I know Michelle was raging, but she obviously decided to forgo another Fuck her. You deserve so much better, Mara speech and went straight to: “OK. New plan. We’re going to Louise’s party tonight.”
“No way,” I told her, tucking my hair back behind my ears as the breeze kicked up again.
“Why not?”
“First of all, it’s not a party, is it? It’s a ‘hang.’ Whatever that is.”
When I emphasized the word with my fingers, she shrugged. “It’s what we do every weekend, Mara. Argue over who’s in charge of the music and what takeaway we should get and which film we should watch. Except tonight we’re going to stop at midnight to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and drink the bottle of champagne Erin’s sister won at the pub quiz that she can’t drink because she’s pregnant.”
“Yeah, but it’s going to be all couples, Michelle.”
“No, it’s not,” she insisted as she tugged on her gloves.
“Yes, it is. It’s you and Lewis, Erin and Dean, and Louise and Arun. That’s all couples, Michelle.”
Which was fine when I thought I could persuade Nico to come.
“May’s single,” Michelle reminded me.
“May’s not coming, is she? Because it’s all couples.”
“What’s May doing tonight, then?”
“She’s going to a Brighton College party with Chesca.”
Michelle pulled a face. “Christ. I’d rather pull out my toenails with a rusty pair of pliers.”
That was one way of putting it.
Still, I’d take a Brighton College party over spending New Year’s Eve alone, waiting to hear from Nico.
As I thought it, Michelle said, “Well, you’re not spending New Year’s Eve alone, waiting to hear from Nico.” She clapped her hands. “OK. New plan. Face masks and When Harry Met Sally.”
“Michelle, we’ve watched When Harry Met Sally with our parents every New Year’s Eve for as long as I can remember.”
“So?”
“We’re fifteen. Aren’t we supposed to sneak into a club and get off our tits on MDMA, or something?”
“You want to sneak into a club and get off your tits on MDMA?”
“Of course not! Flu medicine makes me loopy, Michelle. Can you imagine me on MDMA?”
She nodded solemnly. “You’d die, for sure.”
“I’m just saying. I wanted to do something different tonight. I wanted confetti and balloons.”
And for Nico to show up at midnight and give me a big romantic speech in the middle of the dance floor.
Michelle hooked her arm through mine and pulled me to her. “Next year, I promise.”
“Promise?”
Michelle stopped walking and held up her little finger. “Promise.”
I shook it with mine.
It was then that I realized we were standing outside my parents’ café. In my haste to put as much distance between myself and Nico, I hadn’t resisted when Michelle tugged me away. But I thought we were just walking—somewhere, anywhere, just away—until we were out of sight so I could let my shoulders fall and my heart sag. To be honest, all I wanted to do was go home. To be in the warm embrace of my room with my books and my pillow and my black-and-white poster of the phases of the moon. Where I’d be shielded by the close, safe walls that Michelle and I had painted purple that summer after watching too many episodes of Friends.
But it was Michelle, so she knew that, and in an effort to stop me spending the rest of the day lying on the floor listening to “The Blower’s Daughter” on repeat, she’d taken me to the one place I was always, truly happy.
My mother was outside, clearing a table. When she looked up and saw us standing there, she grinned and put the tray down, then marched over, hugging us both at once. The smell of her—home and that pomegranate shampoo she uses that always triggers a smoky memory of some far-off place I can’t remember—was enough to bring tears to my eyes as I burrowed my face into her neck and held on to her with both arms.
“You OK, baby girl?” she asked, stroking my hair when I finally let go.
“I’m just tired,” I lied, but I saw the look that passed between her and Michelle as my mother slung her arms around our shoulders and guided us inside.
Mercifully, I barely had a moment to register the burn of it as my father cheered when he saw us.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” He beamed from behind the counter, then slung a tea towel over his shoulder and gestured at the stove behind him. “I was hoping you guys would come in. I made Beyoncé bhatura.”
“What’s Beyoncé bhatura?” the customer standing next to us at the counter asked.
Michelle thumbed at me. “When we were twelve, we tried to run away to London to see Beyoncé, but we only made it as far as the end of the road before Vas lured me back with his chana bhatura.”
“Well”—they nodded—“if it’s good enough to forsake Beyoncé for, I’ll have that.”
“See?” I gestured at them as they went back to their table to join their friend. “You did forsake Beyoncé.”
Michelle looked utterly unrepentant. “You need to get over it, Mara.”
“Never,” I told her as we looked for a table.
“Hey, Mara,” I heard someone say, and stopped to find Mrs. Preston beaming up at me.
“Hey, Mrs. Preston.” I smiled sweetly. “How are you?”
“Marvelous. Look at this.” She pointed her knife proudly at the egg naan on the table in front of her. “A double yolk. Your father says it’s good luck. That has to bode well for the new year, doesn’t it?”
“Not for the poor chicks that are shred alive so you can have your lucky double yolk,” Max piped up from two tables away, causing everyone in the café to stop eating and look down at their plates.
“Ignore him,” my mother said, striding over to stand next to me. She smiled down at poor Mrs. Preston, who looked about ready to faint. “We get our eggs from a local, small-scale organic farmer.”
My father pointed a wooden spoon at us from behind the counter. “They’re organic and biodynamic.”
“We’ve visited the farm, Mrs. Preston,” my mother assured her. “Trust me, the chickens live better than we do. This egg was laid yesterday by a brash little Lohmann Brown called Babs.”
“She has her own TikTok,” I told Mrs. Preston with a nod.
She looked genuinely impressed. “I must tell my granddaughter.”
“There are no tables.” Michelle huffed as she glared around the café while everyone refused to make eye contact with her. “There should be a VIP section for family.”
“It’s OK,” my mother told her, tipping her chin up at Max. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He looked horrified. “You kicking me out, Mads?”
“Of course not. But you’ve been sitting there for two hours and all you’ve ordered is a peppermint tea.”
“I was about to order another one.”
“Great!” She smiled tightly. “That’ll keep the lights on.”
Someone at a table in the corner stood up. “We were just leaving, actually.”
“Thank you!” Michelle clapped happily and rushed over to claim it.
Before I joined her, I glanced at Max to find he was still put out about being asked to give up his table; I wandered over as he took a bag of tobacco from the pocket of his duffle coat and began rolling a cigarette.
“I watched that video on the Greenpeace website.”
“And?” he asked with an eager smile, his gray eyebrows rising.
I drew a cross over my chest with my index finger. “I’ll never drink bottled water again.”
He nodded, his smile a little wider. “The earth thanks you, Mara Malakar.”