The week between Christmas and New Years is a shitty time of year for a birthday. It was when they were kids, and most of their friends were still out of town, and they got annoyed at how all the presents were birthday-and-Christmas presents; and if anything it's gotten worse now that it's smack in the middle of winter break, and they agreed when they were nine to keep any friends they like away from their parents, because they can't complain about anyone they don't know about.
By the 28th, Jason's always going out of his mind with how badly he wants to get back to St Cecelia's, where there's a little more room to breathe. More than ever this year, and he knows he's been a moody bitch all break because Nadia keeps eyeing him over it, half-pissed and half-worried, waiting for him to explain. Except he can't tell her that he kissed Peter in September and now every day he doesn't get to do it again feels twice as long, so he holes up in his room and hides for the day instead, staring at the ceiling and wishing he was back in the dorm. It's lonely and boring, but lightyears better than last year's disaster.
But some traditions are too sacred to break. So with an hour left to midnight, after Mom's taken her pills and Dad's office is locked for the night, he drags himself out of bed to meet Nadia in the kitchen to raid the last of the Christmas cookies. It takes a few truly awful jokes and Jason sacrificing his half of the snickerdoodles to get Nadia to go from scowling to smiling, but he manages eventually.
"Happy thank-fuck-it's-not-our-birthday-anymore," Nadia says at a minute past midnight, and Jason nudges her with his shoulder as he takes the cookie she passes over.
"Happy out-of-this-house-again-next-week."
"I'll drink to that," she answers, reaching over to knock her plastic glass of milk against his, and her laugh feels like the first good thing he's done all break.
bare: a pop opera, Jason & Nadia
By the 28th, Jason's always going out of his mind with how badly he wants to get back to St Cecelia's, where there's a little more room to breathe. More than ever this year, and he knows he's been a moody bitch all break because Nadia keeps eyeing him over it, half-pissed and half-worried, waiting for him to explain. Except he can't tell her that he kissed Peter in September and now every day he doesn't get to do it again feels twice as long, so he holes up in his room and hides for the day instead, staring at the ceiling and wishing he was back in the dorm. It's lonely and boring, but lightyears better than last year's disaster.
But some traditions are too sacred to break. So with an hour left to midnight, after Mom's taken her pills and Dad's office is locked for the night, he drags himself out of bed to meet Nadia in the kitchen to raid the last of the Christmas cookies. It takes a few truly awful jokes and Jason sacrificing his half of the snickerdoodles to get Nadia to go from scowling to smiling, but he manages eventually.
"Happy thank-fuck-it's-not-our-birthday-anymore," Nadia says at a minute past midnight, and Jason nudges her with his shoulder as he takes the cookie she passes over.
"Happy out-of-this-house-again-next-week."
"I'll drink to that," she answers, reaching over to knock her plastic glass of milk against his, and her laugh feels like the first good thing he's done all break.