Dropping the Ball: A New Year’s Eve (Short) Story

Ah, the holidays. The perfect fodder for fiction. My writers' group is off until January, but I thought I'd continue our short story tradition with 500 words of fiction inspired by the holidays.

Dropping the Ball: A New Year’s Eve (Short) Story

By Kristen Berry


There’s never a good time to break up with someone. There’s no hour of the day or section of the calendar during which the news hurts less. There are bad times to break up with someone, however. Like around the other person’s birthday. Or Valentine’s Day. Or perhaps, worst of all, during the holidays. Because unlike one single, emotionally-charged day, the holidays are a barrage of them. That’s why I decided to break up with Frank in January, once all the bright, shiny decorations, holiday cards and party invitations were put away.

Frank had celebrated New Year’s with his best friend, Colin, since they were undergrads at NYU. That year Frank and I doubled with Colin and his girlfriend, Delia, a WASP-y girl whose every sentence ended with a question mark. It irritated and amused me equally; I found myself asking her questions regularly just to hear her do it, like a child that picks at a scab though it hurts.

“So, how’s the job going, Delia?” I asked as we hovered near the buffet, me loading my plate with small exotic-looking appetizers as Delia watched, holding a glass of champagne in one hand while absent-mindedly running her hand through her blonde hair with the other. I was pretty sure 80% of the hair wasn’t hers.

“It’s going great?” She replied. “I actually just got promoted? I’m a floor manager now?”

“Wow, Delia. That’s great. Congratulations.”

“Thank you?”

Suddenly there was a chirp of feedback from the stage. All of the emcee’s sentences ended with exclamation points. I thought he and Delia would make an excellent couple.

“Okay everyone! The clock’s winding down! If you’re not already with him or her, I suggest you find your date and get ready to pucker up!”

Delia and I wove through the maze of couples until we found Frank and Colin.

“There you are babe,” Frank said, wrapping an arm around me and pressing his lips to the crown of my head. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d found another man to kiss at midnight.”

The irony of his words cut me. I looked at Frank and wondered how much I’d miss him when he was gone.

“Okay everybody, it’s that time! 10! 9! 8...”

The electric crackle of anticipation filled the air. All around me women clutched their dates’ arms eagerly, and the men chanted the countdown with the same glee they might their college fight song.

“… 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!”

As the balloons and confetti rained down from above, Colin grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me full on the mouth as both our lovers watched.

Even now, eight years later, I still tell Colin it was the cruelest way anyone could announce a breakup. He argues that the pain was sharp but quick, like ripping off a friend’s Band-Aid unexpectedly so he wouldn’t have to do it himself.