wearing his jacket.
“It’s about old friends,” she says softly, and Jimmy’s expression grows confused, his head tilting to one side.
“What?”
“Sorry.” Kim shakes her head and her hair tumbles out of the clip, falling on her shoulders, into the gaps of her unfastened dress. “‘Auld Lang Syne.’ It’s about old friends.”
Jimmy’s brow is still drawn together, mouth quirked, but he regards her candidly.
Kim extends her arms and he tentatively steps towards her, hands landing in her outstretched palms. She squeezes gently before releasing them, reaching for his windbreaker and pushing it off his shoulders, running her hands up to his face, stroking her thumbs against his cheeks.
His smile grows as she looks at him, the edges of his eyes crinkling, and she huffs out a breathy laugh before leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. There’s a voice in the back of her head reminding her of the delicate line that will inevitably have to have to be redrawn (by whom?), but when she takes a step backwards towards the darkened bedroom, Jimmy smoothly crosses the distance.
She turns, tugging him to follow, letting his flickering grin illuminate the way.