𝔍𝔞𝔯𝔞'𝔰 𝔏𝔬𝔤𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨

#12

Dear future husband,
Make time for me
Don't leave me lonely
And no, we'll never see your family
More than mine

- Meghan Trainor, "Dear Future Husband" 🎵

*

I haven't exactly been in frequent contact with my friends since we vacated for Christmas. I get occasional intimate calls from Ashish, who tells me that due to the circumstances surrounding his family and its ideologies, he thinks it's dangerous for us to talk as before. I gather his mum is homophobic and his dad is a Brahmin. Having such blue blood requires him to follow certain tropes like acting manfully; that's why he can't risk ringing me up every now and then and why he can't use affectionate terms on me. I perfectly understand.

Reese says she's holidaying at her family home in Tennessee with her extended family. She sends me pictures of her cuddling her little cousins—who, by the way, are beautiful babies—and asks if I was ever as cute in my childhood as they currently are. She also gives me video calls and tempts me with the one thing in the world I'm unable to resist: cake. She seems to totally get when I'm hungry too, and she chooses those times to taunt me. God knows I'll kill her.

I'm presently home with my parents. It's Christmas Eve and I've just had an absolute gustatory delight for a meal: omelettes and mutton. I've never had that, or at least I haven't had it this year. Mum explains she's cooked it to celebrate Our Lord's Nativity and I immediately wish it's Christmas every single day. I mouth my thanks to both my parents as I head upstairs, Mercury reclining in the recesses of my embrace. Given how he purrs, I believe I'm the only source of warmth he's getting right now.

I thump into my bed, my eyes feeling significantly heavy. It's atypical of me to sleep before midnight on any non-school night, let alone Christmas Eve itself. To ward off the slumberous feel, I pick up my phone as I fondle Mercury's fur. Thank Heaven he's asleep. I unintentionally poke his rear and he meows warningly, after which he turns and remains still as a boulder. I access YouTube and feast my eyes on a few Christmas carols.

After what seems like the one hundred thousandth video, my phone vibrates repeatedly. The call interrupts everything I'm paying attention to and I've got no choice to accord whoeverr it is the decency of answering.

"Hey." I hear the voice, male and mirthful, and I recognise it instantly.

"Hello," I respond.

"Oh wow, I never thought you'd pick up. You know, after you practically ran from me back at school like I was some notorious rapist."

My voice is stolid. "Aren't you, Trey?"

He scoffs. "Of course not. And by the way, Merry Christmas!"

I retain an impassive air as I attempt to mask my reluctance to have this conversation. "It's only," I press the power button to view the time before I press it to turn the screen off; "It's ten twenty-one."

"Oh. My bad," he blurts out torpidly. "I guess I expected it to be past midnight in NYC."

"Where are you anyway?"

"I'm in Phoenix."

"Isn't that four hours behind?"

His voice is hesitant. "It is? Huh, I just assumed it was-"

"What do you want, Tremaine? Why exactly did you decide to call me right now?" The bile seeping from my voice is incisive as it cuts through the air.

"Jara, you're the one with issues here. You literally sped off like some torpedo after I kissed you in the library, which you were obviously begging for."