I woke up shivering. But not the kind of shivering from being cold and sleeping without a blanket. The kind of shivering where your body was rebelling against you. Also the kind of shivering brought on by your mother yanking the blankets off of you.

"Dallas, you need to get up." My mother strode over to the other side of my room and pulled the curtains open, sending streams of far-too-bright afternoon light spilling into my room. "People are going to start arriving around 4."

I groaned and patted around my sheets for my phone, glancing at the time on the screen. "Mom, it's noon."

"Then I guess you'll have plenty of time to get ready," she directed a pinched smile my way. "I also picked up your dress pants from the dry cleaners, they're hanging on your closet door."

She spun on her heel and strode out of the room before I had a chance to argue with her any more. I glanced over at my closet door, where a pair of black dress pants and a white button up shirt hung from the doorknob, gently swaying back and forth almost to entice me over. I groaned and flopped back down onto my bed, watching shadows of clouds dance across my bedroom wall as the afternoon shifted into early evening. At some point I'd fallen back asleep and woken up in another cold sweat.

When the chorus of Frankie Valli's December, 1963 came fluttering up from downstairs, I figured that was my not-so-subtle message to start getting ready. Even after I'd showered, my body continued to rebel against me as I effectively sweated through the white button-down shirt my mother laid out for me as soon as I put it on. I grabbed a black shirt and strategically tucked it in to hide the wrinkles at the hem and rolled my sleeves up, not even bothering to put a sport coat on.

By the time I made it downstairs, the house was already crawling with workers from the Italian catering company my mother liked to use for bigger parties, donning pressed white shirts and unironic red and green sequin bow ties. The entire house smelled like cinnamon and pine needles, and a warmth washed over me. I'd probably sweat through this shirt too, but at least black made it less noticeable.

We always put our Christmas tree at the base of the spiral stairs in the foyer so that it gave the illusion that the stairs wrapped around it. The ceiling in the foyer was also the highest in the house, allowing my parents to buy the tallest tree they could find, and when I was younger I'd stick my hands through the railing on the second floor that looked down over the foyer, trying to pull off pine needles from the top of the tree. My mother wasn't one for sentiment, so the lights were always a crisp white, and the ornaments were a uniformed collection she snagged from Tiffany's on 5th Ave in Manhattan. Perfectly picturesque for holiday card photos and Instagram posts.

Older family members and acquaintances who couldn't be social past 7 PM started to filter in and fill the den at the front of the house. Before I could ease myself into the crowd and snag a glass of wine, my mother intercepted me and pulled me towards a secluded corner of the kitchen by the pantry.

"Dallas, why are you dressed like you're going to a funeral?" She gestured to my all-black ensemble, a stark contrast to her all white, perfectly-pressed pantsuit and red pointy heels. "Be a little festive, and for god's sake put on a tie."

I groaned. "Honestly Mom, if you make me wear a tie I'm gonna hang myself with it, so I guess I'm prematurely dressed for my own funeral."

She put her glass of wine on the counter and started fussing with my sleeves, unrolling them and buttoning the cuffs. "Please dispense with the dramatics for one night, Dallas."

"I'm 18, it's like my job to be dramatic," I grumbled.

She sighed and leaned forward on her toes, brushing my hair back off my forehead. "Fine, fine."

When I reached for her glass of wine still on the counter, she swatted my hand away. "You can have one glass of wine, but after you say hi to your grandparents, please."

I gave her a curt nod before meandering into the den to have forced diplomatic conversation with my grandparents. They lived in West Haven and I saw them more than a few times a year, but the conversation was always the same. Somewhere in between my grandmother going on about how tall I was and my grandfather pressing me about his time at Cornell (because it isn't truly a legacy if it doesn't span several generations), a wave of nausea washed over me.

I managed to tear myself away semi-gracefully and run back up the stairs two at a time before I passed out. When I shut the door to my bedroom, I was enveloped in silence, and I finally took a breath.

"Come on," I muttered to myself through clenched teeth. "Get it the fuck together."

I wanted to throw myself to the floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear off my itchy, suffocating dress shirt and crawl into bed. I didn't do any of that. Instead, I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face, then pulled open the drawer under the sink to see the same empty, labelless orange bottle. I slammed the drawer shut and left my room.

As I made my way back downstairs, I stopped a petite brunette between the kitchen and the foyer with a tray of wine glasses and hastily grabbed one. I slugged it down in a way most dignified people did not drink wine, and when the flashing stars in my eyes stopped, I realized she was still standing beside me. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than me, probably in college and home for winter break. 

"Hey uh..." I glanced down at her nametag. "Kara, right? Can you do me a favor?" I gave her the sweetest smile I could, and her eyes lit up.

"Sure, what's up?"

I tilted my empty wine glass towards her. "Can you make sure I've always got a full one? Please?"

She gave me a wary glance.

"Don't worry, I live here." I gave her a reassuring nod. "I just would prefer my mother not knowing."

She took the empty glass from my hand and swiftly replaced it with a full one. "Maybe try taking your time with this one," she said with a faint grin. "Just a little bit."

I mustered up a chuckle. "No promises, but I'll try."

By the time I had assimilated myself back into the party, the guest count had increased exponentially. Before I had a moment to breathe (and kill another glass of wine), Jordyn was pulling me over to our Christmas tree and stage managing her mother on the different angles to take our picture. The deep red velvet of her dress was soft against my palms as she pressed my hands to her waist, and her hair smelled like vanilla. If someone looked at our photo without context, they'd think we were the happiest couple on the planet behind all the Instagram-worthy filters and captions. Anyone who actually believed that whole facade was an idiot, but I guess that made me the king of the idiots.

"If I don't say hi to everyone that walks through our front door, my mom is going to string me up by my balls." I pressed a kiss into the top of Jordyn's head, hoping she'd take that for what it was and let me slip away. She gave my hand one last squeeze before letting go.

I passed my new best friend Kara, who swiftly traded my empty wine glass for a full one before I made my way back into the den. Chris and Rochelle were flanked by their parents, who I gave my usual cordial greeting to as Rochelle fixed Chris's lopsided tie. I had to remember to thank my mother later for letting me get away with not wearing one. We were all under a microscope here, and for all my mother's nagging and fussing, I knew there was a part of her that just wanted me to be comfortable. That part of her clearly won out tonight.

My father, on the other hand, seemed to be dead set on making me as uncomfortable as possible as he dragged me into his tight-knit circle of Cornell alumni, including his best friend and roommate, Dr. John England. Anyone in our widespread New England social circle knew his ex-wife had been having an affair with some Hollywood producer, but it still took me by surprise as he introduced me to the well-dressed woman beside him as his girlfriend - another Boston College department chair, just like he was.

"Chandler managed to sweet talk her way into going skiing in Vermont with her friend Macallan," Dr. England told me before I even had a chance to ask. Chandler and I at holiday parties together was always akin to a Cold War, dancing around each other all night and taking subtle jabs, never knowing if or when one of us would actually make a move. I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like now, especially since our most recent interaction was me accusing her of spreading rumors about me to her haughty Boston boarding school classmates, including the likes of Tony D'Marco. We weren't exactly friends on a good day.

"Lucky her," I grumbled, taking another sip of my third (fourth?) glass of wine. "I'd love to be anywhere but here."

If anyone had heard me, they didn't show it. They were too engrossed in their conversation about some incident at a Cornell frat party with a funnel and a garden gnome. Maybe I was just drunker than I thought, but another wave of sickness washed over me, and I grabbed onto the sleeve of my dad's jacket to subtly steady myself.

Dr. England's girlfriend gave me a faint, albeit sympathetic smile as they broke away from our circle, leaving just my father and I.

"John and I have been friends for over 20 years." His voice floated over the idle noise and conversation in the room, and there was almost a wistfulness to it that I hadn't heard from him in a long time. "I hope you can find friends like that while you're at Cornell."

That sick, dizzying feeling seemed to take full control of my body, and before I knew it I was tugging on his jacket sleeve and fumbling with words I didn't know how to say. "Dad...Dad I need to tell you something."

"Can it wait?" He brushed me off of him. "Your grandparents are leaving, we should say goodbye to them."

Wine gave me hiccups, and it only made articulating my words harder. "B-but Dad...no, I need-"

"Later buddy, okay?"

I groaned as he walked away from me, and even though I knew he expected me to follow him, I dragged myself into a quiet corner of the living room and slumped into the nearest chair. If I had to stand any longer, there was a serious possibility I'd fall over. I'd already resigned myself to being absolutely shitfaced, so I downed the rest of my wine for good measure. I wasn't sure how long I sat there, but hopefully by the time anyone noticed I was gone, I would have already become part of the furniture.

But then I realized I was still me, and disappearing was just wishful thinking.

"There you are!" Jordyn dropped into the chair beside me. "I've been looking all over for you."

I forced a grin. "Well, here I am."

She leaned forward and put her hands on my knees, giving me full view down the front of her dress. "I have an early Christmas present for you."

My stomach groaned, and I hoped it wasn't as audible as I thought it was. It was like my body began to react before my head could. "Oh but...I don't have anything for you. I mean, not here. Not now."

"That's okay," she giggled. "This is just an extra."

She put a large white envelope in my lap and beckoned me to open it. There was a lone piece of paper in it, and through bleary eyes I managed to make out the Syracuse University logo, along with the first few lines of what seemed to be an acceptance letter addressed to Jordyn.

"Congrats, this is great. I'm happy for you." I managed a more genuine smile as I slipped the paper back into the envelope. "But uh...what does this have to do with me?"

"Syracuse is only an hour and a half away from Cornell," Jordyn stated, as if I definitely should have known that already. "It means I can come watch you play, and...it just won't be much of a long distance relationship. It'll be easy."

Everything slowed to a screeching halt, and all the noise fell away until the only thing I could hear was the blood pumping furiously through my ears. I thought maybe if I blinked, whatever hallucination this was would disappear. But when I opened my eyes, Jordyn still sat in the chair across from me, her head tilted and her eyes glinting like little stars lived inside them. 

"Dallas..." she breathed out. "Dallas, say something."

I was sure I was going to puke, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was, "I cheated on you."

She sat back in the chair, as if her body had physically taken a blow from my words. Her voice was eerily calm, but that was standard for Jordyn. She didn't know how to get angry, so she just shut down. "What?"

There was no taking it back. The blood had already been drawn, and this was an infected wound that needed draining a long time ago. "I hooked up with someone else at the state championship party after you left. I'm...I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

There was no good in telling her with who, but part of me knew it wouldn't take long for Jordyn to figure it out on her own. She wasn't ignorant, and maybe those suspicions she had at homecoming were right all along. After all, she said it herself - she was privy to what went on at school, and with who.

"So you're not sorry you did it." It wasn't a question. She choked back a sob. "You're just...sorry you didn't say anything earlier."

"Jordyn, I-" I went to stand up, but the entire room spun around me, and it forced me back into the chair.

"Dallas, don't." She sighed as she got up and smoothed her dress out, looking down at me with tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "I know you're drunk, but you'll remember this in the morning...and maybe by then you'll feel a little sorry about it. I know I am."

I kept my head hung between my knees, but I could hear the sound of Jordyn's heels on the hardwood floor as she left the room. I knew I was going to be sick, and after a little internal pep talk trying to get myself on my feet, I managed to stumble upstairs and into my bathroom. I only made it as far as the sink before I puked up all that wine, staining the white porcelain a dark bloody red.

I knew I couldn't hide all night, so after popping two ibuprofens I changed my shirt and prepared an excuse for my mother about how I'd spilled something on my first shirt. I dodged as much forced social interaction as I could, doing laps around the kitchen and the den and inhaling cheese and crackers to sober up. Jordyn was nowhere to be found, and I contemplated sneaking out and going next door to see if I could do some kind of damage control, but Rochelle intercepted me before I could put anything into action.

"I've been looking all over for you." Rochelle grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the foyer. "You ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"To Anthony's," Rochelle impatiently bounced on her toes. "Chris is getting his car. Where's Jordyn?"

I didn't have it in me to tell Rochelle the truth. Saying it out loud would only confirm what a shitty person I was.

"She, uh...she left. She wasn't feeling well."

Getting dragged to some afterparty at Anthony's was the last possible thing I needed, but what I did need was to show face. The less you were around, the more opportunities you gave people to speculate, and when people speculated, they talked.

Rochelle and I said our goodbyes to parents in various stages of inebriation, and I'd never been happier to hear my mother give me a midnight curfew.

When we climbed into Chris's Jeep, I rolled the windows down and stuck my head out of it.

"You good?" Chris asked. "If you're gonna puke, tell me and I'll pull over."

"I'm fine," I insisted. I'd stuck with ginger ale for the remainder of the night. Wine only seemed to vocalize the worst parts of me, and I still felt sick with guilt.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Chris asked as we pulled away from our street.

"Not coming," I grumbled out into the night.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I said she's not fucking coming," I snapped. "We broke up, okay?"

Chris lowered the volume on the radio. "Fucking hell man, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"Wait, what?" Rochelle piped up from the backseat. "You sound weirdly upset. I thought this was what you wanted."

I rubbed my hand down the side of my face and groaned. "It was just...not like this."

Chris gave me a knowing glance - a silent understanding that we'd talk about it more, just not here and not now.

When we got to Anthony's, I nursed a beer and banished myself to the kitchen table, where Chris and Rochelle argued about which Pokemon game was the best. Christmas music fluttered through the air as a thin stream of people made their way through the party.  I didn't need to make my rounds here - if people wanted me, they'd seek me out. Anthony had been uncharacteristically absent since we'd arrived, and I'd heard someone say he blacked out an hour ago after being dared to drink half a bottle of tequila in one sitting.

I caught sight of Danny hanging by the open sliding glass back door, puffing out smokes from a blunt into the chilly winter night. My stomach lurched as memories from the last time I saw Danny came rushing back, but when our eyes met, it was as if he could feel me jittering from across the room. With the slight tilt of his head, he beckoned me to follow him outside onto the deck, and I obliged.

"I'll be right back, I just need some air," I said in a hushed voice to Rochelle before kicking my chair out from under the table and slipping away through the hallway by the den.

"What's up, MVP?" Danny greeted me with a chummy slap on the shoulder.

A gust of chilly winter air swept through us, and I shivered. "Just hanging. I think we got here a little late, I heard your cousin is already down and out."

"Nah, party's just getting started." He laughed, and under normal circumstances it would have sounded more unnerving, but I forced a smile back.

"Uh, yeah," I looked out onto the freshly fallen snow that accumulated on the railing of the deck, but the way his eyes glinted even in the dark beckoned my attention back to him. He was like one of those menacing fish that lived deep in the ocean, using a little light on its head to lure its prey to them. "Actually I was wondering...if you had any more of that stuff we had at the last party."

Danny shook his head as he dug his hand into his jacket pocket. "I got something better. You look like you need to loosen up."

He dropped a little baggie of three white pills into my hand. "It's a benzo, so like Xanax, but with a little something extra."

"Alright," I sighed out, my breath like smoke in the cold. "How much?"

"Free sample," Danny shrugged. "If you need any more, just come to me, okay?"

He slipped back into the warm sanctum of the den, but I lingered. I squinted down at the bag, trying to decipher the jumble of letters and numbers on each individual pill. My hands shook as I dropped one into my palm, then quickly swallowed it back without hesitation.

I made my way back inside, and as everything around me began to soften and fall away, Frankie Valli's December 1963 played on in the background.

Oh what a night, but I was never gonna be the same.