Hold My Hand

Chapter Nineteen

The morning of December 31 is filled with a different kind of joy and anticipation. The sweet aroma of honey and walnut, which arouses the appetite and the boundless desire for nightfall, pleasantly soothes the nose and makes you forget everything in a second. No last morning of the year had dawned, if it had been filled with a bad mood; I remember how my mother was fussing in the kitchen and was preparing the cream of the New Year's cake with condensed milk. But my favorite part was eating the cream that was left on the bottom of the jar with my fingers. Oh, how much I loved it! 

An equally important attribute is the traditional Georgian sweet - Gozinaki, which my mother used to cut into rhombuses for serving on a plate and put eight of them on each plate. After cutting the hot Gozinaki, so to speak, she would put aside the shapeless pieces specifically for us to taste for the first time when the sweet wasn't even cooled down yet. I can still remember the heavenly flavor clearly. 

It's the little things that make this day so special for us.

As, like for other almost 8 billion people on this planet, the twenty-four hours of December 31 were a miracle for me as well. I still believed that everything was possible on this day, and I was never able to concentrate on other work, excited by the approach of midnight, which I think is completely natural.

I remember December 31 of that year especially pleasantly. Although I was neither too excited to wait for Santa Claus, nor hoped for miracles, seeing my friends in the evening and spending with them the precious moments of my life, made me feel good.

Three days before, I sent "invitations" to Alexander, Nutsa, and Guga by Messenger. I expected two positive and one negative answer, it is probably easy to guess from whom. My mother also warned me, that it was a shame for me and Nutsa's family would think that I was the rudest person on Earth, but luckily, I got all three positive answers on the morning of December 27.

Now, crouching next to the radiator in front of the old TV, dressed in a red sweater, I calmly waited for the remaining 73 minutes to pass and the beautiful moments of happiness, which, compared to these 73 minutes, would pass ten times faster and leave me with a feeling of a slight sadness inside my chest. The sadness, that I could not feel enough of the magical, attractive moments of being together, which would pour into my soul like molten gold, and I could never get enough of this indescribable feeling.

I knew it in advance and tried to face the fact calmly.

The comedy "Home Alone" has become an annual, maybe stupid for some, but a lovely tradition for me, and I've been trying to avoid watching it on the evening of December 31st for the past five years, but I've never succeeded for one simple reason: I've never had any other choice when I was tired of waiting, sitting in one place.

The window panes reflected the glittering decorations of the street in thousands of ways and made the city full of New Year's happy aura even cozier.

Tbilisi is a cozy city in those times.

At eight hours and forty-two minutes, the doorbell rang.

Rachel Brosnahan's blonde hair with a fur hat appeared in the peephole.

- Hello, Mary! I will pick you up at twelve, honey! I am working until then.

- Alright, Happy New Year in advance then!

- Let this year bring joy to your life, my dear!  Well, see you soon! - she winked at me and ran down the staircase.

- I'm glad you came.

- Mary, did anybody come? - Mother called me from the kitchen.

- Yes!.. Gabriel arrived. 

Mom came out of the kitchen, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, her eyes lit up with interest.