ninth
2 January
The ninth day of Christmas
Tobin barely sleeps. It isn’t like her, tossing and turning for what feels like - and might actually be - hours, replaying Christen’s every frown and angry word and kicking herself for being so stupid. They’ve fallen out before, inevitable over so many years of friendship, but this time it makes her strangely anxious.
Worry pinches at her throat until she finally gets out of bed, pacing her bedroom trying to work out what went wrong. Things had been good - Christen had been happy - and she’d just started to come to terms with the realization that she wanted Christen as more than her best friend. As much it had scared Tobin at first, she’d started to be tentatively excited about it, like a secret she couldn’t wait to share.
But now, she can’t help but wonder if Christen was angry because Tobin wanted more.
It doesn’t make sense, or anything; Tobin hadn’t kissed her that day on the couch, or any of the many times she’d wanted to after that, or even said anything, and there’s no reason Christen should know. But now the thought’s in her head, she can’t shake it.
Tobin steadily makes herself more and more miserable until the dawn light finally starts creeping through the curtains. She skimps on breakfast, grabbing coffee and an apple and heading straight out for a brisk and freezing walk, but she’s so quiet even by her standards that her family notice something’s up. Her mom ambushes her at the foot of the stairs when she gets back. ‘Tobin?’
‘Mm?’
‘What’s up?’
Tobin swings from the banister, debating how likely she is to get away with a deflection. Not very, is the answer. ‘Just didn’t sleep very well.’
‘Something on your mind?’
‘Mom…’
‘No judgment, honey. You know that. But I wouldn’t be a mom if I didn’t at least try to help.’
Tobin wavers. She’s been turning it over and over in her mind for so many hours now that she doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what to do. Maybe she’s just tired, but to her horror she feels her throat closing up and her eyes pricking with what she knows is about to turn into a sob.
Her mom knows it too, and puts a gentle arm around her shoulders, steering her away from the clamor of her siblings in the kitchen into the hushed library. It all comes out then: the chickens, the geese, the stupid stupid stupid farm, Christen’s face. It’s crazy. You’re crazy.
‘I just want her to be happy. That was all I was trying to do - it was meant to be fun, I thought the distraction would help. And it was working, but then… I don’t know, I guess I just pushed it too far, and now - she was so mad, mom.’
‘It sounds to me more like she was sick and miserable, and you took her by surprise.’
‘Same difference.’
‘No,’ says Cindy firmly, ‘it isn’t. You and Christen have been each other’s strength since you were little girls. Everyone around you knows it so you can be sure Christen knows it too. She might be upset right now, but she won’t doubt your motives once she’s had a chance to think it through.’
‘But what if she doesn’t think it through? What if she just stays mad?’
‘Oh, Tobin. Now you’re just wallowing. If you were in Christen’s shoes, would you throw away twenty years of friendship over one little misunderstanding?’
‘No.’
‘Then you should give Christen enough credit to do the same.’
At twenty-four, Tobin is old enough to both love and hate that her mom is always right.
Tobin trudges over to Christen’s with a pit in her stomach, trying to use the walk to rehearse her apology and getting increasingly frustrated when she can’t find the right words. The house seems to loom forebodingly in front of her as she pauses on the doorstep, takes a final breath, and winces as the sound of the bell sets her nerves jangling over again. Three of the turtle doves eye her suspiciously from their perch on a pear tree.
Crystal opens the door with a finger to her lips. ‘Shhh. Christen’s sleeping.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess.’ Tobin twists her hands. ‘Should I come back later, or -’
‘Come in, silly. You know she’ll want to see you when she wakes up.’
Tobin doesn’t know that - that’s the whole point - but Crystal is holding the door open expectantly, and it’s letting all the cold air in, so Tobin pulls off her gloves and steps inside. There’s frost on the windows still. The kitchen smells spicy and warm, like cinnamon and hot chocolate.
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Yeah. I mean, kind of. I’m not really hungry.’
‘Chris texted to ask if I would do the egg round, so there’s plenty if you want it,’ explains Crystal, setting out fresh mugs and a loaf of bread on the counter. ‘She got up to let me in but she looked so exhausted I sent her back to bed. That’s one hell of a cold she’s got.’
‘Yeah.’ Tobin sighs and figures it’s now or never. ‘Were you gonna toast that for Chris? Mind if I take it up? I really need to talk to her.’
‘Sure thing.’ Crystal cuts two slices and gets out the butter, which Tobin can’t help but notice comes from the Harveys. She eyes Tobin suspiciously casually. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Not really, but I - hope it will be.’
Crystal squeezes Tobin’s shoulder as she sets off up the stairs, the plateful of toast held ahead of her like a buttery peace offering. Christen’s door is ajar and her bedroom is dark and quiet, curtains only open a crack, but she seems to be awake. Tobin pokes her head in tentatively. ‘Hi.’
Christen looks up blearily and starts to scramble upright when she sees who it is. ‘Hi.’ The stuffiness takes the edge out of her tone. ‘No cows today?’
‘No. Crystal made toast though.’
‘Thanks.’
Tobin edges into the room and holds out the plate, hovering uncertainly beside the bed before she makes up her mind and perches on the window seat. ‘Chris, I’m really sorry -’
‘Tobs -’
‘- I should never have done something like that without -’
‘Can I go first, please?’ Christen reaches out and puts a hand on Tobin’s thigh, and Tobin is so surprised she shuts up instantly. ‘Thank you. Tobs, I’m sorry how I reacted yesterday. I was feeling really terrible, and yes, you’re right, you should have told me before you did something so - significant - but there was no reason for me to be so aggressive, and -’
‘But -’
‘No, honestly. You’ve never done anything to warrant me behaving like that to you.’
‘But you were right. I went totally off the rails, and I should have known it would be too much. It was insensitive.’
‘I think I get to decide that.’
‘It sounded yesterday like you had.’
‘Tobin.’
‘Can you just - let me be sorry about this, please?’
Christen smiles. Tobin feels her heart thump almost painfully in her chest. ‘I will accept a limited level of sorry to take account of the overkill, but you’re not allowed to be properly sorry because I know why you did it.’
Tobin is so relieved she thinks for a second she might cry. She’s been clenching her hands so tightly in her lap that there’ll be nail marks on her palms, but Christen reaches out and gently prises them open, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. ‘I mean it, Tobs. Just please tell me you haven’t got me anything else.’
‘Um.’
‘Tobin.’
‘No, it’s okay, it’s not alive,’ Tobin says all in a rush, hanging onto Christen’s hands. ‘I just bought tickets to the Christmas show in Fort Milton. It’s the last night. It’s not ballet, but… I thought it’d be nice.’
Something flickers in Christen’s expression. It’s unfamiliar, but Tobin wonders if it might possibly be longing. ‘Tobin, I can’t go all the way into town just to sit in a theater and annoy everyone with my sneezing.’
‘No, I know. I returned them.’ Christen definitely looks wistful, and Tobin feels the seed of an idea starting to form. ‘But we could still go, if you’re up for it.’
‘Unless you spent yesterday inventing a cure for the common cold, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘No, I can make it work. Trust me.’ She’s conscious of sounding desperate. ‘Please?’
Christen sneezes three times, but then smiles a smile that makes it all the way to her watery eyes. ‘You know I do.’
***
The car ride that evening feels like a necessary return to normality. Tobin makes Christen bundle up until she can barely walk, unable to stop herself looping just one more scarf round Christen’s neck on the way out the door, and fills a hot water bottle to keep her warm until the car heating kicks in. She’s not taking any chances.
‘Tobs,’ Christen protests when Tobin brandishes a blanket and starts tucking it around her knees, ‘I have a cold. I’m not dying.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not getting colder on my watch.’
There are no more carols on the radio, but Tobin sneaks her Christmas playlist on anyway and hums along. Christen rolls her eyes but doesn’t object.
The snow has been cleared and they make good time, but Christen sneaks increasingly concerned glances at her watch. ‘Does it start at 7.30?’
‘Hmm? Yeah.’
‘We’ll have to rush in or we’ll miss the start.’
‘No, it’s okay. You’ll see.’
Tobin bypasses the crammed main car park and turns up the edge of the theater to the staff bays, waving at the bored attendant who always seems to be reading the same paperback whenever she passes through. Christen raises her eyebrows. ‘Did you get a new job when I wasn’t looking?’
‘Not exactly. Are you warm enough?’
‘Toasty.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
The lobby is empty but there’s a hum of anticipation in the theater, everyone already in their seats. Tobin steers Christen past the gilded doors and through a backstage stairwell into the lighting booth. It’s directly facing the stage, behind the rows, but completely closed off and private.
The two headphoned technicians grin at them from behind the desk. One of them gives Tobin a thumbs up and points at a small, slightly ratty bench-style couch against the back wall. Christen smiles at them before she turns to whisper to Tobin. ‘Are we allowed to be here?’
‘You can sneeze as often and as loudly as you need to.’
‘I guess I mean, how are we allowed to be here?’
‘I’ve taken their publicity photos for a couple of years. Just as a favor.’
‘A favor you’re now calling in?’
‘Something like that. Come on, it’ll start in a sec.’
Tobin unfurls the blanket and tucks Christen in on the couch. It’s definitely on the small side, forcing them to sit pressed right up against each other, which normally Tobin wouldn’t think twice about, but she finds herself suddenly hyper-aware of how warm Christen is.
The curtain goes up just in time to provide a distraction. Tobin had forgotten to snag a playbill from the tables outside the auditorium, but she couldn’t care less and nor from the look of it could Christen. The first act is a local dance troupe, nine girls, and Christen is entranced as they move feather-light across the stage.
Tobin never stuck with dance classes as a kid, inevitably getting distracted by soccer practice or extra art class, but she went to all of Christen’s recitals and always appreciated them if only for how happy it made Christen. She still doesn’t realize she’s been watching Christen instead of the dancing until it’s over, the applause startling her as it rings through the audience.
Christen turns her head, their faces suddenly very close. ‘Tobin?’
‘Yeah, Chris?’
‘This is perfect.’
Tobin’s heart soars.
She lifts her arm so Christen can burrow further into her side, and Christen rearranges the blanket over them both. Tobin barely notices the next act either, overwhelmed by the feeling of Christen warm and soft against her, lulled by the gentle rhythm of Christen’s breathing.
One of the technicians nudges them awake when the performance is over.