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“Happy New Year,” May said, unceremoniously dropping down into the chair in front of Phil’s desk, a bottle of champagne in her hand. She took a swig from it, then offered it to Phil.
“Really?” Phil said.
May shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She took another drink.
Phil leaned back in his chair, watching her. He wouldn’t say that May was drunk, exactly (he’d seen May drunk, he knew what that looked like), but she was well on her way to happy times. Or whatever getting drunk was supposed to do for a person.
“I hope you didn’t waste too much money on that champagne considering the way you’re chugging it,” he said.
“It was gonna be for you, actually, but I changed my mind.”
Phil raised an eyebrow. “Why, Melinda May, you Indian giver.”
May snorted. “Indian giver? Do people actually still say that? It’s offensive. And anyway, I would’ve had to give it to you first for the phrase to apply.”
“I stand corrected.”
“Come on, Phil. It’s New Year’s Eve. Have a drink with me. Or did dying turn you into a grumpy old man prematurely?”
“You take that back,” Phil said, and he reached out to grab the bottle. It was good champagne, dry and crisp and cold. “Okay, I’m sad now you kept this for yourself.”
May’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “There’s another bottle in my room.”
“You never disappoint.”
“I know.” When Phil handed the bottle back to her, May took another long swallow.
“Why are you so intent on celebrating, anyway?” Phil asked. “It isn’t usually your thing.”
May’s eyes were only half-focused, as if her mind was preoccupied with something only she could see. “New Year’s is supposed to be about hope, right? It’s about hope that the coming year will be better than the one before it. It’s about enjoying the good times when they come. I figure we could use that right about now.”
Hope. That seemed an elusive idea, something that became more and more difficult every day. “It’s been a while since I can remember any good times coming along.”
“Well, then,” May said, rising up from her seat so she could meet Phil on his side of the desk. She put a hand to the back of his chair, spinning it until he was facing her.
When she leaned in, Phil could smell the champagne on her breath and feel the warmth of her body. He shivered.
May gazed at him with a promise in her eyes. “We’ll just have to make our own, won’t we?”
End