I used to always be in a hurry for the New Year to begin, to get a fresh start and leave whatever horror I'd endured over the last 365 days behind me, but 2008 was the best year of my life. I might actually be sad to see it go. That being said, the energy coursing through my veins isn't of nervousness or dread, but of pure excitement for tonight.

Every sound from outside makes me stop what I'm doing, whether it be placing bowls of snacks on the table, or helping Lindsey set up streamers and balloons, and look out the window. It's nearing 6PM; the agreed upon time for everyone to arrive before our New Year's Eve party.

"I think that's it," Lindsey says with a decided nod, looking around at our work.

A lot of things can happen in two years, one of those things being the addition of Lindsey Way (née Ballato) to our lives.

I wasn't there for the wedding, but then again, not many people were. It took place in September of 2007 while the two were on tour. I wish I could've been there with everyone, but I stayed here in Jersey with my grandparents, and boy was it a shock when I finally was reunited with my family.

I'm used to my dad doing crazy shit (though Frank might still be the reigning champion), but introducing me to a woman I've never met— never even heard of before— as his "wife", is a special kind of crazy. One I grew comfortable with pretty quick.

I met her during spring break of 2008, when the band had off-time from The Black Parade World Tour, and then it was off to more stops in the USA, to places I'd never been to before.

That's right, I got to go along.

The way Frank couldn't keep his mouth shut long enough to announce it to me after everyone had arrived to that disorganized "family meeting" tells me it was all thanks to him. He's always good at convincing Gerard to let me do stuff.

"Looking good," I say, admiring the "Happy Fuckin' New Year" banner Lindsey painted. I lost count at how many tries it took to get it to hang straight above the doorway to the kitchen. Our efforts were futile, though, as within a few minutes it slipped down again and we left it hanging crooked. "Quirky" is one word for it, but I prefer to call it "giving up".

"So, I guess that's everything, but just to be sure..." Lindsey pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket and reads, "Balloons?"

"Check." I confirm.

"Streamers?"

"Check."

"Banner?"

"I fucking swear, if that thing falls off the wall one more time—"

"Drinks?"

"Check." The table is lined with strictly non-alcoholic beverages. I'm pretty sure I'll never be allowed even near the opposite as long as I'm Gerard Way's daughter, and I won't be one to object.

We all know what's happened in the past.

And of course, Lindsey won't be drinking either, what with a baby on the way. When the month of May rolls around, I'm gonna be a big sister. Everything is happening so fast and I couldn't be more excited.

"Plates, cups, napkins, all that?"

"Check, check, check."

"And, most importantly, snacks?"

I grab a fistful of Cheetos and shove them in my mouth in reply.

Every time I do something like that, I'm reminded of how far I've come. How two years ago I was on a feeding tube, because I couldn't even bring myself to eat something as small as an apple. That's not to say I'm all better now, it's still hard sometimes, but I'm stronger. Not even the faint, whispered protests that my eating disorder has died down to by now could get in the way of my love of Cheetos.

Lindsey laughs as I wipe the orange dust off my fingers. "Perfect. Now, go get ready before everyone gets here," she tells me, reminding me that I'm still wearing my Christmas themed pyjama bottoms I woke up in this morning.

I look down at them. "What's wrong with the outfit I have on?" I ask jokingly, putting my hands on my hips.

Linds just rolls her eyes. I run up the stairs with a new burst of energy at the thought of my friends and family walking through the door in such a short amount of time. Sure, it hasn't been so long since we saw each other, a Christmas dinner being the last time, but being surrounded by these people never gets old.

In my room, the black, white, and yellow aesthetic ever-present, I decide on my outfit: my new pair of black skinny jeans, a white short-sleeved button-up shirt with black spots, and the most eccentric pair of socks I could find.

This isn't a fancy event.

Most of my socks lose their pair within a week, which I blame the dryer for (or maybe some sock-stealing demon from another dimension that visits our world and swipes single socks while we sleep? I'll have to tell Gerard about that theory, because I'd read that comic). I don't even bother putting them together anymore, and so I have a drawer full of lonely socks.

I enter my bathroom, the door to which I painted rainbow because things happen when I have access to paint. No, I did not ask if I was allowed to do such a thing. It was like that for a week before Gerard even noticed.

After making faces at myself in my bathroom mirror as I attempted to apply some black eyeliner, I comb through my hair with my fingers a few times. It's too short to style. There's a story behind that from just a few weeks ago.

"Hurry up, Kid, no one cares if your eyeliner is even!" Frank called into my room. He was taking me to see a movie and, I admit, we may have been running a bit late.

"I'm just trying to get my hair to cooperate, give me a minute!" I yelled back. I just wanted it up in pigtails. It's my own lack of skill when it comes to anything involving style and beauty that stopped it from working.

"I've given you so many minutes, Eve!"

I sighed deeply. "Fuck it," I said.

"Finally," I heard Frank mutter, but when I still didn't come out of my room he piped up again. "Wait, what are you doing in there now?"

It took only a couple snips of the conveniently placed scissors on my bathroom counter for him to run in through to where I was chopping my hair off. "I said fuck it."

"Yeah, but I thought you meant— Gee your sixteen year old daughter is having a midlife crisis!"

"Technically this could be a midlife crisis—"

"I don't care about your technicalities, give me those scissors." Frank held out his hand expectantly.

"You're not seriously gonna stop me from chopping my hair off are you?"

"Stop you from what?" Gee asked, walking into the room. He stopped when he saw the hair on the floor. "Eve!"

We ignored him as Frank went on, "No, but you're cutting it all crooked."

"And you think you could do any better?" I asked sassily, taught only by the best.

It turns out he couldn't do any better, but Lindsey could. That was only after I went to see the movie with my hair looking like I'd just lost a fight to an angry goose, or something.

Now that I've deemed myself presentable, I go back downstairs. The time reads: 6:02.

"It's six o'clock!" I sing to myself as I enter the living room, but it's more like I'm just yelling through the house. "Six o'clock! Where is everyone? It's six o'clock!"

"Our friends aren't the most punctual people, Eve." Gee says.

"Not even Ray? I thought he was better than this."

And who, of all people, walks through the front door at this very moment, but Ray Toro himself.

"I'm here and I brought pizza!" he calls, as he brushes the snow off his shoes, taking them off at the door.

"Fuck yeah, I knew you'd come through!" I run over and throw my arms around him, almost knocking him off his feet.

"That excited for pizza, are we?" He laughs and hugs me with his free arm.

"I mean, sure." I shrug when we pull away. "But I'm just excited that you're here. No one else has showed up yet."

"Wrong!" Frank walks in behind Ray.

"Frankie!" I greet him in the same way as I greeted Ray. In the last year or so I've grown around three inches, so almost as tall as him. I now stand at about 5'5". I feel a little less short than I once did.

Finally, the guys' wives, Jamia and Christa, walk in together. Everyone got married and I didn't get to go to a single wedding. We can thank mostly mental health for that.

"She's almost as tall as you now!" Jamia exclaims, tapping Frank on the shoulder lightly, and pointing me out.

"Shit, I didn't notice. It's not like she's been reminding me every minute, or anything."

I laugh. "I wouldn't harass you like that, would I, Frankie?"

He rolls his eyes. "Seriously, kid, stop growing. I can't even use you as an arm rest anymore."

"Hey! That's not very nice." I grab his arm and drag him out to the living room. "Daaad, Frank's being... unkind."

"She's the one always harassing me about my height!" he argues back.

"You should be used to it by now, Frankie."

It's been barely a minute since anyone got here, and we're already arguing and poking fun at each other like children. Not that that's out of the norm around here anyway.

Let the party begin.