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Nandor had always understood that Christmas was the busiest time of the year for travel, and yet the airport was practically a ghost town. 11:45 pm on Christmas Eve, and it was just him, a five-hour layover, and his new best friend ‘Mr. Bottle Of Duty-Free Vodka’. He was the only person at the gate, not counting the flight attendant.
Maybe it was better that way. Nothing better for stewing in misery like a liminal space reminding you how small and stupid and utterly, utterly alone you were.
And then, abruptly, Nandor was not alone. A man in a rumpled green sweater strode purposefully around the corner and, without looking at Nandor, threw himself and his bag down in a seat a few rows away. Nandor took another swig, eyeing the newcomer. He had his back to Nandor, but Nandor could see just how tightly wound the man was.
He looked down at the bottle in his hand.
500 mL was more than one person could—or rather, should—drink, so there was plenty to share. He’d shied away from the flight attendant, but her cheerful greeting had scraped against his grieving heart like a wood rasp. Nandor didn’t want to be cheered up, he wanted to wallow in his misery.
But he didn’t really like being so alone with his thoughts.
The man sniffed again and let out a shuddering breath. He raised a hand and rubbed it hard across his cheek.
Nandor sighed. You know what they say. Misery loves company.
The man looked up when Nandor sat down beside him, giving him a wet and wary look with red-rimmed eyes. Wordlessly, Nandor offered him the paper bag containing the bottle of vodka. Their eyes met, and the man must have seen something in Nandor’s eyes that registered as a kindred spirit, because he nodded once, grabbed the bottle, and took a deep swig.
And promptly fell into a coughing fit.
“Holy shit,” he wheezed. “Is that just straight vodka?”
“What were you expecting?” Nandor asked.
“I don’t know, beer or something!”
“In a glass bottle?”
“I wasn’t paying attention!” The man pulled off his glasses and tugged a corner of his shirt out from under his sweater. As he rubbed the dried tears off the lenses, he peered nearsightedly at Nandor. “Why are you drinking vodka out of the bottle in the middle of an airport?”
Wordlessly, Nandor dug into his pocket and pulled out the ring, wiggling it a little so the diamond caught the light.
The man put his glasses back on. It took a second for his eyes to refocus, but when they landed on the ring his expression softened.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Nandor tucked the ring away again and took another drink. The man stared out the window and said “Guess that makes two of us.”
“Really?” Nandor said, surprised.
“Yeah. Well. He was my boyfriend, but it was my first serious boyfriend in…ever.” He slumped in the seat and grimaced. “Can’t believe he dumped me on Christmas Eve.”
“They could have at least waited a few days,” Nandor muttered.
“He could have at least done it over the phone instead of waiting for me to fly out to middle of nowhere Wyoming.”
“I am pretty sure all of Wyoming is middle of nowhere Wyoming.”
A very, very small smile curled up just one corner of the man’s mouth. He stuck his hand out.
“Guillermo,” he said.
“Nandor." Nandor shook Guillermo's hand, and then held up the paper bag containing the vodka bottle. "Guillermo, Mr. Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka. Mr. Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka, Guillermo.” Nandor lifted the bottle to his ear. “Mr. Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka says he does not take it personally that you cannot drink him.”
Guillermo eyed the bottle grimly.
“Let me try again,” he said. Nandor handed it over, holding the neck in one hand while supporting the bottom of the bottle with the other, like a waiter presenting a bottle of wine. Guillermo took it in both hands and took a deep breath.
He attempted to take a swig, but the bottle was just unwieldy enough—and his hands not nearly as big as Nandor’s—so he couldn’t quite manage it. He exploded into a coughing fit, nearly spilling the vodka over himself.
“Okay,” Nandor said, “this is not working. Wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
“Mr. Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka needs some assistance, I think.”
A few minutes later, Nandor was hurrying back, holding up a much smaller, plastic bottle.
“Guillermo, meet Mrs. Bottle of Vending Machine Orange Juice. She and Mr. Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka are going to…” Nandor tried to think of a metaphor. “Fuck, I guess.”
Guillermo choked and nearly laughed.
“Good idea,” Guillermo said, “I guess.”
Nandor set both bottles on the little table between their chairs and unscrewed the tops. Then he crouched down, balancing on his toes, so his face was level with the bottles.
He picked up the orange juice.
“Uh. You’re supposed to put the vodka in the orange juice, not—”
“Shhh, I am concentrating.”
Brow furrowed, he tilted the orange juice bottle up a fraction at a time, until a thin stream of juice began to trickle down into the mouth of the vodka bottle. Visible through the clear glass of the bottle, the juice billowed out, swirling like smoke.
Nandor hadn’t been drinking for very long before Guillermo showed up and Guillermo had only had two sips, so even when Nandor had added enough orange juice to fill the bottle all the way up, the resulting mixture was a so faintly orange it was still translucent.
“Okay, great,” Guillermo said. “Now we have orange juice-flavored vodka.”
Nandor spread his arms.
“Do you want free misery vodka or not?”
Guillermo sighed and made a grabbing motion with one hand. Nandor obligingly handed over the bottle and sat back down in his seat. Guillermo took a sip and grimaced, but didn’t cough.
“Better.”
Nandor nodded, pleased. They drank in silence for a while, each stewing in his own thoughts. After five minutes, Guillermo spoke.
“You want to know what’s really fucked up? The guy he dumped me for looks exactly like him.”
“…what?”
“They could have been twins. The only way I could tell them apart was by which one was breaking up with me.”
Nandor snorted and laughed, then tried to cover it with a cough.
“No, go ahead, you can laugh—it’s ridiculous. Fucking…I need someone who puts me first, I need someone who is around; he never once said anything about that to me while we were dating! Never! How am I supposed to be there for him if I think I’m already there for him?”
He turned in his seat, his eyes blazing as he jabbed a finger at Nandor.
“And you know what? He wasn’t complaining about my 60-hour work weeks when it was paying for everything. Good luck flying out to the Alps for spring skiing on ‘small business bakery’ money.”
Nandor solemnly passed the vodka back to Guillermo. Then he pulled out the ring and stared at it, turning it over in his fingers.
“She said she never really loved me. Three years and she never loved me. Why would you say yes to a proposal from someone you don’t love?” He glanced up at Guillermo, and was surprised to see the man looked as heartbroken as Nandor felt, on Nandor’s behalf.
“She really said that to you?”
Nandor smiled humorlessly.
“I meant it, you know, when I told her I wanted her to be happy. I hope he does make her happy. I just wish she had told me I didn’t.” He blinked hard, and swallowed. “I just wish she had said something. Anything.”
Guillermo suddenly reached out and wrapped his hand around Nandor’s, hiding the ring from view. This time when Nandor looked up, his expression was determined.
“Fuck both of them.”
Nandor stared at him.
“We are not the bad guys here! It’s not our fault they never told us they weren’t happy! Fuck Freddie, fuck—” He paused, and it took Nandor a second to realize what he was waiting for.
“Gail.”
“—Gail, and fuck whatever his name is who ‘actually understands the meaning of Christmas’.”
“…what?”
“That’s what he said to me! He's breaking up with me for, for, for whatever the fuck his name was, because 'he understands the meaning of Christmas’! What does that even mean?”
Nandor gaped at Guillermo in astonishment.
“But that is what Gail said to me.”
Guillermo thumped back in his seat. The alcohol was starting to affect him—he was blinking slightly out of sync.
“Shut up.”
“Really!”
“You’re kidding.”
“No!”
“What is wrong with these people? What does Christmas have to do with our relationship? With anything?” Guillermo demanded.
“Yes! I let her put the silly tree up in my apartment, I listen to all the songs, I sit through every single movie over and over—It is not even my holiday! Do you see me breaking up with her because she does not understand the true meaning of Nowruz?”
“Exactly! Freddie’s whole family is Church of England Protestants; do you think he sat through day-long Christmas Mass every year like my Catholic ass did? God.” Guillermo sat back hard in his chair. “What an asshole. What a smug, selfish, self-absorbed, piece of shit.”
“Definitely fuck that guy.” Nandor paused. “Do not fuck that guy.”
Guillermo snorted and laughed, really laughed, his whole face lighting up. Nandor laughed with him, but part of his mind had stepped back. Whoever this Freddie was, he had been truly awful for treating Guillermo so callously. But…Gail had treated Nandor very similarly.
Nandor had thought it was his fault. Of course it was his fault—his fault for not noticing Gail wasn’t happy, for not being what she needed, for not being enough. But it certainly wasn’t Guillermo’s fault that Freddie thought he wasn’t enough. Nandor had known him for less than an hour and he could still tell that Guillermo was more than enough for anyone.
Nandor stared at the ring again. It sparkled in the sharp fluorescent lights. He remembered the day he’d picked it out, how excited he’d been, and under that excitement, the squirming uncertainty. But she’d said yes, and he’d been so happy. He’d have done anything to make her happy, and this whole time, there was nothing he could do. Years of his life wasted, spent trying to bend and twist himself into the shape he thought she wanted.
Who did Gail think she was, jerking him around like that?
“This is a good thing,” Nandor said, suddenly.
“Really,” Guillermo said, dryly.
“Really. If this hadn’t happened, we would still be with these terrible people, and who knows how long it would have taken to find out how terrible they are?”
“Yeah,” Guillermo said. “Yeah! That’s right!” He hesitated for a second. “And we wouldn’t have met.”
Nandor was surprised, but only briefly.
“Yes,” he said. “Now we have both made two friends.”
“Two?”
“Yes. You, me, and Mr Bottle Of Duty-Free Vodka.”
“Pretty sure Mr Bottle of Duty-Free Vodka is no longer with us," Guillermo said.
“Ah,” Nandor said, solemnly, and took the bottle. “I will miss him deeply. He was a true friend in my time of need.”
He lobbed it into the trash can like a basketball into a hoop, and Guillermo laughed again. It was a really nice laugh.
“Hey," Guillermo said, "don’t forget about Mrs. Bottle of Vending Machine Orange Juice.”
“Ah, the widow--!” Nandor wasn’t sure where he was going with that joke, but Guillermo doubled over laughing, and Nandor forgot to finish it. That was alright. It made Guillermo laugh, so it must have been funny.
“Now boarding flight 474, Chicago to New York JFK. Now boarding all passengers for flight 474.”
“That is us,” Nandor said, tapping Guillermo’s back.
“Yes it is,” said the overhead PA.
Nandor and Guillermo both stood, but Guillermo sat back down again.
“Oops,” he said, swaying slightly. “Oh boy. Mr. Bottle of Vodka did a number on me.”
Nandor offered him his hand.
“Come on, you can do it.”
“Can I?” Guillermo asked, dryly, but took Nandor’s hand. It felt warm and strong. Funny—usually alcohol only made the tips of Nandor’s fingers all tingly, but now his whole arm had goosebumps running up and down it.
They made their way to the gate, weaving only slightly. A little belatedly--actually very belatedly, they remembered that there were various rules about intoxication levels and being allowed on the plane. They glanced at each other nervously.
“Gentlemen,” the flight attendant said, looking amused.
“We are totally good to fly,” Guillermo said, earnestly and not doing nearly as good a job at hiding his drunkenness as he was trying to.
“Sure you are,” she said sarcastically, but she smiled when she did, and scanned their boarding passes anyway. When she handed Nandor’s back to him, he placed the engagement ring in her palm. She stared at it, wide eyed.
“Um. That’s.”
“I don’t need it anymore,” he said.
“I really can’t—”
Before she could protest further, he hurried after Guillermo. Maybe if the plane was empty enough, they could sit together. As an afterthought, he called back over his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas!"