DECEMBER 24
"I think my whip cream is melting," I say, swiping my finger along the edge of the pancake to collect said whip cream.
"I told you to wait till it cooled," Nick says, "My Santa pancake is literally better than both of yours."
"That looks absolutely disgusting," George comments from his spot on the bar stool. He wrapped himself in a blanket when we started to make breakfast, and so far he hasn't moved from that position.
We decided to make our Saturday Morning breakfast more festive by turning our pancakes into mini Santas. It seemed like a really good idea at first, but now it's more of a mess.
I grab some chocolate chips for the eyes, placing two right about the strawberry nose. George laughs and the others follow.
I glance up to look at the three of them and my brows furrow. "What?"
Nick's keeling with laughter, and George disappeared into the blanket. I turn to Clay, asking once again what happened.
"Your Santa looks possessed," he explains before letting out a loud laughter.
"It's got like..." Nick takes a breath, "these beady black eyes."
I rub my hands down my face, unsure how to fix it. "It's not that bad."
"It's staring into my soul, y/n," Nick says.
I shake my head and search for my whip cream spoon. They're right, my pancake does look like something you would show kids to ensure they cleaned their rooms before Christmas.
"I don't know what you guys are talking about," I lie, "Are you guys done with yours yet?"
Nick and Clay both nod. George holds out his hands, and Clay gets him regular pancakes. Nick rolls his eyes, commenting, "You baby him too much."
"Shut up," Clay mumbles.
We each get a fork and dig into our pancakes. Nick nods in approval while Clay and I pause for a moment.
"Let me try," George says.
"I thought you didn't want any," Nick mocks the way George had originally turned down the Santa Pancake idea.
I slide my plate over for George to take a bite. He chews slowly before his face scrunches. "That's too sweet."
I nod. "I actually agree with George."
Clay shrugs and takes another bite. As he chews, he moves his head from side to side, debating. "I can't tell if I like it or not."
We eat our pancakes in a quiet peace, and I try not to remember that we've spent the past three Saturdays apart for breakfast. I had the microwave pancakes each of those weekends too. I keep forgetting to go to the store back in New York.
When I finish my plate, I lean against the counter. Nick looks up at me, and I laugh.
"You have a bit of whip cream right here." I motion to his entire face with my hand.
Nick wipes his face with his sleeve. "So do you."
"What?" I rub my hand on my face and instinctively turn to Clay. "Is it still there?"
He smiles and taps his own chin. "Right here still."
I wipe it and look for his approval. He shakes his head, then reaches his hand out before stopping himself. "Can I?" he asks.
I stop myself for a second. For a moment, it felt like we were in the past when things between Clay and I were perfect. Now I stare at his hand only inches away from my face and remember I don't want to be like this.
I wipe my chin again and shake my head. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom."
I slide past him, not completely oblivious to the fact that both George and Nick witnessed that awkward interaction.
I decide to go to my old bathroom instead of going all the way upstairs to the one in the guest room. I wait until the door is shut to let out my sigh of relief.
I meet my own eyes in the mirror, knowing I need to remember what happened a couple weeks ago. "Things are not the same anymore," I whisper to the person in the mirror, "You can't move on and forget everything that happened."
I wash my face quickly and pat it dry with the towel. I'm hanging the towel back up when a light blue bottle catches my eye.
I instinctively go to grab it, wondering how in the world my perfume bottle got in the downstairs bathroom.
I tear my hand away. I ran out of that perfume the very first week of moving to New York. I searched store after store for it before finally accepting I was going to have to change scents.
I remember one moment that seems like a lifetime ago. One where I had accidentally mistaken a perfume bottle in the bathroom as mine too.
Natalie.
My breath hitches for a second before I release a long sigh. I told him I was going to be gone for a year, and I told him we shouldn't mess with each other's lives. I don't know why I didn't realize what that had exactly meant.
I feel oddly okay. I don't feel like the world is collapsing or that this is going to be some big fight. In fact, the only thing that I'm hoping is that Clay was honest with her. Other than that, I feel a peace in the world because them together makes sense; a lot more sense than Clay and I ever did.
As I walk back out to the kitchen, I wonder why Nick didn't tell me about the happy couple reuniting. At least that's something to be warned about. I start to worry I've made an assumption.
"You are not leaving to record a podcast right now," Clay says.
"Yes we are." Nick huffs. "Karl's waiting."
"You're saying you have to go record right now?" Clay's brows raise.
"Yes," George says, "He's said it like three times now."
"You're joking." Clay's face is serious.
Nick shakes his head and checks his phone. "Well, have fun with all that," he says before both him and George walk out of the messy kitchen.
Clay sighs, turning to see me standing there, and chuckles. "Want to help clean up?"
My shoulders shrug before reaching for a dirty plate. He watches me put two in the sink without saying a word. I glance over my shoulder, and he starts to clean up the supplies.
We work in quiet for a while, and I try to think of what we used to talk about. Nothing of super importance, but it filled the silence.
I try to pinpoint when we started to lose things to talk about. Was it when I realized I used to have feelings for him? Was it when he got into a relationship? Was it when we acted on feelings?
Oh god, I think to myself, We acted on feelings when he had just gotten out of a relationship.
In the moment, it all felt perfect, and now it doesn't even make sense to me. I stop scrubbing a plate and look at Clay. He seems like there's nothing to talk about, but I feel like there is.
Did Clay tell Natalie we kissed before she started coming back to the house?
Natalie was a good person. I'm not entirely sure what happened between them, but she deserves to know what happened. Clay said I deserved honesty, and I think Natalie deserves that even more.
"Does she know what happened between us?" I blurt. I immediately want to face palm, but my hands are covered in dirty dishwater.
Clay's brows furrow in confusion. "What?"
I internally curse myself for asking the question, but I know I'm in too deep now. "Natalie."
He shakes his head and puts down his washcloth. "I don't even know what you're talking about."
"I saw the perfume bottle, Clay," I say, "She was here."
He sighs, leaning against the counter. "It's not what it looks like, y/n-"
"Are you back together?" I ask, just wanting to get the main point over with.
"Jeez, would you let me talk?" His tone is half-joking before turning serious. "She came over really drunk one night," he explains, "It was nothing. I paid for her Uber, and I put her in my bed because I didn't want the guys knowing. She left the bottle there the next morning, and I didn't care enough to give it back." He meets my eyes now. "I slept on the couch all night. It was nothing; it meant nothing."
My brain allows the information to process, and it quickly realizes I had it all wrong. My face burns with the feeling of stupidity. I don't even know how to respond.
"Oh," I say after too long, "okay."
Clay picks the wash rag up again and hovers it above the countertop. He sets it back down and looks at me again. "I thought you weren't supposed to care for the next year," he says.
My eyes stay firm on the dishes, and I give a noncommittal shrug. "You're right," I admit, "I'm not."
"Okay then." He huffs, once again picking up the wash rag. He only cleans one section before pausing. This time, he walks over to the sink so that I'm forced to look at him.
I stop washing the dishes, but I don't say a word.
"What are we doing?" he asks.
I glance at him and back to my hands in the dishwater. I sigh and grab a towel to clean my hands. "I was doing dishes."
"No, that's not what I mean." He shakes his head. "We're supposed to be the best friends, and we don't even know how to talk anymore like friends would. Hell, strangers could converse better than us."
I meet his eyes, and I see an almost-stranger in his. "And who's fault is that?" I ask calmly.
His brows furrow as he searches for something in me that I don't want to give him anymore. He doesn't respond. Out of all the words that Clay uses constantly, he can't seem to find one of them to say to me right now.
I shake my head slightly. "I'll talk to you later," I mumble before walking out of the kitchen.
I wait for it. I wait for him to say my name, call after me and apologize. I wait for our moment to become civil again, but it doesn't come. He just stands in the kitchen as I walk away.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
i don't even think a sorry would be able to cut it at this point tbh
also i counted ahead and there should be a total of 74 chapters :)
anyways have an amazing day <3