"Yeah. Come on." Turning away, I lead him inside. I'm not stupid enough to take him upstairs, so I go to the kitchen. It smells of food, and there are platters of baked goods and confections and buffet trays of hearty food everywhere.
Facing him, I wait.
His gaze is as much on me as the blinking Christmas lights around the buffet table.
My patience is thinner than normal after the long day at the club. "I haven't seen you since the camp this past summer," I say, hoping to prod him into a quick apology so I can go to bed.
Harris focuses on me. "I'm not much of one for camping."
"Me neither." He's talking clearly. I can tell he's tipsy, though.
"I know, they said not to talk to you again, but … Katya, I just want things to go back to how they were."
I'm not sure who he's talking about or even if he knows what he's saying. "I don't think that's possible, Harris."
"Why not?" He almost shouts the words, flinging his arms wide enough that he manages to dump the rest of his drink on the kitchen floor.
"Because I don't want to be your friend anymore," I reply in irritation.
"You don't?" He stares at me, surprised.
"Um, no."
For a moment, he looks so hurt, I want to laugh. His surprise turns into anger that glints in his eyes. Red creeps up his neck and into his face. "So you avoid me all year and don't want to be friends? My father donated to this stupid Winterland thing tomorrow and the camp!"
"Winter Wonderland," I correct him automatically. "I thanked him personally."
"He did it because I asked him to. Because I care about you, Katya." He appears distraught, sad and then angry again. "I've been in love with you since we were like ten. You never gave me the time of day."
Talk about moods. My therapist would have a field day with him. He's off his rocker tonight. It's unusual when someone else can make me feel like the most stable person in the room.
"Look, Harris," I say quietly. I want to be kind for the sake of our past friendship, but my tired temper is fraying quickly. "You're drunk. Sleep it off, and we'll talk in the morning. Okay?"
"You're brushing me off again."
"You're acting like a dick. Go sleep it off!"
"I just want to apologize."
"Then do it and go to bed!"
He frowns. "There are days I wish both your brothers died."
I gasp.
"You haven't been to the club or dropped by my house since Petr came back hurt," he goes on. "You haven't been my friend since then."