Page 96 of Elf-ish

“Do we need a definition?” I counter. All of us are near or past forty and declaring someone my boyfriend feels almost juvenile. Still, if Jude and I were to continue, I’d like a commitment between us.

My insecurities almost got in the way the other night. The idea of Jude being with other girls in his old uniform struck a chord. Swearing on his sister drove home the truth in his eyes. I was a first for him.

Noelle chuckles. “Speaking as someone without labels on her relationship, as long as you are the only one he is fucking, I think you are safe.”

Am I the only one? I think I am. We’ve video-chatted the nights we haven’t been together. It would be pretty difficult to keep up a relationship with someone else while talking with me.

Then again, I’ve been burned before, and I should know better. The things I don’t see are the things that should worry me.

Still, I want to be confident in where Jude and I are. We don’t need to plan out a future. Maybe this is just a winter fling. An I-date-him, he-dates-me thing to get us through the holidays. One of my favorite holiday movies involves a couple who agrees to be each other’s plus one to all the holidays throughout the year.

With Noelle’s statement, we round into sharing some of the worst situations we’ve been in with men in the past. For Holliday, her ex turned out to suck. Eva claims she’d been too busy for relationships. Noelle already told the group about her previous relationship. I mention my past failure.

“Well, here’s to sour dates in the past and only sweet sex in our future,” Noelle announces when we’ve gone a round with our sucky tales.

“Here, here,” Holliday taps the table.

To our surprise, a round of shots is delivered to the table.

“What’s this?” Eva asks, lifting the small glass and giving it a whiff.

“Fireball. Compliments of the chief.” The young waitress points in the direction of Brock Scroggs, Zebb’s older brother.

“Ah,” Eva cries out, standing from our table and approaching her brother-in-law and the woman with him. Eva drags her over to us.

“Ladies, do you remember Pear?”

Pear Claus is our battalion chief’s daughter and Brock’s forever girlfriend, and we should have thought to include her in our gathering.

“Join us,” I say, pointing to a chair at the nearest table.

“I don’t want to intrude, but Brock was noticing y’all looked a little serious. He said you needed some Fireball to burn down the glum faces.”

Brock was a party man prior to meeting Pear. He was a constant troublemaker within the department. Eventually, there was an issue with my brother, Dane. As pals, they worked it out, but Cap, our battalion chief, was still pissed, and he sent Brock on a retreat. Getting snowed in with Cap’s daughter was probably the last thing Cap expected to happen. Now, the two are the cutest couple.

“Still, take a seat,” Eva encourages and points at Brock, implying he should send over one more shot.

“Fireballs at the ready,” Noelle shouts once we each have a shot, and then we down the cinnamon-burn in one go.

Laughter is restored to our table, and the fun continues until the guys crash O’Malley’s. An additional table is drawn up to the booth, and musical chairs happen as couples drift together. Zebb and Eva. Brock and Pear. Nick and Holliday. Noelle and I are left alone, until my brother Dane slides in beside Noelle, laying his attention on her a bit thick, considering she has a man, and he isn’t officially divorced yet.

Despite the music and laughter, everyone looks all cozied up, and I feel like the odd woman out again.

I can’t help thinking about Jude. He should be here with me.

I give in and message him.

Girls’ night suddenly feels like a distraction I’m done pretending I need.

chapter 30

[Jude]

O’Malley’s on the northside is the last place I expected to go on a Friday. As the last official weekend before the holiday, Ashford’s has been a madhouse. As much as I could use a drink, I hadn’t intended to go out and deal with people, but when Angelica messaged me, I couldn’t refuse.

Knowing this place is more of a firefighter’s bar, I try to downplay my appearance, wearing jeans and a green waffle-weave Henley. As I approach the bar, the familiar itch of playing a role comes over me. Who will I need to pretend to be for her friends?

I didn’t want to think that way, but old habits die hard.