Fullness—finally, I feel fullness.
Everyone is filing into the living room now, turning on the main television to watch the ball drop. But I stay in my seat, safely sandwiched between strangers and behind happy couples. My eyes are wide, and they’re searching desperately for him, until I see his legs walk across the room, and he sits in a dining chair directly across from me. He doesn’t see me at first, because of the dozens of drunk people laughing and shouting in the space that’s between us, but eventually our eyes meet.
We’re caught, completely stuck here—forced to watch one another, feel all of our cruel words, and suffer amid our regrets while new loves spark around us. Neither of us is breathing, only staring, as the room starts to count down.
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”
It’s like a bomb, and Cody and I are just waiting for it to destroy us, knowing there’s nothing we can do to escape. When the room hits one, everyone cheers loudly, and lips find other lips as men wrap their arms around women and lean them over, kissing them hard and long to welcome in a new year. One girl, who looks a lot like me, leaps into a pair of tattooed arms, and the man spins her around in front of us, kissing her like I want to be kissed—by Cody—and I can’t stop the tears it elicits.
Cody’s eyes never leave mine, and every time I try to turn away, I find myself looking at him again. He never smiles, he never blinks—but there’s depth in his eyes, and I can see the longing. Old Lang Syne is playing on repeat from the television, and the blasts of toy horns are filling the living room, but for us, everything is silent. We’re locked here, together—so close, but so very far away. He reaches up his hand at one point and rubs the back of it along the side of his face, trying to hide his emotion. A second later, he’s on his feet, and I lose him in the crowd.
My stomach clenches; I push myself from the sofa, trying to weave my way through the couples still locked in kisses and embraces in front of me. I finally get to the kitchen, where Gabe and Jessie are kissing one another and laughing. I hate interrupting them, but I need to stop Cody before he leaves. I’m overwhelmed by the strange sensation that if I don’t find him, I’ll lose him forever.
“Heyyyyy, Charlie!” Jessie says, slinging her arm around me. “Happppp-Peeeeee New Yeeeeeaaaaar!”
She kisses my cheek, and it’s wet and sloppy. I want to wipe it away in the worst way, but I don’t, instead just squeezing her back and smiling.
“Happy New Year, Jessie,” I smile. “Do you guys know where Cody went?”
They both just look at each other and start snickering. “Youuuuu like him,” Jessie teases. They’re not helping, and they clearly have no idea where he is, so I just pat my intoxicated friend on the shoulder, and resolve to find him myself.
“Happy New Year, Charlie!” Gabe calls out as I walk away.
After two loops through the house, I make my way back to my stuff tucked next to the sofa. I pull my coat on and slip my keys from my pocket. The chill outside has crept down to freezing, and the cold makes my skin burn, but I walk the full length of their street anyhow, looking for Cody’s truck. It isn’t here, but there’s one open spot, and I’m sure in my gut it’s the one he left behind.
It takes me five minutes to walk back to where I’ve parked, and I let my car heat up for a few more minutes while I stare at my phone, at Cody’s name next to his two missed phone calls. I try to talk myself into hitting return. I have pretend conversations with Cody, and everything I come up with saying sounds trivial. I can’t apologize, even though I’m so goddamned sorry—sorry for everything Cody’s been through. And I can’t beg. I won’t. But I want to, I want to curl up under his quilt tonight, bury my face in the nook of his neck, and feel his arm warm around my back.
Instead, I drive home—this time far slower than the trip to the party. I have nowhere to be, nobody waiting for me, no sense of urgency. I don’t know where Cody’s friends live, and even if I did, I don’t think I’m brave enough to go.
My apartment is dark, and cold, and empty—still. I have a few new lamps, and I click them all on. I never sleep in the dark—something I’ve carried over from life with Mac. I kick my clothes off, and reach under my pillow for Cody’s shirt. I pull it over my head, hugging myself with it. I try not to wear it often, because every time I do, it takes away the smell. But tonight I need it. I find a pair of thermal pants, pull them on underneath, and curl up under my blanket, my phone still clutched in my hands. I stare at his name, knowing I’m too much of a coward to call him back, but I fantasize.