—Dr. Seuss

Although no heavy shopping was involved, Black Friday turned out to be the best one I had in years. When I still wasn't up at ten in the morning, my mom woke me to grab some breakfast. The family owned restaurant was packed like sardines with exhausted consumers who had spent the whole morning scoring deals. Still, our chocolate crêpes were brought out surprisingly fast.

After sufficiently stuffing ourselves with too much food for the second time in fifteen hours, my mom suggested a spa day, which sounded incredible.

First came the massages. The spa—which we'd found through the navigator on my phone—turned out to be a winner. Although the online coupon I found had expired, the receptionist was even kind enough to include free facials with our services. An hour and forty five minutes of pure bliss later, we were entirely relaxed and fresh-faced. I ran ahead of Rose to pay for both of us, since she had paid for everything up to that point. When I was closing my wallet, I noticed Amber's business card, from the hair salon months earlier, and suggested we go there next.

Though she didn't really need it, my mom got her split ends cleaned up, while Amber retouched my black hair with more red. It was a good idea, I thought, to get it done when I did, so I would be ready for my trip to London. Amber did an even better job the second time around, and I left the salon with glossy, manageable, colorful hair that I felt proud enough to wear down. Rose perpetually complimented me, which had the odd effect of making me feel both uncomfortable and more confident at the same time.

The last stop was a quaint nail salon in an uptown strip mall, where the smell of acetone found us before we found the storefront. Rose and I were the only two people in the place, so we were seated in the back right away. I could not remember the last time I had a pedicure or manicure, so the poor woman tending to me surely had her work cut out for her. As our feet soaked in the warm, bubbly water, with white flower petals floating atop it, we were asked to pick out a shade of nail polish. My mom went for a deep, purple-berry color, while I opted for a classic French tip.

The sun was slipping through a batch of fluffy looking clouds as we exited the nail salon, and I peeked down the line of other businesses in the strip. A bright red sign, several doors down, read "BLACK FRIDAY SPECIAL: HALF PRICE RECORDS." Inspiration for Julian's Christmas presents hit me, and my feet started carrying me there, before my mind could catch up to what I was doing.

"Where are you going, Brookie Monster?" my mom asked, while turning on her heels to follow me.

"Um, just give me a minute." I tossed her the keys to my Civic. "Go ahead and sit down in the car. I'll be right out."

"Well, okay," she said, slightly befuddled.

More briskly, I walked the rest of the way to the record store. It looked a bit rundown. This, in turn, made it stick out like a sore thumb among the rest of the elegant boutiques nearby. The shop owner, a middle-aged man with shoulder length, frizzy, gray hair, greeted me when the bell at the top of the front door jingled at my arrival.

"Can I help you find something?" he offered, while adjusting his squared glasses. The man's thin frame was outlined through a plain black polo shirt and shin-length, jean shorts.

"No, thank you. Just browsing," I said, sifting through rows of CDs and vinyls. I knew Julian's favorite artists, but just assumed he had collected their discographies already. It was making the search more challenging than I had anticipated.

I made it through much of the alphabetized stacks, and was about to give up when I reached "L." There, in the middle, was í. On display were a ton of his releases, and I wondered to myself if Julian was missing any of them from his own collection.

"Paco de Lucía," the owner remarked, as he restocked a section of cassettes behind me. "One of the best. You don't look like the type to be into flamenco."

"Do you know if any of these are very rare?" I turned to ask, ignoring his somewhat rude comment. "I know somebody who is a big fan of his, but he probably already has most of these albums."

"I have the rarest of the rare." The shop owner grinned. "Hold on, I'll just grab it from the back."

When he emerged from the drawn, black curtains by the only register at the front, the shop owner blew a burst of breath onto the record, causing a stirring of dust to disperse into the air. He gently used one palm to clean off the rest of the particles.

"Siroco... 1987," he said, while admiring the sleeve. "Autographed, with a certificate of authenticity."

My eyes bulged at his words, and I reached for the album to inspect it. Sure enough, across the front was a signature in black. It even had an accidental, ink-smudged thumbprint.

"How much?" I asked with a wince.

"Two hundred and it's yours," the man said with a shrug.

"Two hundred? For a record?" My hand met my hip. "Who even uses vinyl anymore? I know you're not getting people in here every day looking for flamenco music."

"Two hundred for the signature, mainly," he corrected me. "You'll never be able to get it again. You won't find this anywhere. It's one of a kind."

I knew he was right, and I would have bought it for his asking price if I had to, but it couldn't hurt to attempt a bargain, I thought.

"Your sign out front says fifty percent off for Black Friday," I reminded him.

"Oh, this isn't included in the promotion, sorry." He took the album back from me.

I supposed he was trying to rip me off.

"That's fine. I guess I'll look elsewhere for a gift," I bluffed and turned away.

"Wait," he called after me.

With my back turned to him, I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

"Yeah?" I asked, looking at him again, straight-faced.

"Maybe I could do one hundred twenty-five?" he offered.

"One hundred," I said, pretending to be firm. "And that's already too high."

"Okay, one hundred," he reluctantly agreed. I had never attempted to negotiate a price before, for anything, and couldn't believe it worked on my first try.

I eyed the record with a giddy, toothy smile as I walked out of the store and back to my car. It was the best one hundred dollars I had ever spent.

...

After my mom returned to Florida, regular life resumed. Work became busier at the Tucson Telegram, so I was somewhat distracted from the torment of missing Julian.

Growing stacks of newspapers decorated the corners of my apartment, each one with a published byline I could claim. A week went by, and then another week, until one day I woke up and realized I was only ten days away from my departure to London. Sure, Julian had reminded me with a daily countdown, but it didn't completely sink in until the eighth of December. Coincidentally, it was also the day of the holiday office party, which I was entirely dreading. Still, I did my part to appear celebratory, breaking out a green cowlneck sweater and an old Santa hat from my closet.

Paper snowflakes on string lined the ceiling of the office, and classic Christmas songs were playing softly from concealed speakers. Chocolate chip cookies, punch, and finger foods sat on black folding tables, awaiting the masses of employees to arrive. Next to them, I placed the sprinkled cake pops I had promised to contribute. Surprisingly, I was the first one in the tenth floor newsroom that morning, apart from Burt, who was on the phone behind his shut office door.

It was so quiet that the ding of the elevator down the hall was actually audible, and within moments, I caught sight of Eric. He was wearing a gray and blue, fair isle sweater, jeans, and white sneakers—an outfit more casual than anything I had ever seen him wear. His light hair was not styled, but not entirely unkempt. The look made him seem more approachable, more normal, and less like the conventional businessman I always thought him to be. It was an interesting contrast.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Eric bellowed and reached into his bag to produce a small box, wrapped in shiny red paper and topped with a white bow. He handed it to me and smiled wide, with tiny lines decorating the corners of his blue eyes.

"This is for me?" My heart sank.

"Of course." Eric sat at his desk next to mine.

"But I didn't get you anything." A deep frown spread across my face. "I didn't know we were exchanging gifts."

"Nobody is exchanging gifts," Eric clarified and winked at me. "I only got a little something for you. It's not much, but you should open it before the others get here and expect something."

I carefully tore into the wrapping paper and found a small, black jewelry box. Within it was a pair of silver bow earrings. I studied their beauty while simultaneously recognizing the sting of guilt. Guilt for not having any gift with which to reciprocate, and guilt for something else I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Eric, thank you so much. They're beautiful," I praised him. "I wish you hadn't gone out of your way to do this. I feel really bad."

"Don't, it's just a small holiday gift." He shrugged. "The holidays would suck a lot more without presents."

I laughed and he followed suit. It was nice to feel appreciated at work, and I was grateful for all of Eric's help since starting at the Tucson Telegram. I just hoped he wasn't getting the wrong impression of me.

As soon as I thought it, I wanted to smack myself for the egotistical notion.

Eric was my coworker, and though he was exceptionally friendly to me, I could not take it as some type of flirtation. He had taken me under his wing from the first time I stepped foot in that building, and he'd seen my writing improve in the interim, so he must have felt a sense of camaraderie with me. From that perspective, I saw nothing wrong with wearing the earrings, and that was exactly what I did.

...

Days later, after I had dropped off a box full of presents for my mom and Adam at the post office, I drove to Laina's apartment in Drexel Heights. She was cooking dinner, and we were going to exchange gifts early because of my upcoming trip.

"It's been too damn long!" Laina hugged me as I tried to enter. I could smell the stuffed peppers cooking, nearly making me salivate.

"I know," I agreed, as my eyes caught something moving by her couch.

"Brooke, I want you to meet somebody." Laina moved out of my line of vision. "This is Wes."

A tall, svelte guy with dark copper hair approached me for a hug.

"Really good to finally meet you, Brooke. I've heard lots of great things." Wes was soft spoken with gentle hands and gentler green eyes.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, too." I gave him my brightest smile as we made our way toward the kitchen table.

"Now, what did you get for me?" Laina felt no shame, reaching for the two presents I held at my side.

"I'm sorry, Wes," I said, as Laina tore into the wrapped hair styling wand, and overpriced makeup palette. "I didn't know you'd be joining us, otherwise I would've brought you something, too."

Before Wes could reply, Laina shrilled in delight.

"I love them!" She hugged her presents. "Just what I wanted!"

I laughed as my best friend ran into another room, and emerged again with a larger box for me.

"What's all this?" I asked.

"Open it!" Laina demanded. She was even happier than usual—the tone of her voice proved this.

Penguins in beanies decorated the blue wrapping paper. As I ripped into the sides, a white Macy's gift box became visible. I lifted the lid to find a vibrant red, London Fog peacoat with large gold buttons. I held the beautiful coat up to admire it.

"I hear it's cold there in December," Laina spoke up.

"It's gorgeous." I ran my hand over the thick, soft material and tried it on.

"Perfect fit." Laina reveled in her good taste. She was right; it fit snugly, but comfortably so. I could tell it would keep me very warm.

"When are you leaving?" Wes asked innocuously.

"In two days," I answered, and felt the full weight of being unprepared. I still needed to wrap Julian's presents, pack my suitcase, clean the apartment, and shave.

"Are you sure you don't need me to bring you to the airport?" Laina asked. Shifts at her job were inconsistent around the holidays, and I refused to let her use a day off for my sake.

"I'm sure," I promised her. "Really."

I found out, through hours of conversation, that Wes was a computer science major, a few years younger than us. He was also quite a talented artist. More specifically, he loved to sketch and paint. The night got away from us as we enjoyed Laina's cooking, lots of laughs over storytelling, and a few quick rounds of Go Fish.

At some point after midnight, I said goodbye to Wes, and Laina followed me out the front door, to see me to my car.

"I didn't know you two were living together," I alluded to Wes, once I knew we were out of his earshot.

"We're not," Laina informed me. "He just stays over a few nights a week."

I nodded and smiled at my best friend. "He's great, Lain. I can see he makes you really happy."

"He does," she agreed. "I think he may be the one."

"The one?" I echoed her, in slight disbelief. They hadn't know each other that long, but then again, I knew Julian was the one from the very first night.

"I think so." Laina's cheeks flushed. "Well, I hope so."

"As long as you're happy, I'm ecstatic." I hugged her tight. "Just don't forget about me once it's time for the wedding. My maid of honor dress can't be pink."

Laina giggled and pulled her hair back.

"How about you? How are you and Julian?" she asked thoughtfully.

"We're great. Just really excited to see each other. It's been almost half a year." I looked up at the star-filled sky and wondered if he was doing the same at that very moment.

"Wow." Laina emphasized the word. "I can't believe it's been that long."

'Yeah, neither can I." Strands of hair blew into my face with a strong gust of wind. "I should probably get home, I've got a big day of preparations ahead of me tomorrow. Thank you so much for dinner, and for the coat. It's perfect."

"You look gorgeous in it," she complimented me while wrapping an arm tight around my back. "Let me know how London is, and maybe we can get together when you get back."

"Alright," I said, unlocking my car.

"Have a safe trip, Brooke! Tell Julian I said hello!" Laina waved as she hurried back inside to Wes.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face as I watched my best friend run as fast as her feet would carry her, to her very own redheaded Romeo.

...

"This damn wrapping paper is giving me paper cuts," I said in the direction of my phone.

"That's why you aren't to get me any gifts," Julian said through the speakerphone. "Stubborn girl."

"Too late," I teased.

"I am actually shaking at the thought of seeing you tomorrow." His voice softened. "This is worse than stage jitters."

"How am I going to last on the flight?" I asked him, while taping down the final corner of his last gift. Neatly, I placed it into my fully packed suitcase.

"Tons of music. Loads of reading. Lots of thinking about me." My favorite voice resonated through my living room, though its owner wasn't there.

"I suppose that will work." I eyed the bookshelf and pulled Brave New World out. "Hopefully Huxley helps."

"Always does for me." Julian laughed proudly.

"I love that laugh," I said. I needed to feel the rumble of it on my skin again.

"I love you. Get here already," he playfully demanded.

"Can you believe it? Once I go to sleep and wake up, it will be time." My stomach flipped at the realization.

"Go to sleep then, and let's get this show on the road!" Julian chuckled. "Have you checked your luggage thirteen times now?"

"Fourteen actually." I played along. "And?"

"And... I've been dreaming of wrapping my arms around you for months. So, go to bed, because you'll need your rest for tomorrow." Julian yawned. It was early morning there. "I need to finish tidying the flat."

"Okay, Jules," I surrendered. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. I love you," he purred into the line.

"I love you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Brooke."

...

First class. Again. Even though I booked my own flight, with my own money—much to Julian's disgust—he still called to upgrade my seat to first class. I wondered how much an international upgraded seat must have cost him, and stifled a groan at his insistence to spoil me. The other part of me, a smaller part that I wouldn't lead him to believe was true, absolutely loved that he wanted to do so. His generosity knew no bounds; his heart knew all depths.

I arrived ridiculously early, to not only allow plenty of time for extra security screenings, but to also ensure my numerous nightmares of missing my flight would not come to fruition. While I waited at the terminal gate for Flight 3208, I tapped my feet in nervous haste.

It felt like ages were passing, as my heart thrummed in odd time, but, finally, the announcement I had been waiting for boomed through the overhead speakers. First and business classes were allowed to begin boarding.

Finally. I was on my way to see my soulmate, after far too long apart.

We needed this, so badly.

Soon, he would be going on tour again and, aside from the Tucson date, I didn't know exactly when he would be able to squeeze in a visit with me. I was so thrilled that his career was soaring into unimaginable heights, but I selfishly wanted him, too. Julian's time and energy were finite things, and the more I had to share Julian with the world, the less of him there was for me.

Julian's pre-takeoff text message soothed my knotted stomach momentarily, and I read it many times before powering my cell phone down.

Please be safe. I will be waiting for you when you land. I love you, princess. Endlessly. x

The first six hours of the flight, I was able to rest—since I had fallen asleep at midnight and woken up three hours later, to make my plane at seven. That still left me with another six hours to kill before we touched the ground at Heathrow.

So, I read Huxley's best.

While reading, I wondered how much Julian agreed with the sentiment that truth and happiness could not coincide. I supposed, in a way, Julian had been testament to that very concept. He did everything he could to avoid talking about his former life, thereby avoiding facing his situation, in order to remain happy or neutral. I never pushed him to open up, and had always just assumed he would do so when he was ready.

Julian told me, long before, that I made him happier than anyone else ever could. I wondered if it was enough to overthrow, or at least fight on par with, his pain.