No Love Attached

chapter sixteen : new year, new-ish me?

| No Love Attached |
chapter sixteen : new year, new-ish me?
•••

Christmas flew by. As much as I loved my family, every time I hung out with them it felt like a blow to the gut. Don't get me wrong, it was nice having them all in New York within a few city blocks of me. But holidays turn people into the ugliest versions of themselves.

My mom pestered me about things like my mediocre cooking, my lack of decorative skills, or my waist expanding an inch. She normally wouldn't comment on such things, but something about Jesus' birthday really brought out the bitch in her. It must have been the stress of getting those tree shaped cookies out of the oven on time. Or perhaps it was the intricate mixture of the Christmas ham marinade. Pressing matters, you see.

Things took a turn for the uncomfortable when she started saying things about my fertile clock and "eggs drying up". She had me when she was only twenty, and my sister was twenty four when she had her son, so in Larson years I was basically menopausal. Apparently after almost four years the "my fiancé died" trump card no longer is viable in our household.

My father pretended not to hear it, like he routinely did when she badgered me on special occasions.

All while my sister, Liza, lugged her two year old monster on her hip like the Virgin Mary, all willowy and such with her husband Tom, who I've sworn is gay ever since I saw him sitting front row, beaming by himself at Kinky Boots.

The only person I could tolerate through the holidays was my brother. We mostly got stoned and ate cookies on the roof. Logan was nineteen, which meant he was young, hip, and smoked the same strain of weed as Snoop Dogg.

New Year's Eve was quite the spectacle in the Big Apple. I contemplated heading back to London early to avoid the street closures and the extra people who flock to New York to watch the ball drop at midnight. But Penney and Anthony somehow convinced me otherwise. Anthony was throwing a bash at a roof top bar and it was sure to be the party of the night.

Getting drunk on a roof, twenty-stories high, with troubled writers and artists definitely sounded like a recipe for disaster and amusement. If I was lucky, maybe I could end my 2017 by watching some poor bastard jump. Kidding.

Kind of.

All of these holiday festivities had me exhausted. Damon's extravaganza, Aaron's dinner party, Christmas, and now New Year's Eve. I've seen more people in the last ten days than I wanted to see in my entire life.

Knowing that the party was going to be outside on a roof in twenty-degree weather didn't leave much creativity for fashion and I was beyond fine with that. I settled on an all black ensemble covered by my equally black duster coat that cinched at the waist. 

It took everything in me not to run back to the comfort of my couch as I walked out the door. If you I listened close enough, I could hear Netflix calling my name. The only thing that stopped me was knowing if I didn't go to the party, I wouldn't get a chance to see Anthony before going back to London tomorrow night.

•••

By the time I got there at ten o'clock, the party was already in full swing. And by full swing, I mean everyone was wasted enough to forget 2017 ever existed. The space itself was cute. It included dim lights, outdoor couches, a bar, and various 2018 decorations. It was all a blur of thumping music, glittering outfits, and a whole slew of "boy toys". Anthony's greatest hits, I suppose.

Anthony swayed over with a stunning young man named Bo. I guess the last guy, Klaus got the boot. The dim moonlight let Anthony pass as late thirties. That was probably the reason he chose to host a party outside.