Eggnog & Evergreen

04 • Drinks with Deja

"Clearly God hates me," I complain, groaning into my greasy grilled cheese.

"Clearly the appropriate conclusion," Deja says sarcastically, flipping her braid.

"I mean, I really loved him. Preston Wells was the ONE." I shake my head like I'm still trying to wake up from some ghastly nightmare.

"Mhmm. Aren't they all THE one?" Deja asks, raising a single eyebrow.

"What is it with me and relationships? I am always hung out to dry," I sigh.

"More like left out to freeze, this time of year. Or whatever," Deja shrugs, dipping her egg roll appetizer in its spicy sriracha aioli.

"Remember Nate? Dated him the Christmas before I met Preston," I ask Deja.

"The one who left you at his own holiday office party to hook up with the coffee cart girl in his lobby?" Deja raises her eyebrow.

"That's him. That's the one. Ditched at an office party seems hella better than this," I scowl.

"Could be worse. Preston didn't ditch you at the plane terminal," Deja says.

"Gee. Great. And before Nate there was Cam," I drone on.

"Cameron or Camille?" She asks.

"Ugh, Camille! Now she was a winner. I never should have switched to men." I throw my sandwich down with such force that the plate clatters on the tabletop.

"Ok, don't take it out on your grilled cheese." Deja laughs.

My eyes wander out the bar window. It's the same spot Deja and I always visit late at night, especially after hours of drinking, and extra especially when one of us needs to vent.

"I can't believe Hawaii is gone. Literally, New York is the last place I want to be right now," I whine.

"So leave," Deja says, shrugging.

"Leave?"

"Leave New York. You want to get away so go get away," she answers.

"HA! Yeah, OK! And go where?"

"Didn't you say the J's were heading to Miami next week? I see sandy, overcrowded beaches and Cuban night clubs in your future," Deja says.

"Yes, but with their family. I've already said no to crashing their grandmother's Christmas. I don't have the heart or spirit to crawl back to them now." I tell her, pushing my plate away altogether. No appetite for a broken heart.

"It could be fun! Nice and sunny and no impending snow storm," Deja shrugs.

"I'm in no position to ruin other peoples' holiday with my own problems," I say. "I already feel like the grinch. I don't need other people thinking it!"

"OK, grinch. Well..." Deja pauses, biting her lip.

"Well?" I press her.

"Seems you are sort of sidestepping the obvious solution to your problem," Deja says.

"Am I?" I swirl my glass.

"There's always one place to crawl back to. You could always go... home?"

"Ew."

"I know, I know, but hear me out. Weren't you JUST saying it's been years since you've been home for Christmas?"

"And? Still ew." I tell her.

"And it's in about the middle of nowhere, you called it?" She asks.

"Go on," I say. My wheels are slightly greased and turning.

"Well, you don't want to be in New York for Christmas. It reminds you too much of P. You want to hideaway from P for the next few days, so... What better place to go than nowhere?" Deja shrugs.

"Ok. Ok," I repeat, the idea mulling in my mind like some simmering cider. "You think I should hideout in PA?"

"Babe, I think you need a beat. A break from the city could be just what you don't know you need," Deja urges.

"Guess it can't be worse than this," I say, gesturing to the great big city lurking beyond the bar's finger-printed window.

"That's the spirit. Or not the spirit," Deja smirks. "Wish I wasn't working all next week or I'd totally escape with you."

"Not your fault you have a fancy real job," I mumble, shrugging.

"Another round, one hundred percent," Deja answers the waitress who walks by holding a drink tray. Deja holds out the pop-up menu and points at a martini-looking thing. "Can we try these ones?"

"Sure thing." The waitress nods.

Three minutes later I am feeling the buzz and the idea of returning home doesn't seem quite as daunting as it did last night.

"These Christmas Cosmos really are something," Deja says.

I nod, licking the peppermint candy cane rim. Ugh!

"Am I really considering this?" I ask out loud, though it's more a question for myself than for Deja.

"You are." She nods matter-of-factly. "What's the worst that could happen? You spend two weeks hating Christmas at home?"

"True. And I am still working remotely. I really don't need to bother seeing anybody besides mom and dad," I say. Hmm.

"And you can text me or video me any day or every day. I could use a break from my fancy real job," Deja teases.

"After the last 24 hours in New York, I actually think a backwater town sounds appealing," I admit.

"Is that the Cosmo talking?" Deja laughs.

"I must be worse than I thought."

"To being worse than you thought," Deja says, raising her highball glass to cheers mine.

"To the worst break-up ever," I nod.

"To going home?" Deja adds.

Our glasses clink together and it's like I sealed some sort of pact with myself. The Treaty of Wet Eyes.

Being as it's New York, I don't own a car. I open the train schedule to search for the next departure. Deja's eyes wander over to my phone screen.

"Looking up times?" Deja asks.

"Mhmm."

"So," Deja says, blotting her newly colored lips. "When do you leave?"

"Next train out leaves at," I pause, waiting for the next screen to load. "11:20 PM."

"To the holiday train schedule," Deja raises her empty martini glass.

"To bloody Pennsylvania."