The Only Thing On My Wishlist

J,

Had to get to work. Meet you tonight.

Love,
C

I eyed the note on the dresser mirror and let out a roar of a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. I was always stiff after sleeping at Camille’s; her mattress was something similar to a boulder, and mine at home was more like a giant pillow. She kept joking that we’d need one of those beds with two different firmnesses on either side when we moved in together.

I gathered my clothes from the floor and pulled them back on, wincing as I caught sight of the time. I hadn’t meant to sleep so late, but she’d had me up well into the night—and yes, I mean for that to be taken with every implication.

Camille was a student at University College London, where she was working toward a degree in European Social and Political Studies, and she’d started her very own Empowered Women society on campus. She said it would look good when she went to apply to law school, but she was also really interested in it, I guess. Feminism and all that it was about really evaded me, but I’d heard the term “sex-positive” used by more than a few of her friends and both of her roommates, which explained a lot about Camille—if I was understanding the term correctly, that is.

I slunk out of her room as I tugged my sweater down over my head, another yawn escaping me as I shut her bedroom door softly behind me.

I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom and stared at my tired-looking reflection as I tried to open my eyes wider. I noted as I grabbed my toothbrush that I looked like hell. Lucy was insisting on “family holiday card photos,” which meant she was going to kill me when I got to her house and she saw the state of me. Most could be fixed with a quick shower, but the dark circles under my eyes would probably last the day.

I dropped my toothbrush back in the coffee mug that played as Camille’s toothbrush holder and ran a hand through my hair again, trying to smooth it down or at least make it look half-decent before I had to brave the streets of London and head home. But it was a fruitless attempt, as my hair never quite cooperated—and anyway, my rumpled clothes were more of an embarrassment than my messy hair. So I shut off the bathroom light and stared at my darkened reflection for another moment before stepping back out into the hall.

Gia and Bailey were both in the living room watching CNN when I poked my head in. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, one dressed to go out and the other in her pajamas, eating a bowl of cereal. Even when they were dressed, it always took me a minute to figure out which was which—usually until one opened her mouth. Until then, they were identical to the last toenail.

The one in the pajamas giggled. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

That had to be Bailey. Gia didn’t giggle.

I smiled, reaching up to rumple my hair, undoing anything I’d been able to manage while trying to fix it. “Morning,” I replied sheepishly, my voice thick with sleep.

“You look like you slept well,” Gia said, eyeing my rumpled clothes—the same she’d seen me in the day before. “Or should I say, didn’t sleep but still well?”

I didn’t respond right away, opting instead to make a show of putting on my shoes, which I’d left by the door when I arrived. Gia, who had never approved of me, had made a game out of making my walks of shame extra shameful. I wasn’t sure if it still counted as a walk of shame if I was dating Camille, though. These kinds of rules, much like feminism, evaded me.

“Walls are still thin, mate,” Gia continued, staring me down from across the room. Bailey was the more soft-spoken of the two—the Good Cop to Gia’s Bad Cop. Gia was the enforcer. “I think I’ve mentioned this before.”

Bailey giggled again. “Leave him be, Gia. It’s all Camille anyway. He can’t help it that he’s good in bed.”

The level of awkward that the conversation had set me at thus far went through the roof at that comment. I felt my face heating up as my embarrassment registered.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry, ladies,” I said politely as I straightened up.

Gia rolled her eyes dramatically. “I may have also mentioned gender-specific nicknames.”

“Right,” I said quickly, trying my best to avoid one of the radical rants Gia was prone to. The only one who didn’t lecture me much like a preacher at Sunday School—the Sunday School of women’s rights, that is—was Bailey, but she was more of a reserved but passionate type. Camille was constantly on my case about politics and current events and something about birth control access. It was hard to keep up.

“Will you be gracing our flat with your presence again tonight?” she asked, feigning politeness.

I smiled tightly so as to keep myself from scowling at her. Gia was like a cheese grater on my nerves most of the time, but I prided myself on not going mental, which I was sure was exactly what she wanted.

“We’re going to Lucy’s holiday party tonight.”

“Oh, right, the holiday party.” She sat back on the couch and stared at the TV for a moment. Then she asked, “Will Camille be joining you?”

“She’s meeting me there when she gets off work,” I answered matter-of-factly.

Gia just nodded with a faux-encouraging look. “Well, you have fun then, won’t you?”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Gia,” I replied exaggeratedly. “Thanks so much.”

Bailey watched us like a tennis match, her eyes darting back and forth as we spoke.

“I’ll see you later,” I said as I grabbed my coat from the rack by the door and shrugged it on.

“Don’t get too cold, Josh!” Gia called after me. “I hear it won’t do much for your manly parts!”

My cheeks burned as the door swung shut behind me, leaving me alone in the stairwell. It wasn’t that I was easily embarrassed—my mates were easily ten times worse than Gia when it came to being inappropriate—but the way Gia talked about it, like she was setting out to make me feel uncomfortable, that was what really made me blush.

I started down the stairs, zipping the hoodie I wore under my leather jacket just as I reached the door. I could feel the cold wind through the cracks.

My stomach grumbled loudly as I stepped out into the cold, reminding me that I was starving. I probably had just enough time to grab a bite to eat on my way home to shower and change my clothes before I was supposed to be at Lucy’s.

As if on cue, my phone beeped in my pocket.

Pick up that sty u call a room b4 u go out. Love, mum.

She always signed it, like I wouldn’t know it was her texting me without her signature on the end. Sometimes I really regretted the day I taught my mum to text.

And considering the state I’d left my bedroom in, I had a feeling I was going to need to skip the stop for food and head straight home. Lucy was going to murder me if I was late.

&&

Lucy seemed to sense my presence the second her father let me into the house—fifteen minutes late, I might add. I was aiming for inconspicuous, hoping to avoid the stern talking-to I was likely to receive for being late, but there was no chance of escaping that. I barely had time to hang my coat up before she pounced.

Lucy scowled at me. “Josh, you look like shit,” she decided, fingering my rumpled hair. “Have you even showered today?”

“I did,” I answered honestly, sheepishly. Sometimes talking to Lucy felt like talking to someone’s mum, like I was bound to end up in trouble no matter what I said. “You know my hair dries like this on its own. It can’t be helped.”

She squinted at me for a moment, and then suddenly she pinched my cheeks so hard I cried out in pain.

“What was that for?” I shouted, stumbling away from her and pressing my palms against my stinging face.

“Putting some color in your cheeks,” she answered with a blithe smile. “Family photo today, remember? Holiday card? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“I know, Luce. That’s why I wore this.” I offered her a cheeky smile as I tugged at my over-the-top Christmas sweater with the puffy snowman on the front.

“That’s just embarrassing,” she replied, shaking her head dismissively. “But you know what? It’s fine, Joshua. I’m not going to let your usual disregard for normalcy get me down today. Everyone finally gets to meet my new stepsister today.” She looked down at her watch and frowned. “She should be here soon…”

“Oh, yeah?” I reached discreetly for a slice of cheese off the cheese board Lucy’s stepmum had left on the dining room table and shoved it into my mouth while she was momentarily distracted.

“I saw that,” she said, giving me a severe look.

I tried to smile innocently, but my mouth was full of cheese.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Luce,” Max urged, coming up beside her and tossing an arm across her shoulders. “He doesn’t get to eat any of the good stuff anymore now that he’s dating the Vegan Princess.”

“She’s not a princess,” I argued, shooting him a look. “And I still get to eat ‘the good stuff’, you twat.”

“Name the last time you ate cheese,” he shot back without hesitation.

I paused, mulling it over. Then, with a smirk, I said, “About thirty seconds ago.” Before he could argue, I grabbed another hunk of cheese and slipped away to talk to someone else.

About ten minutes later, Lucy started shouting about good lighting, and the bunch of us—the rest of the band, various girlfriends, a few of our other friends who were regulars on tour, and I—were ushered out into the cold in our holiday garb to take our “family photo” for the holiday card Lucy was planning to send to, oh, everyone we knew.

“Camille isn’t here yet,” I reminded her as everyone gathered in front of her house, which had outdone itself since last year. Lucy’s family was a dream—Christmas fanatics much like myself, almost to the point that I wished they would adopt me just for the holiday season. My family’s idea of Christmas decorations were icicle lights hanging on the roof and the Christmas tree. If Mum was feeling especially festive, we’d get a wreath on the front door, but it had only happened a handful of times that I could remember.

“Oh, the Vegan Princess is late?” Matt called. “What a surprise!”

“Sarcasm unappreciated,” I shouted back with an un-Christmas-like hand gesture.

“Well, that was just rude,” Chris decided. “But really, Matt, be reasonable. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever had to wait for Camille before.”

“Yeah, she wasn’t so late to dinner the other night that we lost our reservation,” Dan’s girlfriend Maddy pointed out.

“And she definitely showed up to our last gig after you begged and pleaded with her,” Matt agreed.

His girlfriend, Amanda, was quick to back him up with, “I’ve been to every gig since Matt and I started dating, Josh.”

“Let’s face it,” Max said, “the girl’s a bit of a flake.”

“A bit?” Lucy snorted. “She’s the definition of the word.” Then more quietly, just to me, she said, “We’re doing it without her, Josh. This is for everyone from Warped this summer, and long-term girlfriends. You’ve been dating Camille barely a month. I don’t think she can be counted into the family aspect of the family photo.”

I rolled my eyes, finally admitting defeat. “Fine, fine,” I gave in, backing away with my hands raised in surrender. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

I’d been joking, but I quickly backtracked and surrendered again when they began complaining with more gusto. Apparently my girlfriend’s popularity amongst my friends was dropping rapidly.

After about a million shots of us doing all kinds of poses—some with the lit-up animals and other decorations that graced Lucy’s front yard, others very serious and “normal family” despite the fact that we were not even close to it, and more just dicking around—the sun fell below the horizon and Lucy’s “good lighting” was lost, so we headed back inside. I made a beeline for the cheese board, eager to stuff myself with as much cheese as possible before it was all finished off. I argued that I got to eat “the good stuff” whenever I wanted, but it was a boldfaced lie. I got to eat whatever I wanted when I was home or alone, but when I ate out with Camille, she refused to eat anywhere that wasn’t all-organic, all-vegan, all-tasteless. She was very firm in her vegan-ism.

I stood in the dining room with the cheese and observed my friends—Lucy and Max sneaking upstairs to do god-knows-what, Lucy’s stepmum and dad laughing together on the couch with Amanda and Matt, Dan and Maddy feeding each other peppermint bark, Chris telling an animated story and earning a few good laughs, everyone else just making a lot of noise. I can’t tell you how long I stood there, but I do know that I’d just shoved enough cheese into my mouth so I resembled a small rodent storing food for the winter when Henry swung open the front door, letting in a frigid gust of wind followed closely by thin girl practically hidden by the heavy layers she wore.

“Elliot, dear!”