Re: [New Year’s Eve: Hannah & Jeremiah]
"People would watch us wistfully, and they'd wish they had thought to dance in a cafe on New Year's Eve, with everyone watching, and maybe we would even make some of them brave. Maybe they'd skip a little bit as they left, or tap their feet a little more on their way home," she suggested, mischief bright on her face. "They'd think maybe the old, romantic movies were real for just a little minute, and maybe they'd go find romance and twirl it around their fingers like ribbons made for remembering things." She sounded lost in the imagining of it, and she was a little. It was a silly little nothing of a visual, but she liked it, and she touched the window with her fingers and was really, really careful not to smudge.
She smiled at him when he pressed his palm to hers, slid his fingers through hers, squeezed. "I don't think we should brood," she agreed readily. "I think tonight we should be really bright, like fairy lights, and loud, like fireworks, and I think we should look forward." She nodded, copper hair cascading over emerald fabric and cream shoulders. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep from looking back forever, not in the morning, not when the sun rose and she had to go to the facility. But she could look forward for tonight, for now, and she nodded at him. Yes, yes, tonight they would look forward. "You're welcome," she added, old manners taught by a mother who had cared about such things.
She didn't know he knew. She didn't know he knew anything, and maybe that was best. People, when they knew, changed. Maybe her perception of their perception changed too, but she didn't know, and the night was still wonder reflected in dashboard lights.
"I think we should go too," she said of the party. "I think dancing between bistro tables should be a dream for somewhere prettier, somewhere with tiny, tiny cafes on corners, and maybe with sidewalks made of cobblestone," she suggested. "Or, better yet, maybe it's a thing for pillowcases and best experienced behind closed eyelids," she went on, leaning a little bit closer, as if they were conspirators telling tales beneath snowy white bedsheets. "I want to dance," she admitted when he spoke of that dance floor and all its lights. "I want to dance and dance and dance, and then maybe I want to dance some more." And she did want that. She wanted that very much.