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The music playing full blast over the bedroom speakers claimed this was the most wonderful time of the year, but Emily wasn’t buying it.
Yeah, no, absolutely not.
If anything, this was the worst time of the year, the most stressful time of the year, the…ugh, there just wasn’t any other way to say it, was there? It was the most idiotic time of the year—and she didn’t say that lightly! The facts were simple: Everyone forgot to drive at the first dusting of snow, it got dark at freaking 3pm, every channel and streaming service and magazine insert in existence was trying to get you to buy something you didn’t need by harping on your softest and squishiest emotions 24/7, and that wasn’t even the worst of it! Tonight was the worst of it! Tonight was the most idiotic part of all!
Tonight was…
God, she couldn’t even bear to think about it without gagging.
Tonight…blech.
Okay, she could do this.
Tonight was…tonight…was…
Outside the bathroom door, the music abruptly changed to Jingle Bell Rock, and the sheer volume of the opening guitar surprised her into coughing up the rest of her thought like a cat choking out an especially gnarly hairball. There was no getting around it: Tonight was Chris and Josh’s annual ugly sweater party, and God help her, why had she let Jess answer that stupid RSVP?!
Emily stood in the ensuite bathroom for a moment longer than she had to, watching the residual steam from her shower swirl around her while, in the bedroom beyond, Jessica’s Christmas music continued to jingle-jangle every last one of her holly-jolly nerves. It wasn’t the music’s fault (or Jess’s, for that matter), but the longer she stayed there, hairdryer in hand, robe sticking uncomfortably to her still-damp skin, her mind flooded with images of the horrendous sweater Chris had greeted them at the door in last year; there were no thoughts of sugarplums, no dreams of marshmallows melting into hot cocoa, just the look of pride that dork had had on his face as he’d shown them all, why yes indeed, the little lights sewn into the sweater actually worked!
Fine, Emily had thought back then (and found herself thinking again now). Neat. Cool. The sweater had working lights. Whatever. It hadn’t needed to be cropped. That one she’d stick with until the bitter end.
When the bathroom started to lose some of its warmth, she forced herself to move again. She had hoped that the shower would help her mood, that maybe once she started getting ready to go out, some sliver of excitement would pop up to replace her exasperation, but nooo! Of course not! It was almost as though nothing wanted to help her out tonight, not even herself!
And it wasn’t like she was a total Scrooge or anything—the holiday season was fine on its own! Snowy vistas everywhere you looked? Yes please. Everybody and their grandma breaking out the tastiest, most nap-inducing recipes for every cozy little get-together? Beautiful! Even the weirdest of the neighbors’ decorations were usually good for a quiet moment of reflection and peace, if not a judgmental chuckle hidden behind a mittened hand…but holy cow, she couldn’t believe they’d agreed to go to this stupid party! Again! Even though every year was always somehow cringier than the last!
She ran her fingers through her hair one last time, decided it was dry enough, and opened the door to let the steam rush out to greet whatever ridiculousness the night held for her.
Well, whatever ridiculousness the night held for them.
Us, Emily reminded herself, and though the bedroom was more than a just a couple degrees colder than the bathroom had been, the thought warmed her from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.
It wasn’t anything new, her and Jess going to the crappy little shindig together (they’d gone pretty much everywhere together since they’d met back in grade school, after all), nor was the sight of her sitting there in front of the vanity with her legs dangling in time to the music. What was new was the shared bedroom thing, the mismatched pillows on the bed thing. The couple thing.
It struck her then, as she loosened the sash of her bathrobe and watched Jess rub moisturizer into her face with easy, practiced swipes, that this was going to be their first real holiday together, the first big milestone since making the capital-G Girlfriends announcement over all their socials.
And they were going to spend it.
At Chris.
And Josh’s.
Ugly.
Sweater.
Party.
Jess jumped as the bathroom door swung fully open, but when she turned away from the vanity mirror, she looked excited, not surprised. “Oh my God, finally! I’m going crazy over here—like literally dying. Are you ready for your super special secret surprise?”
“Would you turn that music down?” she groaned by way of an answer, quieting the bathroom fan as she made her way into the bedroom proper, careful not to drip on the faux fur throw rug beside the bed. “I am so not joking, if I even hear the first note of that Mariah Carey song again…”
“You’ll what?” Jess teased, keeping her voice playfully flat as she turned to the mirror once more, her legs no longer swishing in time to the music but slowly drifting as though treading water. “Sing along? Like you have the past twenty times it’s come on? Oooh…anything but that!”
It hadn’t really come as a shock to them or to anyone else that they’d ended up together, not when they’d been so close for so long, their relationship always a little too deep and a little too emotionally fraught to just be friends—aaand neither had the fact that their ‘newfound’ adoration hadn’t stopped them from picking on each other. It was just their language, a long-running joke that had simply cemented itself as the way they interacted. They kept each other on their toes, kept each other guessing, but there was never any actual venom in it. It made them laugh way too much for that.
Still, she feigned insult at Jess’s tone, turning to meet her reflection’s eyes in the mirror. “Excuse me? I—” Only no sooner had she gotten her first good look at her than she realized something was off about Jess. Emily stood beside the bed for a beat, trying to figure out what it was…and when it dawned on her, she breathed out of her nose hard enough for it to almost (almost!) sound like a snort. “Are you kidding me? Are you being serious right now?”
“What?” Jess didn’t turn away from the mirror, instead continuing to go about her nightly skincare routine. Until, that was, she caught Emily’s gaze in the reflection; then she pooched her lower lip out and raised her eyebrows in an expression so comically innocent that it circled right back around to guilt.
Not that Emily needed an admission. She had eyes, after all.
“Those,” she began, pointing to the pajamas Jess was wearing, “are mine.”
Her eyes widened in the mirror. “What?!” she gasped, quickly glancing down at herself and plucking at the fabric between her fingers. Once she got a handful of the top she heaved an equally dramatic sigh of relief, letting her shoulders relax as she explained, “Oh wowww, you really scared me for a second! No, see, these are mine. You can tell because, one, they fit me just sooo good, and two, because, um, I’m wearing them.” She flashed her a wide, toothy smile before going back to primping. “But don’t be embarrassed, anyone could’ve made that mistake!”
Oh, as if. As if she’d let that stand!
Emily walked up behind her, reaching into the pajama top to flip the tag out. “Uh huh. Okay. Well, if I’m reading this right—and I am—this little label right here? Yeah, it says Neiman Marcus, honey. Since when do you have Neiman Marcus money?”
That time she didn’t even pretend to think, twisting around on the padded stool to face her. “You know what? I’m starting to think you don’t deserve my super special secret surprise. Maybe…maybe I just shouldn’t tell you what it is at all! Then we’ll see who gets the last laugh!”
“How will I ever recover.”
Seeing that it took more than the promise of a vague ‘surprise’ to get her to drop the issue, Jess folded her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side just so. “I wear these all the time, for your information.”
In response, Emily folded her own arms over her own chest and raised her own eyebrows: Proof positive that, yes, yes indeed, two could play at this particular game. “Oh, really.”
“Yeah. Maybe if you paid attention to other people instead of always obsessing over yourself…”
“Wow. Wowww. You know what—you’re so right! I’ve been a real monster, obsessing over my favorite sleep set going missing. I guess I just completely missed you magically buying the exact same one!”
“I guess.”
“In the exact same size.”
“Weird!”
“And the exact same color.”
“Oh brrr! The coincidences just keep stacking up!” Clearly proud of herself, Jessica grinned and turned around again, pulling her hair back out of her face before pursing her lips together to blow Emily’s reflection an air-kiss. “Finder’s keeper’s. You snooze, you lose. Pick which one you like better!”
She made a big show of pretending to bat the kiss to the side, struggling not to smile when Jess let out an insulted noise. “So not how it works.”
“Actually? When you put me in charge of folding the laundry for the third week in a row, uh, yeah, that is how it works.”
Well, that did it. The sound of Jess’s self-satisfied snickering made it impossible for Emily to keep from smiling, but God forbid she give her that satisfaction. She turned towards the dresser a little too abruptly to sell as being casual, knowing that rifling through the drawers gave her the perfect excuse to hide her face…and the fond expression taking root there, threatening to thoroughly ruin her put-out act. “You could’ve asked,” she sighed, not about to be the first to break.
Jess didn’t miss a beat. She rarely did. The two of them could go like this for hours if the mood struck, lobbing Disney Channel mean girl banter back and forth until they physically couldn’t hold their laughter at bay. They’d had so much practice! “What happened to ‘what’s yours is mine,’ huh? Remember that?”
“Okay, first of all? Until you put a ring on this finger—” she held her left hand out as she slid her robe off, stretching hard so her extended ring finger would show up in the mirror, “—what’s mine is mine, thanks very much. But nice try!”
“Oh, so it’s my job to get a ring, then? Me, who doesn’t even have…what did you just say? ‘Neiman Marcus money?’”
“Secondly,” Emily continued, wriggling into a pair of stylishly tight black jeans and zipping them up. She whirled to face her again, and…stopped.
Her mouth was still open, her brow still furrowed, but try as she might, her brain simply could not (or would not) give her more fuel for their jokey fire. It didn’t help that she could see Jess waiting for the next volley, her expression expectant and more than a little amused as they both watched each other in the mirror. She almost seemed to be goading her on, dipping her chin in a subtle nod, pointedly holding her gaze…and then finally removing the terrycloth headband she’d been using to keep her hair out of her face and slingshotting it over her shoulder towards her.
But she had nothing. She had nothing!
Jingle Bell Rock gave way to Last Christmas, and something about the desperation, the sadness, the resignation of the song did it. There was no going back. Emily huffed once, a sign that things were most certainly falling apart, and before her pesky pride could get in the way, she dropped her arms to her sides and let it all out. “Why are we even doing this tonight?”
It came out of her in a childish little whine (something that had not been her intention), and once it was out, it was out. She gave in completely, just absolutely threw in the towel, and let herself collapse back onto the bed in a melodramatic display of her displeasure. The stuffed duvet made a pathetic little woomf beneath her weight, puffing up before settling down onto the mattress once more.
From the vanity, there came a single victorious laugh. “There it is! God, I was wondering why you were being such a Binch Who Stole Grinchmas toni—wait, no, Grinch Who Stole Bitchma…Bitch Who…” There was a tiny clatter from the direction of the vanity, like Jess had set something down. “Ugh, you know what I’m trying to say.”
“I don’t think I do.”
Now that she’d gone and said it, though, now that it was out in the open, it seemed pointless to keep up the charade. Emily covered her face with her hands, leaning hard into the new charade of having the hardest life of anyone who’d ever been—or ever would be—born, groaning, “Why did you say we’d go to this awful thing? It’s always the worst time. Every year! Every year, Jess, it’s the stupidest thing we subject ourselves to, and no, I’m not exaggerating, so don’t even go there.”
“Uh…I mean, yeah? Duh? I’m actually pretty sure that’s the point. They make it bad. On purpose. That’s kind of their thing. Have you not been paying attention? They’re not exactly quiet about it.”
“So what, just because those two freakazoids think the ugly sweater crap is the funniest thing since the invention of knock-knock jokes, we have to, too? Please. Please! It’s the same every. Single. Year. We go. The music is terrible because none of them have taste, the food is inedible because Sam has no taste, there’s literally mistletoe everywhere because that’s just, like, the peak of holiday hilarity, I guess, and if that’s not bad enough, everyone insists on wearing those dumb antler headband things and my socials are blighted with unflattering candid pics of me mid-blink until freaking Valentine’s Day!”
“Don’t forget how Mike somehow keeps finding new sweaters with reindeer humping on them,” Jessica helpfully added, doing nothing to hide the laughter in her voice.
Emily grimaced into her own hands. “Who’s even selling those?! Seriously!”
“Selling them? Um, who’s making them?!”
With her hands still flung over her face, she couldn’t see Jess get up. She must’ve, though, because the mattress dipped beside her, and a moment later there were warm fingers skating ticklishly up and down her bare stomach. She didn’t drop her hands—not just yet—but curled into Jess all the same, basking in the sensation of her own (stolen!) satin pajamas against her skin. The combined smell of laundry detergent and body lotion came shockingly close to making up for all the abject misery she was suffering in that moment.
The totally real, totally legitimate, definitely mature and reasonable abject misery.
“My guess? Whoever’s making Chris’s.”
“So, like, Josh.”
“Yeah, can’t you just see him now? Sitting in some rickety old rocking chair, knitting sweater after sweater, each one a worse fashion crime than the one that came before it? ‘Oh, I know, I’ll put Bigfoot wearing a Santa hat on this one…throw some headless reindeer onto that one…and, hey, to keep them all guessing, why don’t I make this one a tank-top with a freaking boob window?’”
She dropped her hands once Jess started laughing in earnest, and while she didn’t immediately join in, there was simply no helping the smile that overtook her, exasperated though she was. Emily let herself be hugged closer, contently setting her head against Jess’s shoulder as their limbs tangled and her fingers found their way into her hair. And when Jess’s laughter proved too contagious (as it always did), Emily sighed before giving in, the mental image of Josh Frankensteining an army of ugly sweaters pushing her over the edge.
The party was always stupid as hell, that much was true, but lying there with Jess, the two of them giggling until their eyes got teary, she realized that was…well, that was sort of the fun of it!
Was it stupid? Yes. Was it also dumb? Yes. Did it always go on way too long and was it impossible to escape without someone stopping you every five feet to point up at a hanging bough of mistletoe and make the requisite jokes? Yes and yes. But…did it give them something hilarious to talk about for weeks afterwards?
Oh yeah.
Yeah, it did that all right.
Plus, it was time they got to spend with their friends. Or whatever.
As the wave of laughter began to ebb, Emily made an executive decision: She would make this the most wonderful time of the year, damn it, no matter how much she really, really, really, really, really, really wanted to say screw it and stay in bed all night. She had had Jess RSVP for them. She had ordered a crappy sweater with kittens wrapping presents on it from Amazon. It was one night out of the year—she could go and mingle for a few hours, and she and Jess could show those dweebs they called their friends what an actual-factual put-together adult couple really looked like.
With that decided, she sighed again and rolled onto her side so they were facing each other, her fingers still twisting through Jess’s hair. “You know what the problem is?” she asked, pausing only long enough to return the chaste kiss Jessica pressed to her lips. “The real problem, I mean?”
“Hmm?”
Emily assumed her most pained expression, then slowly shook her head. “We’re too hot. We’re too hot, and too magnetic, and too fun to be around, so obviously they’re going to keep inviting us to their terrible party every year! We’re the only thing keeping it from imploding under the weight of its own embarrassment.”
“Oh, totally!” Jess beamed. “We’re pretty much heroes.”
“I think you meant to say ‘martyrs,’ but I’ll let it slide.” She propped herself up on an elbow then, and, squaring her shoulders like she was preparing to go off to war, eyed the closet where the kitten sweater was waiting for her. “God. I should probably do my makeup first, huh? I’d hate to stain my gorgeous, definitely not mass-produced, sweater with powder. I don’t know how I’d survive if I had to throw it away after tonight. Or burn it in a roadside pit.”
She went to get up all the way, only to find herself tugged right back down again. “Well wait,” Jess said, her smile taking on a decidedly crooked slant as she kept her on the bed. “Before you do that, aren’t you just the tiiiniiiest bit curious about my super special secret surprise? I think you might want it. Like, right now.”
“Oh, I’m curious,” she reassured her, begrudgingly slipping out of her grasp to stand. “But I know me, and if I don’t force myself to get ready right now, then I’m not getting ready at all. So hold that thought, because I need some kind of carrot dangling in front of me to keep me moving forward.” Emily touched her fingers to her lips, then playfully patted those same fingers against Jess’s cheek before taking her earlier spot in front of the vanity, pushing away her stuff to make room for her own.
In the mirror, she watched Jessica roll over, her expression perplexed. “…it’s…it’s not a carrot.”
“Huh?”
“My surprise. It’s…it’s not a carrot, Em. That’s…why would you even think that?”
Even the deepest well of affection couldn’t keep her from rolling her eyes. “I know it’s not an actual carrot, oh my God.”
“Then why did you say it was a carrot?”
“I…” Reminding herself that she’d decided to take the grownup route tonight, Emily forced herself to stop and take a deep, steadying breath before she could fall back into the comfortable (and time-wasting!) pattern of their usual banter. “You,” she tried instead, “are so lucky I love you. And that you’re hot. Mostly that you’re hot, if I’m being honest.”
“Wow, butter me up more, why don’t you?” In the mirror, Jess rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs up to dangle behind her as she began scrolling her phone. “I still think you might want my surprise nooow…” she said in a mischievous singsong Emily was only too happy to mimic.
“I still think you should wait ‘til I’m dooone…”
There was a moment, just the one, where Jessica turned to look at her with a…peculiar expression. It was so quick though, so brief, that there was no way Emily could read it before she went back to her phone, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally. “Okay,” she said, and there was something strange about her tone too, but Emily couldn’t put her finger on it.
Which was fine. Honestly? Totally fine. See, that awful Mariah Carey song had come on again, wouldn’t you know it, and before long she was humming along under her breath, lining her eyes and curling her lashes.
As it had since she’d first brought it up at dinner, Jess’s surprise simply slipped from her mind after a minute or so, replaced by her own internal pre-party affirmations: She was going to be the most well-dressed person there; she was going to be the most captivating person there; she was going to be the funniest, the smartest, the best-smelling, the coolest person there; she wasn’t going to make anybody cry.
Well, no more than she usually did, anyway.
So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until she finished her makeup and carefully (so carefully) pulled her terrible sweater on over her head that she realized Jess hadn’t moved. Not an inch. In all the time it had taken her to do her makeup, to find an undershirt that wouldn’t make her sweat, and to finally slip into the party’s titular ugly sweater, Jess hadn’t so much as put on a pair of socks, and what the hell was up with that?!
“Are you kidding me?” Emily asked, not for the first time that night.
“Hmm?” Jess asked, also not for the first time that night, barely glancing her way as she continued to scroll through her feeds.
Putting her hands on her hips, she resisted the urge to sigh. “I get wanting to be fashionably late, but come on. We both know I take longer than you do to get ready, ha ha ha, but you still have to, y’know, get ready.”
At that, Jess sat up. Smiled. She even set her phone to the side, which was nothing short of a miracle, given who she was as a person. And again, Emily saw that look on her face, that expression she couldn’t place. Though she couldn’t explain it, and though she’d definitely never heard anyone use the expression in real life, the only thing that came to mind was that Jessica looked like the cat that got the cream, like she—
Oh God.
Oh God, it was happening.
The kitten sweater was already affecting her brain.
Before the implications of that terrifying thought could take root, Emily moved into action, joining her once more on the bed. “Come on,” she said, sitting up on top of her pillows to give herself a little extra height. “In the spirit of giving and selflessness or whatever, I’ll even help you. You can’t tell me you’re leaving your hair like this tonight.”
“I mean…I was gonna.”
Emily let that one hang in the air for a moment, her silence saying everything that needed said. Then she waved Jess to scooch closer, patting the duvet right in front of her with the sort of insistence that didn’t leave room for argument. “What part of ‘we’re the hotties that keep this circus running’ did you miss? Come here—I don’t know what I’m going to do it with yet, but when I’m done with you, you’ll actually have hair appropriate for a night out.”
To her relief, she slid over to her without delay.
However!
That wasn’t to say she made it easy on her.
Instead of sitting in her customary spot in front of her, Jess popped up onto her knees, defiantly staying at eye-level. “Say please,” she teased, playfully grabbing Emily’s hands in hers before they could so much as touch her hair.
She cocked an eyebrow, but she would’ve been a liar if she’d said she wasn’t at least a little interested in this turn of events.
She would’ve been an even bigger liar if she’d said she was looking anywhere but Jess’s lips at that moment.
“You want me. To say please. Before styling your hair. Really? Really. You think it’s that much of a privilege?”
It shouldn’t have been legal, the crafty way she took to smirking—not when the song switched to I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, of all things. Jess didn’t back down, though; she just leaned in closer and closer until Emily could feel the curve of that smirk against her own lips. “We both know you like showing off your fancy-pants braiding skills,” she teased, “don’t even pretend like this is for me.”
“You are…so obnoxious,” she murmured against her lips, knowing there was no way in hell her lipstick was going to survive this unscathed. Knowing, too, that she didn’t care.
“And you’re a Binch. Grinch. Whatever.” Finally—finally—she closed that itty-bitty distance between them, punctuating the thought with a slow, lingering kiss the likes of which Chris and Josh’s collection of mistletoe had never seen before (and likely never would). When eventually she pulled away, it was with another of those mischievous smiles.
She didn’t say anything else on the matter, however: didn’t joke, didn’t quip, didn’t snicker, didn’t even comment on the horrible song that was still somehow playing on the radio. Nope, Jessica simply sat where Emily had told her to, crisscrossing her legs and letting her hands rest on her knees. Instead of reaching for her phone, her fingers tapped absently against her legs as Emily set about letting her hair down from its elastic and began sectioning it into pieces.
And, all right, she couldn’t lie, she did like showing off her fancy-pants braiding skills. That much was true. But there was more to it than that. Way more.
Even when they’d been young, she’d always found a certain comfort in doing Jess’s hair for her. It was the smell of her shampoo and the glossy feeling of her hair in her hands, it was how they could pass the time laughing and joking and gossiping or sitting in perfect silence, it was the sense of closeness, the unspoken trust that Jess wouldn’t make any sudden movements and Emily wouldn’t tug too hard or scratch her scalp. How many times had they sat just like that? How many parties, school dances, girls nights, dates, weddings, rainy days had passed with her hands twisting Jess’s hair into shape as Jess leaned back against her, occasionally lifting her phone to show her something funny or holding a snack up so she could munch without stopping? More than she could count, for sure.
She hoped there’d be twice as many in the future, too. Twice as many at least.
By the time she’d made up and changed her mind about twenty times, ditching Jess’s usual Dutch braids for a slightly more sophisticated crown braid that made her look rather princess-like, in her not-so-humble opinion, the danger of being fashionably late for the party had passed. It was right as she finished securing her handiwork, fluffing out the rest of Jess’s hair that she caught a glimpse of the bedside clock, and after doing a double-take, Emily slid off the bed.
“Okay. I have finished getting ready,” she announced, spreading her arms wide and even doing a little twirl to show Jess she had, in fact, gotten dressed. “I have even gotten you ready. Sort of, anyway. If we want to get there before Matt demolishes the appetizers, we’re gonna have to hustle, so do you think you could maybe swap my pajamas for a heinous sweater of your own while giving me my surprise?”
The fact that Jess wasn’t immediately springing into action did, in fact, register as strange to her…although not nearly strange enough to jingle any alarm bells.
Yet.
Instead of hopping off the mattress to tear through the closet, Jess sort of scooted to the edge, plunking her elbows down on her knees and setting her chin in her hands as she fixed her (again!) with that weirdly mischievous look. “You’re really set on that, huh? The pajama thing?” She didn’t let Emily get a word in edgewise, shaking her head after a beat and reaching for her phone. “Okay, okay! Jeez…sure, you don’t want it when I’m like ‘Oh! Here!’ But suddenly—”
“Jess,” she began, and then froze as she felt some kind of circuit connecting in her brain. What had triggered it, well, she really couldn’t say, but if she had to guess, it was something about the sight of Jessica tapping at her phone. Why that might be, she also couldn’t say, not when Jess was always touching her phone, always messing with it, but…
But all at once, as the radio switched over to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, a flurry of suspicion came over her. Odd details about what had been happening ever since she’d gotten out of the shower, things so tiny as to barely register in her mind, suddenly came flooding back to her in a wave.
Jess doing her nightly skincare routine.
Jess not having done anything with her hair.
Jess wearing her pajamas.
Hers being the only…ugly sweater…in the…closet…
“Oh my God,” Emily said aloud. “Oh my God.”
In retrospect, she should’ve seen it coming. How she hadn’t was anyone’s guess—maybe the endless drone of Christmas music had numbed her senses, or perhaps she’d been blinded by her own humbuggishness—but when Jess handed her the phone, the screen open to a text thread between her and Josh, understanding bowled her over like a freight train.
“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously, turning Jess’s phone over in her hand as if checking it for bugs before looking at the screen again. Part of her already knew, of course, but she was too surprised, too taken aback, to totally trust herself without having it spelled out. Truth be told, she’d sort of been expecting Jess’s super special secret surprise to be a present—a box wrapped in colorful paper with a big shiny bow slapped on top, or a bag stuffed to the brim with bright crepe.
What she saw on that screen, though…what she saw there in her text conversation with Josh was better than anything that could’ve been bought in a store.
Emily raised her eyes to Jessica’s.
Jessica smiled and smiled and smiled until Emily swore her face was about to crack in half.
“Are you…are you kidding me? Are you being serious? Don’t play with me—”
Throwing her arms into the air like they were celebrating a touchdown at one of Matt’s games, Jess finally revealed her surprise: “I told them we had family stuff and couldn’t make it. Like, days ago! We are so off the hook for that stupid, awful, terrible, embarrassing party!”
There was a beat where the only thing she could do was look between her and the phone, checking and double-checking, waiting for the pivotal moment when someone (Jess, Josh, Mariah Carey herself) yelled ‘SIKE!’ to dash her hopes…except that moment never came. Jess kept grinning her way, so proud of herself, and when the reality of the situation sank in, when she realized the two of them would be able to spend their first official holiday season together doing whatever they wanted, Emily all but flung herself into Jess’s arms, hugging her tightly while peppering her cheeks with grateful kisses.
“Oh my God,” she said again. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh. My. Goddd! I love you. Have I said that lately? I freaking love you. I—”
And then reality finished sinking in, bringing a secondary realization with it.
“Wait.” All at once, Emily sat back up, narrowing her eyes. “Wait.”
To her credit, Jess did, beaming the whole way through, her cheeks dotted with frantic little lipstick smudges. “Yeees?”
“If you knew we weren’t going—for days—why did you let me do all this crap? Why did I do my makeup?! Why did I do your hair?! Why am I wearing this itchy monstrosity?!”
“Honestly?” she laughed, leaning back on her elbows as she once more took on her earlier look, the one that tried so hard for innocent that it circled right back around to guilty as all get-out. “I was just trying to buy myself a little more time with these pajamas. Seems like it worked, too!”
She set Jess’s phone down on the bedside table as calmly as she could, not wanting it to get caught up in whatever happened next. “I’m going to kill you,” Emily said, not without a fair bit of laughter, sliding onto the bed as Jess playfully scrambled away from her amid a peal of giggling. “I am so going to kill you! I love you, you totally made my whole freaking night, but I am going to kill you, and then I’m taking my pajamas back.”
Throwing her arms out wide once more, Jess issued a simple challenge, “Come and get ‘em, Christmas Kitten!” and Emily bopped her right in the chest with the first attack of what promised to be a very short-lived (and halfhearted) pillow fight.
As they found themselves wrapped up both in the duvet as well as each other’s arms, Emily discovered she had changed her mind. This was the most wonderful time of the year. In fact, she couldn’t think of a time in her life that had been more wonderful than this, nor did she think she could imagine anything that could top it.
…but she was getting those pajamas back if it was the last thing she ever did.