It’s New Year, 1999. A milestone in history is about to be reached, even though Sam claims otherwise. You finger your phone. Right there at the party. You’re drinking to everyone’s health and enjoying yourself but there is only one person you want to be with when the clock strikes. And you’ve just realised it isn’t Joey Lucas.
The countdown starts. You scroll down to D. Excuse yourself. The phone rings off – network down. Of course. Everyone is ringing their lov – I mean, the people they care about the most. And right there in the middle of this party surrounded by many people you are enjoying being with, you realise you desperately want to kiss this amazing woman who is out of reach, out of bounds, off limits. To kiss her till you both can’t breathe anymore. Wo – Josh. Calm down, you tell yourself. This isn’t good for your blood pressure.
Has she read the note? Has she read it over and over like you hoped she would? Has she understood the unspoken? Will things ever be the same between you? And if not, was it foolish of you to risk everything? What if she guesses what you meant? You wanted her to, and yet you are worried. What if she wants to act on it? You know you can’t. You’re so devoted to your job. She’s devoted to hers – or to you. You can’t tell. It’s difficult to analyse which is which. You, your job, her, her job... so inextricably linked. Inextricably. You like that word. You like the sound of it. You like the idea of being inextricably bound up with her. Inextricably so you to can’t tell where you end and she begins. Inextricably, forever, Josh, calm down. You cannot feel like this.
Shove it, it’s New Year’s Eve and you will feel like you want to feel. In the other room they are singing Auld Lang Syne. The twenty-first century has begun and you so wanted to begin it with her at your side. You finger your phone again. Scroll down to D. Network down. Yeah, I knew it. Hang on – it’s ringing. You feel your heart beating faster. Get a grip, you tell yourself. In a couple of days you have to work with this woman. You cannot be catching yourself wondering how soft this alabaster skin feels under that sweater... you cannot be...
“Hello?” She’s at a party too, it’s loud, you can barely hear her.
“Josh! Happy New Year!” You wanted to say it first. But as so often – she’s the initiator.
“Happy New Year to you too, “ you reply, which sounds so lame, so you add what you really want her to know, “I wish you were with me...”
She can’t hear you. It’s loud, she says, she has to step out, but by the time she has the moment has passed and you can’t bring yourself to repeat it. You weren’t sure it was appropriate the first time round.
Appropriate? Like what has been going on in your head has been in any way appropriate. But well, there is so much to consider in this relationship, it’s all so complicated. Not that it’s a
relationship as such, not the one you want, but..
“Josh?” she sounds concerned. You like it when she sounds concerned for you. You love it when she looks after you. “You still there?”
“Yup. I’m still here.” And you’re not, and I so want you to be, can I come over? You want to add, but you know you can’t.
“I just wanted to say happy new year...”
“You said that already.”
“Well, happy new millennium then.”
You can hear the smile in her voice. “You too.”
“Donna...” you love saying her name. You love the way it feels in your mouth. You want to say it so many times over and over, while you... Wo, brain. Come back to me please. Please try to behave.
“You’ve gone quiet again,” she points out in her own inimitable, organised fashion.
“Sorry. I don’t have that much to say.” Well, it’s not as big a lie as it sounds. You have a lot to say but none of it can be voiced, so that’s the same thing, right? Even you’re not convinced by that argument, though.
“Just, well, Happy New Year. “
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“Donna...” there you go again. Just keep focussed this time...
“Donna, I mean it. I want you to be happy this year.” There. That’s nice, and meaningful. Even if it stops short of saying you want to be the one making her happy.
But you love what she says next. “Josh, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. But thank you.”
Is that because of you? Is that because of what you wrote? You hope so. You so desperately hope so. But maybe it’s nothing to do with you. Maybe it’s actually just that she loves her job. Maybe she’s just met a hot Republican at this party of hers. Maybe she’s just at that point in her life when people...
Whatever.
“I’m glad,” you manage to remember to say, and you add, “let’s keep it that way...”
There’s silence. She doesn’t know what to say. You don’t either. You swallow hard. You probably shouldn't say this, but shove it. It's New Year's, and you can always blame it on the champagne if need be. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know – I was thinking of you tonight.”
“Me too.” It’s the kind of thing you’re meant to say in these situations, but you can hear in her voice that she means it, that she was looking for an excuse to say it.
You wonder about bringing in your favorite defence mechanism and making a joke about getting her drunk one New Year’s and seeing if you couldn’t make her even happier, but you resist. You don’t want to spoil this moment, which is already being spoilt by so many things. By her physical absence most of all. And by all those unsaid things, unsaid because that’s the way it has to be, for now, for a long time, for many more New Year’s Eves, many more Christmases, until one day you take her to Hawaii and tell her exactly how you feel and what you want from life. Life with her.
But that will have to wait. And so will you. You regretfully put the phone down, go back to the party and grab another drink before that thought can take hold and drive you into insanity and beyond.
