With a final look at the text message that Parker had sent me earlier in the day, I sighed, pocketing my phone as I stepped into the dining room. Dad grunted when he saw me, his arms folded over his chest while he surveyed the dishes Mom had already set out in front of him. My stomach growled when I spotted a dish brimming with macaroni and cheese, and I slid into the chair next to my father, crossing my fingers that he was in a halfway decent mood.

"Hey, Dad," I began, wincing when my arm bumped against the table. The water glasses rattled angrily. Dad turned to study me beneath raised brows. "How's, uh... How's it going?"

"Alright." He pursed his lips and I realized that this was the first time we'd been alone together in a room since the start of winter break. The silence in the room was almost unbearable as we stared at each other without speaking. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "Got your grades yet?"

"Oh," I said, instinctively looking down. "Yeah, I did."

"And?"

For once in my life, I had no reason to be terrified by his question, but that didn't stop my heart from beating rapidly. I swallowed. "I did pretty well."

"What does that mean?"

He sounded skeptical, which was exactly what I'd been expecting. Wordlessly, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet. I passed it to him, sliding it along the ivory tablecloth until he reached out and picked it up. I watched him carefully unfold the page, his fist running along the creases in an attempt to smooth them all out. When he was done, he examined the paper with obvious disbelief.

"You got an A-minus in kinesiology?" I was tempted to tell him not to sound so shocked, but even I was stunned by the outcome. Still, it would've been nice to know that my dad had a little faith in me. His eyes bulged so far out that I thought they might fall from their sockets. "And an A in... What is this? Business Negotiation?"

"Yeah, and two B's," I added. Dad shook his head, lifting my grade printout and holding it so close to his face that I thought his nose might get a papercut.

"You didn't doctor this, did you?"

"What? No!" 

Dad let out something that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a bark. "Well, I'm not going to ask you if you cheated," he said, handing the sheet back to me, "but I'll be honest and admit that I wasn't expecting you to bring home a report card looking like that."

"I told you," I replied. "Nothing lower than a B-minus. That was the deal, right?"

"Yep, that was the deal," he said, stroking his chin. "Remind me, who am I supposed to make the check out to for your fraternity dues?"

"Kappa Omicron. But you can pay online now, you know."

"I'll stick with sending a check, if you don't mind."

I folded the paper again, though I left it on the table next to my plate. Mom would probably want to see my grades, too. "Thanks," I said, but Dad simply shrugged.

"Deal's a deal. Plus, it looks like you earned it."

"I tried."

When he didn't respond, we lapsed back into an awkward silence. He wasn't like Mom, so I doubted that he could sense that there was something big on my mind. I glanced towards the kitchen; maybe I should've gone to Mom first. My pocket buzzed as an alert came in but I didn't dare reach for my phone. Not at the table, and definitely not in front of my dad. I watched him take a sip of water and decided that now was as good of a time as any.

"Dad?"

He responded with a muffled noise.

"So, you know how Parker's dating that actress? Sophie Winters?"

Another sound escaped his lips.

"Well, she's got this condo down in Puerto Vallarta—you know, in Mexico—and, uh, she invited a group of us to stay there over spring break." I paused. No reaction. Probably a bad sign. "She's hiring a cook, so none of us will have to pay for a hotel or meals... It'll basically be a free trip."

"If it's basically free," Dad said, his eyes narrowing, "then why does it feel like you're about to ask me for money?"

"Uh, see, when I said it's basically free, what I meant was that the only thing I need to pay for is my plane ticket. So, I was kind of hoping that—"

"That I'd cover it," Dad guessed, and I nodded quickly. "How much?"

"Cheapest flight I saw when I looked earlier was around five hundred." When I saw the expression on his face, I hastily added, "It could double as my birthday present."

"Your birthday was in October."

I was a little surprised he knew that off the top of his head; I'd always assumed that Mom forged his signature on my card each year. "Right," I said after a beat. "Next year's birthday present."

"When's your spring break? March?" Dad leaned back in his chair and appraised me. "You want your birthday present seven months early?"

"I mean, that'd be nice," I muttered. Definitely should've gone to Mom first. "Or, I can use the money from my savings account—"

"You know that's not what your grandma wanted you to use that money for."

"Isn't that up to me to decide?"

Dad gave me a withering look. "Not until you're twenty-five."

"Well, then, how am I supposed to pay for the ticket?"

"Get a job," Michael's voice rang out, and I clenched my jaw so tightly that I thought my teeth might break. I spun around in my chair, annoyed even before meeting my brother's smug gaze. He stood staring at me from the doorway that connected the dining room and kitchen.

"I wasn't talking to you," I snapped. He shrugged.

"So? That doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Dad, come on—"

"You're twenty-three," Michael continued, ignoring me. "Stop asking Mom and Dad for cash and go to work."

"I'm in school."

"I had a job when I was in school—hell, I had two jobs my sophomore year and I worked at random gigs."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want, a medal?"

"You wanna give me one?"

"No, but if you want to give me the number of your Adderall dealer, maybe one day I can be as great as you."

"Are you ever going to stop being jealous of me?"

"Probably around the same time you go to hell."

Michael stepped towards me, but before he could say anything, the sound of Dad's fist slamming against the table rang out like a gunshot. Michael and I both jumped, and I cringed as I watched the color drain from his face. Slowly, I turned to look at my Dad. He was on his feet and, in stark contrast to Michael, his face had turned beet red. "Dammit," he shouted, spit flying from his mouth like a garden hose. "Would you two just stop it?"

"Sorry," Michael and I said in unison, but it was too late. We'd unleashed the beast.

"Christ, it never ends. You're always fighting. If it's not about this, then it's about that. For God's sake, you're almost thirty, Michael! It's a disgrace you two still can't get along."

"He started it," I mumbled, lurching forward when Michael kicked one of my chair's legs.

"I don't give a hot damn which one of you started it, I'm telling you both that I'm sick and tired of hearing it."

"Sorry," we said again. Dad shook his head so furiously that he looked like he'd been possessed.

"It's New Year's Eve. How many holidays have you two ruined with your stupid bickering? Half? All of them?"

"Probably about two-thirds," Michael muttered so only I could hear him. Now wasn't the time to correct him, but I probably would've put the figure closer to three-quarters.

Dad's cheeks were the same shade as the eggplant in Mom's brand new casserole dish, and all I could do was hope that he wouldn't combust. "Well, this is the last one. I'm..." Dad looked between us as he trailed off, an idea clearly taking shape inside his mind. "I'm not paying for you to go to Mexico," he said to me, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

Yeah, no shit.

"But I will pay for you to go to Europe with your brother that week instead. Michael, you've been talking about taking a trip over there, right?"

"What?" I glanced at Michael, who looked about as horrified as I felt. "Dad," he began, "I think I get what you're trying to do, but that's a terrible idea. I don't want to end up in some foreign prison after Scott and I try to kill each other."

"Well," Dad said, "then you should try to get along."

"I'm not going," I announced. "There's no way. I'll  just stay in Los Angeles that week instead."

"Stay where in Los Angeles?" Dad asked.

A sense of dread settled over me. "The fraternity."

He thought about that for a moment. "You know, I'm really sorry, Scott, but I don't think I'm going to be able to pay your dues after all. Seems like I've forgotten how to write a check, can you believe it?" 

"That's not fair!" I exclaimed. "We had a deal."

"Yeah, well, sue me." Dad pointed a finger at Michael. "And before you say anything smart, just remember that your lease is up in less than a year, so if you want me to co-sign the renewal, it'd be in your best interest to either agree or keep your mouth shut."

When Michael and I hung our heads in resigned silence, Dad smoothed down the front of his shirt and settled back into his seat. A few seconds later, Mom walked into the room carrying a pot roast on a serving tray. She wore a giant smile on her face, but as she began carving the meat, I had no doubt that—deep down, at least—what she really wanted was to cry.

----------------------------------------------------

"Dude, you should've asked your mom first," Parker said, shaking his head as we sped down the street in Sophie's rented limo. He held a plastic cup in his hand and I watched the contents spill over the sides and onto the car's dark red floor. "You know better than to ask your dad for anything."

"I get it, okay? I'm an idiot," I grumbled, tipping my head back. Unlike Parker, I drank directly from the bottle of champagne that Sophie had handed me when she picked Michael and I up from our house.

My brother sat across from me and I glared at him, waiting for him to offer a snarky response. Instead, he stared blankly past my shoulder, almost as if he hadn't heard a word of my conversation with Parker. It was like he still hadn't recovered from the shock of being yelled at by our dad, but to be fair, I couldn't remember the last time he'd received anything but praise from our parents. Welcome to my world, I thought, leaning back in my seat.

"Europe's great, though," Sophie chimed in. She tugged at the hem of her impossibly short dress.

"Where do you think you'll go?"

"No idea—"

"Iceland," Michael said flatly, speaking up for the first time since we'd left our house. He sounded miserable. "My plan was to go to Iceland, London, and Amsterdam."

"Oh, pretty," Sophie said. She leaned across Parker and pulled a bottle of high-end vodka from the ice bucket. She motioned for Parker to hold her cup while she added the liquor to the mixer she'd previously poured. "I've filmed scenes for three movies in Iceland. It's a great place."

"We'll see," Michael said darkly, returning his attention to his own drink. He drained it in about ten seconds flat.

Sophie and Parker exchanged a look. "You guys should come down to Mexico another time," Sophie said hesitantly. "If you'd told me that flights were going to be an issue, I could've helped you out."

Now you mention it. "Don't worry," I said. "It's all good."

Michael snorted softly, and although I couldn't quite make it out, it sounded like he muttered, "Good for you, maybe."

Parker reached forward to pat me on the shoulder. "Hey, on the bright side, I won't have to kick you out of the frat for not paying your spring dues. That's a plus, right?"

I eyed his drink warily as it sloshed around, droplets landing on my shoes. I inched away from him. "Every cloud, I guess."

In an effort to lighten the mood inside the limo, Sophie began to ramble about an event in New York that she'd tripped at earlier in the month— "One minute everyone was telling me how elegant I looked, and the next, I was facedown on the red carpet trying not to get stepped on by pairs of six-inch designer heels,"—and eventually Michael cracked a smile. It didn't take long after that for the rest of his morose exterior to dissolve and soon he was more excited to reach the first club than the rest of us combined.

Sophie looked a little tired, though she hid her fatigue beneath carefully applied makeup and upbeat remarks. She'd been traveling quite a bit since winter break had started; Parker had driven her to the airport at least four times, each time stopping by my place on his way home. Sophie's eyes fluttered closed a few times during the ride, but whenever they opened and we made eye contact, she offered a bright grin.

The more time I spent with her, the more I saw it—the mask that Parker always hinted that she wore. Sometimes it was hard to tell where Sophie Winters-the-person began and Sophie Winters-the-actress ended, but I got the sense that her two personas had become blurred at some point in her life. The only thing that she couldn't hide was how obviously in love she was with Parker. I no longer felt uncomfortable around them, which was nice. In fact, now I caught myself looking forward to seeing her when Parker brought her around—she added balance to our conversations, I guess. A different perspective.

As we pulled in front of the club's entrance and my brother ushered all of us inside, I couldn't help but feel like a massive downer. I wasn't really in the mood to go out, but I knew I couldn't leave before midnight either. I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter past ten. I could grin and bear it for two hours.

I took shots with Parker and danced—badly—with Sophie and the rest of our group. Shortly before the final countdown began, a few of Sophie's celebrity friends appeared, all dressed to the nines and accompanied by impressive entourages. Sophie took pictures with the A-Listers, then pictures with us, and finally with some of the fans that had formed a crowd near our table.

The venue grew to a deafening roar as people said goodbye to the previous year by chanting, "Ten, nine, eight..."

When the voices all shouted 'one,' I looked around to see Parker and Sophie kissing while millions of pieces of confetti fell around us. Without thinking, I held a hand out to catch the shredded paper, but it all slipped through my fingers and fluttered to the floor. Frankly, I felt sorry for whoever had to clean up the spilled drinks when the club finally closed, wiping away the confetti and all other traces of the evening's celebration.

As the clock crept closer to one, I chatted with a pretty brunette to make the hour go by faster, but when she left the table to use the restroom, I decided it was time for me to leave for good.

"I think I'm going to head home, guys," I announced, and watched Sophie's face fall while I stood up. Her blue eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked. I nodded.

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm good. I have something I need to do."

"What? Now?"

Stretched across a loveseat, Parker grinned from where he sat, his arm slung casually around Sophie's waist. "Going to call Melanie?"

Sophie looked at him, clearly surprised. "Why would he call Melanie?"

Parker shook his head. "Never mind."

Regardless of what anyone may have thought about Sophie, she definitely wasn't dumb. Her eyes widened. "She didn't tell me," Sophie grumbled to Parker, almost inaudibly. Then, realizing who she was talking to, she jabbed his upper arm roughly. "You didn't tell me either!"

"Sorry," Parker said with a laugh. "I'm trying to gossip less."

"You never gossip at all," Sophie protested, her eyebrows downturned. "Seriously, I'm always left out of the loop. Am I, like, a total pariah or something?"

Parker planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "People like having their secrets, Soph. You know that." 

Before Sophie could respond, I lifted a hand to wave goodbye. "See you later," I said, bumping into Michael when I turned to leave.

"Are we moving to the next bar already?" Michael looked down at the two overflowing drinks in his hands. "I didn't realize—"

"No," I said, "I'm heading out."

"Really? Why?"

"I guess I'm not feeling it tonight."

"Because of what happened earlier?"

"No."

Michael handed one of the drinks he'd been holding to Parker before asking me, "How are you getting home?"

"Dunno. Train, I guess."

Frowning, Michael checked his watch. "The trains are running late, yeah?"

"Another hour, I think."

"Do you have enough money for a taxi if you miss the last one?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I lied, despite knowing that both of my credit cards were nearly full.

Ignoring me, Michael reached into his back pocket. As he pulled out his wallet and began rifling through the bills, he said, "If you need help, call me. I don't want you to sit in the snow until the trains start running again, alright? Here."

I glanced down to see him holding a folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. "What are you doing? What's that for?"

"It'll take more than a ten to get a cab from here to Wellesley." He motioned impatiently for me to take the money. "In case you need it."

I hesitated. "You sure?"

"I'm not going to beg you to take my money."

"Thanks," I said, pocketing the note. "I'll pay you back."

"Damn right you will." He paused, and I watched an internal debate flicker across his features.  Sighing, he added, "Sorry for giving you shit in front of dad earlier."

"Yeah, well... Same, I guess."

"Europe'll be fun on Dad's dime."

I nodded. "See you at home."

With that, I made my way through the packed club, grabbing my coat from the cloakroom, and emerging onto an equally crowded street. Zipping up my jacket, I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets before beginning the trek to the nearest T station. Groups of friends and couples staggered along the sidewalk beside me, whooping happily as they celebrated the fact they'd made it to the start of another cold January. A random girl grabbed my arm and shouted for me to come with her to a bar I'd never heard of, but two of her friends dragged her away before I could even react. One of the girls turned to give me a dirty look once they were a few feet ahead and it took me a moment to realize she probably thought I was some kind of scumbag.

The train ride back to Wellesley was filled with both chatter and silence, depending on the stop. I leaned my head against the window, watching the darkness fly by in a blur. I wasn't really thinking about anything important, though I hoped I gave off a vibe of being pensive. Yawning, I took out my phone and began deleting various alerts. A few incoherent group messages, a promotional email... And a text from Melanie. I smiled.

Happy New Year, her message read, along with a single heart-shaped emoji.

You, too, I wrote, pausing before adding, What are you up to?

Less than a minute later, a photo of Melanie and a group of her friends popped up on my screen. I recognized the girl to her right as the teaching assistant who'd grilled me for being late last semester, but she was the only one I'd ever seen before. They all wore glittery dresses and pristinely applied lipstick, almost like they were posing for a cosmetics ad. As I got off the train and hailed a cab, I pulled up my list of recently called numbers and hit redial, waiting for Melanie to answer.

"Hello?" she said after the second ring.

"Hey." I lowered the receiver of my phone while I gave the taxi driver my address. Leaning back in my seat, I said, "You look nice. Going out?"

"Nope," Melanie replied. "Having a girls' night at my apartment."

"You got dressed up to stay in?" I asked, slightly bemused. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know." I thought about Gemma and the hour-long ritual that comprised her getting ready routine. "It seems like a lot of work if you're just hanging out at home."

"We were going to go clubbing," Melanie admitted. "But my roommate broke her foot while she was skiing, so we decided to keep it low key."

"That was nice of you."

"Anything for friends, right?"

"Only the ones you like."

Our conversation flowed seamlessly after that, a mixture of small talk and one-liners. I asked her twice if she needed to get back to her party, but each time she laughed and said no. She had all night to talk to them, she explained, and she was happy that I'd called. When I heard that, I smiled so wide that my face ached.

As the cabbie pulled in front of my parents' home, I handed him the hundred that Michael had slipped me and then pocketed the change. "Thanks. Happy New Year," I said, offering him a tip, and he smiled.
"Happy New Year," he replied, and I slammed the door shut as I slid out of the car.

A crunching sound filled the air while my shoes sank into the snow. "Hang on a sec," I said to Melanie, eyeing the patch of ice that lined our long driveway.

With my phone in hand, I carefully trudged up the sidewalk to my house, cursing loudly when I started to slip on a swath of frozen water. Steadying myself, I glared down at the ice and watched it glitter prettily back at me. For the most part, I loved Massachusetts, but I'd never understand why my family had voluntarily settled in a place where walking to your front door could kill you.

From the porch I could see that the lights were off downstairs, though I wasn't surprised by that. It had been years since Mom and Dad had last waited up for Michael and I. Then again, it had been years since we were young enough for them to keep us to a curfew. Once I'd fumbled with my keys and made my way inside, I kicked off my shoes and grabbed them from the floor with my free hand. I crept upstairs, dodging the creaky stairs and listening to the sound of my dad grumbling in his sleep. I could see a faint glow coming from beneath my bedroom's door and grimaced when I realized I'd left the lights on all night. It was a bad habit, and one that drove my dad crazy.

When I reached my room, I took a deep breath and lifted my phone back to my ear. "Hello?" I said, lowering my voice even though I knew my parents wouldn't be able to hear me. I fastened the lock on my door before sitting down on my bed and unbuttoning my shirt.

"Hey."

"Sorry about that. Our front yard always turns into a collision course during winter—you know, from the ice."

"Yeah, I've never had that experience," Melanie said, and I smiled while I imagined her winter breaks being spent by the beach. 

"So," Melanie continued, "when are you back in town?"

Shrugging off my shirt, I let it fall onto the heap of clothes already scattered around my bed. "The fourth."

"That's soon," she commented, and I nodded to myself.

"Not soon enough." Melanie didn't respond as I traded my dark slacks for sweatpants and crawled over to the dresser in my closet. There was a hoodie that I'd been looking for since the snowstorm ended but I still hadn't been able to find it. Mom swore she hadn't taken anything from my room but there were only so many places that it could be. I opened the bottom drawer and began rummaging through layers of woolly fabrics.

"I can pick you up from the airport, if you want," Melanie said as I tried to remember where I'd last seen my missing sweater.

"You don't have to," I said. "I land in the middle of rush hour. Getting to the airport would be a huge pain in the ass."

"I don't mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." She hesitated. "But, is it weird if I say that I'm only offering because I kind of miss you?"

"No, I miss you, too," I replied automatically, happy that I'd found an opportunity to say it outloud.

"Kind of," Melanie corrected me, though I knew she was only teasing.

I closed the drawer that I'd torn apart during my search, and as I did, it dawned on me where I'd seen my hoodie last. I scooted back over to my bed and reached beneath its frame until my hand connected with what I was looking for. Covered in dust, I held my freshman year backpack in front of me while dozens of memories returned at once. I gave the zipper two firm tugs before it glided open, and as I dumped the bag's contents onto the floor, I felt a momentary pang of sadness. Maybe it was nostalgia, or some weird sense of loss, but I paused before picking up the hoodie that Gemma had handed me one spring afternoon.

"Just because," she'd said when I'd asked her what it was for. That answer had been good enough for me, and I'd worn the damn thing nearly every day until we broke up that summer.

I sighed, placing it on my lap while I reached for the rest of the items lying near my feet. Although the backpack had been from my first year of college, the stuff it carried spanned the entire length of my relationship with Gemma. In some ways, it was strange to think that three years of being with someone could be reduced to just a few things. There was the half-finished scrapbook that she'd given me, along with a framed photo of us. A neatly folded piece of paper had grown discolored over time but I didn't unfold it to read the note inside.

I didn't need to.

Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I got to my feet. The hoodie felt like a thousand-pound weight. "Well," I said, "if you're picking me up, I'll take you to dinner. We can go somewhere in Santa Monica, maybe catch a movie."

"Quid pro quo, huh?"

"Is that Latin for, 'Yes, Scott, I'd love to'?"

"No, it's—"

"I know what it means." I moved towards the trashcan in the corner of my room and stared down at the collection of used tissues and apple cores that it already contained. I took a deep breath before asking, "So, is that a yes for dinner?"

"Did you really think I'd say no?"

"No," I answered truthfully.

As I listened to Melanie laugh, I let the tattered hoodie and everything else that I held slide from my grasp. I watched as the remnants of my past relationship joined the garbage in the bin below, and the nostalgic ache gave way to genuine relief. It was a new year, and it already felt a hundred times better than the last.

---------
A/N: So, I didn't update for a million years and I'm very sorry for making you guys wait! This has been the most stressful summer ever (i.e., working three jobs, traveling back and forth from NYC for interviews) but since I last posted, I turned 24 (boo...) and got an offer to work for my dream firm next summer (yay!!!). Assuming all goes well, that's also where I'll be working after I graduate, so I guess fully committing myself to my job search was worth it, even if I completely blew off my writing in the meantime. Anyway, tomorrow (or, today, depending on your time zone — but either way, August 5) is the day that I'll be featured in the Wattpad Block Party, so go check it out! Hope you enjoy that post and this one. :)