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New Year's day, 1988, 1pm. 13 years old.
ringringring
"Anastasia? It's for you!"
"Who is it, Mom? I'm in the shower, for Pete's sake!"
"It's your friend from that modeling thing. The one with the spectacular haircut and the boy's name. Hayley? Harry?"
thumpthumpthump
(breathlessly) "Hi! Henry? Yeah, it's Anastasia! (pause) Happy New Year! (pause) Yeah, I'm not doing anything this afternoon either. My friend Daphne wanted to see Fatal Attraction, but I think it sounds gross. (pause) No, me either. (pause) Burglar? Is that the Whoopi Goldberg movie? Sure, I love Whoopi Goldberg!
"Well, I'm not gonna get stuck taking care of my sister's kids, since I don't have a sister, but...anyway, I was bored, and....yeah, definitely! Okay! I'll meet you there at 2.30!" (click)
Valentine's day, 1990, 6pm. 15 years old.
"Hey, Henry? It's Anastasia. (pause) Yeah, me either. Steve Harvey, that creep – well, I'll tell you about it later, but I'm definitely not going out with him anymore. Even if he begged me. On his knees. With a bouquet of red roses. (pause) No. (pause) No way. (pause)
"Oh my God! That creep! You definitely shouldn't go out with him again. (pause) No, we should definitely hang out. (pause) Yeah, I love that Thai place. Okay, great! See you there!"
Two days before Easter, 1992, 10am. 17 years old.
"Oh, hi, Henry! How are you? (pause) Good. Me too. (pause) Uh, no. My family doesn't really ever go to church. Not even on Easter. (pause) Sure! No, I'd love to go with your family. And maybe we can have dinner with my family? (pause) Great!...Yeah, my little brother still loves to do the egg hunt thing too.
"What should I wear, though? I mean, I don't know if I really have going-to-church clothes...really? Okay, I'll wear that. (pause) Yeah, I'm looking forward to it!"
The day after Thanksgiving, 1992, 2pm. 18 years old.
Anastasia shifted back and forth as she stood on Henry's porch. There was snow on the ground, and the wind was icy; her new down jacket was warm, but not warm enough.
She rang the bell again.
This time, a small boy flung the door open.
"Hi, John Peter," Anastasia said, grinning.
John Peter whirled around and dashed back into the house, narrowly avoiding a collision with the hall table.
"Henry?" Anastasia called.
"Coming!" Henry yelled back. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway.
Anastasia caught her breath. Henry was wearing blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and purple socks. Her hair was still cropped close to her head, like the first haircut she'd gotten at Studio Charmante.
She was still the most beautiful woman Anastasia had ever seen.
"Hey," Henry said, and hugged Anastasia.
"Hey," Anastasia said to Henry's shoulder.
Upstairs in Henry's room, it already looked Christmassy. Henry had put up a bunch of white string lights, which cast a warm glow over the room. Henry shoved some books out of the way, and she and Anastasia scooted to the back of the bed, leaning against the wall.
"So you know I did the early action thing?" Henry asked, and Anastasia nodded. "I just got into Howard."
"That's great!" Anastasia said enthusiastically. She ignored the twinge inside that she felt at the thought of Henry going away to Washington for four long years.
She herself had applied to a number of schools in all different parts of the country, but had already been accepted to Harvard. She had allowed herself to imagine that she and Henry would go there together. But she knew Howard was Henry's parents' alma mater, and that they hoped she would choose it.
Henry didn't look that thrilled, Anastasia noticed. She was staring at the wall, as if the answer to some profound question might appear there if she looked hard enough.
"I guess," she said, slowly. She looked over at Anastasia. "Man, I'd miss you, though."
"I'd miss you like crazy," Anastasia admitted. "I was kind of hoping that we'd go to Harvard together, or something."
Suddenly she was enveloped in a fierce hug. "Me too," Henry whispered near her ear. "Me too."
Christmas Eve, 7am, 1992. 18 years old.
Anastasia woke with a start. The phone by her ear was ringing.
A chill ran through her. Who could be calling so early? And what did they have to tell her?
She snatched up the phone. "Hello?"
"Anastasia," Henry's voice said, trembling. "Anastasia."
"Oh my God, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Anastasia. I got into Harvard!"
Anastasia shrieked.
Henry's warm chuckle rang through the line. "Hey, I'm calling from a pay phone two blocks away. Come down!"
Anastasia frantically brushed her teeth, jammed her boots onto her feet, and pulled her down coat on over her flannel pajamas. She ran down the stairs.
Henry was on the porch, beaming. She wrapped her arms around Anastasia and spun them in a circle, laughing.
Anastasia had tears in her eyes. "Henry, Henry, Henry!" she said breathlessly. "Oh my God!"
Henry stopped and used her fleece mitten to wipe the tears out of Anastasia's eyes. Her hand was gentle.
Anastasia caught her breath.
Henry took her mittens off and touched Anastasia's cheek with her bare hand, softly, tenderly.
"You're gonna freeze," Anastasia whispered.
Henry smiled widely. "Who cares?" she said. "Who cares?" She grabbed Anastasia and pulled her in for another crushing hug.
New Year's Eve, 11.57pm, 1992. 18 years old.
Anastasia's parents had gone to bed, leaving them with a half bottle of champagne ("But if you go home with a hangover, Henry, your mother is going to kill me," her mom had warned) on the sofa, waiting for the Times Square ball to drop on TV.
The two of them were sitting side by side, not quite touching, but close enough to feel each other's warmth.
"1993 is going to be amazing," Anastasia said dreamily. "What are you going to major in, Henry?"
"Mathematics, maybe," Henry said thoughtfully. "Or fashion design. Are you still going to do literature?"
Anastasia nodded. "I think so," she said.
They fell silent as the ball started to drop. Then, quietly, as not to wake Anastasia's parents, they started counting down in unison.
"Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one...Happy New Year!"
New Year's Day, 12am, 1993. 18 years old.
Anastasia turned to Henry. Her dark eyes were shining and her mouth was soft.
"Happy New Year," she whispered, and kissed Anastasia's cheek.
"Happy New Year," Anastasia whispered, and kissed Henry back.