It was almost midnight, time for Bobby to leave. He had promised Tricia he would be at her parents’ home by 11:45, maybe sooner. She wasn’t feeling good, had a mild fever and a cough, or she’d be with him at the party. Every year for last three years, they went to Marc’s New Year’s Eve party.

When she told him that morning she didn’t think she should go to the party, he tried his best to persuade her to go anyway. “Come on Trish! Everybody’s going to be there. It doesn’t start until nine and we’ll leave five minutes after the ball drops, promise. Take some cough medicine and a couple of aspirin. You’ll feel better.” Mrs. Ryan was listening to their conversation in the next room, seething.

“But, Bobby it’s gonna be thirteen degrees tomorrow night. And don’t forget we have to walk home from downtown.” Tricia, a petite, though bosomy, young woman, was mildly reproving Bobby. He didn’t own a car; the only young man in their social group who didn’t own one.

“It’s like a mile, Tricia. It won’t be that bad. Anyway, Hector can give us a ride.”

“Hector? Hector will be three sheets to the wind by 9:30, Bobby.”    

He was about to say maybe she could take a nap that afternoon, but Mrs. Ryan walked into the room. “Bobby, Tricia isn’t going out tonight. Her father and I think it’s best if she remains at home. Her cold and fever have been lingering for several days now.”

Bobby could feel the few remaining hairs on his prematurely balding head, rise. He didn’t care for Mrs. Ryan and he was quite sure neither she, nor her husband liked him. He and Tricia had been a couple since the eighth grade. The Ryan’s daughter, now a sophomore at Holy Cross University, was doing quite well in school, while he was taking a few classes at a local community college. He told himself they held it against him because his parents couldn’t afford a prestigious college like Holy Cross, but he knew better. He was bright. All of his high school teachers said so. They also chided him regularly for his poor work ethic.

“You go to the party,” Tricia said. “Just promise me you’ll be here before midnight. I’ll wait up for you.” Bobby readily agreed. He wouldn’t miss the party. Tricia would wait up for him. Perfect.  

Like every New Year’s Eve party Marc threw, this one was a blast. He had a live band and a long table with three beer kegs on it. This year he added kielbasa and sauerkraut to the menu.

Going stag was risky for Bobby. Not because there would be other unattached girls at the party. He loved Tricia, but Bobby really liked his beer. He didn’t dare drink too much when she was around. Whenever he got drunk she would stop talking to him for days. In fact, he slipped and got drunk the night before Thanksgiving.  Tricia went ballistic on him. She called him the next morning. “I don’t want you coming to Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon,” she said. “I’m home from school just for the long weekend. I haven’t seen you since September and you get ripped?”

“I’m sorry, Tricia. I screwed up. I won’t have another drink all weekend, not even during dinner, promise.”

“Did you not hear me? Don’t come over here today.”

Bobby showed up for dinner anyway, a nice bouquet of flowers in his hand. Tricia allowed him to stay and by the end of the night things were at least somewhat normal. But Bobby detected something in Tricia’s demeanor that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Sitting on the couch in her basement, she wasn’t as eager to neck as she usually was. She told him she could feel a cold coming on and didn’t want to give it to him. A cold never stopped them before.   

Now, on the last night of the year, the midnight hour rapidly approaching, he knew it was time to go. He had been pretty good, considering it was New Year’s Eve. He wasn’t drunk, just a bit high. He went looking for Hector, who promised him that ride, but he was nowhere to be found. Did you see Hector?” he asked a guy standing by one of the kegs.

The guy shrugged. “Outside, maybe.”

He went out and searched for Hector’s car. It was gone. He went back into the house to look for his jacket. That took longer than expected. It was buried beneath a bundle of other coats.

He finally found it and headed for the door. A friend stopped him and gestured toward the TV. “The ball’s dropping in seven minutes. Aren’t you going to stay?”

He didn’t answer her. Even if he ran he might not get there in time. And run he did. Just as he turned the corner onto Tricia’s block, he could hear firecrackers exploding and the sounds of horns and whistles going off. He prayed Tricia was asleep.   

He got to her house and bounded up the steps, just thirty seconds late. The front door was open, but the glass storm door was shut to keep the cold out, he thought. Tricia was waiting for him at the door, her face, a portrait of disgust. He tried to open the storm door, but it was locked. “I can explain,” he said. She shut the door in his face. There would be no explaining.      

Bobby stood there, shivering now. He could feel a cold coming on. The winter ahead would be long and bitter.