Friends have left the group chat the moment I ask everyone to chip in for a NewYears feast.
Maybe you should give them a call? Simon says, watching me for the third time as I shuffle the Christmas ornaments into a box. Weve been mates for ages
Whats the point? I snap, slamming the lid shut. So you can hear me nag about being cheap again? Honestly, Im glad its come to this. Its high time I draw a line in the sand.
I lug the box into the corner of the living room and pause by the floortoceiling window. Outside, snow whirls, draping our garden in a soft white blanket. The view usually soothes me, but today my heart feels heavy.
Remember how Megan and Charlie were the first to leave last year? I wrap my arms around myself. Sorry, we have to get up early tomorrow! And we were still cleaning until three in the morning.
Simon steps over and slips his arm around my shoulders.
And their kids turned the nursery walls into a permanent mural with permanent markers.
What about Sophie? I turn to him. Ill bring a salad! She hauled a couple of tins of Olivier from the supermarket, but she also walked off with half of my premade dishes. Can I have a taste?
I feel a sting in my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying not to cry, and pull out my phone. The chat titled NewYear2024 sits empty.
You know what hurts the most? I say. They didnt even ask why. They just vanished, as if Im not worth a single conversation.
Simon snatches the phone from my hand and places it on the windowsill.
At least now we know who the real friends are and who only took advantage of our hospitality.
I nod, replaying past celebrations. Every year I aim for perfection: days of cooking, decorating the house, planning games. All I ever got back were comments like, Your place looks lovely, and, Lets have the next party at yours too.
Do you remember how Charlie complained last year that we didnt heat the sauna? Simon grins. Whats a party without a sauna?
Yes, and he never even brought any wood, I smile despite myself. Then he spent a week whining about catching a cold at our place, as if we were to blame.
Outside darkness deepens. The snowfall intensifies, turning the garden into a winter fairytale. I flick on the fairy lights strung around the room, and a warm, cosy glow fills the space.
You know, I say to Simon, this is the first time in five years were ringing in the NewYear just the two of us.
He pulls me close.
This will be the best NewYear. No one to impress, just you and me.
And no kids with markers, I laugh.
And no one shouting, One more round! when everyones already exhausted.
I step away from his embrace and head to the kitchen.
Speaking of food, what are we cooking? Just for the two of us?
How about ordering sushi? Simon suggests. Ive always wanted to welcome the NewYear with sushi instead of Olivier.
Sushi for NewYears? Thats actually a good ideano marathon cooking.
I open the delivery app.
Look, they even have festive platters. Oh, and we can order a bottle of champagne too.
Perfect, Simon peers over my shoulder. Shall we dress the tree?
Absolutely, I grin. This time well hang the ornaments however we like, not by traditional rules.
We spend the evening decorating the tree to our favourite tunes. No one mentions, My mum always did it this way, or That tinsel is too bright. We simply do what feels right.
A week before NewYears, my phone buzzes repeatedly. Sophie texts, Maybe we should still come over? Megan asks, Did you get upset? and Charlie, through his wife, writes, We could chip in, no problem. I ignore them. Simon and I are busy compiling a filmmarathon list, picking board games, and planning how well spend the holidays just the two of us.
On 31December, at elevenp.m., were curled up on the sofa. A platter of sushi sits on the coffee table, champagne glitters in our glasses, and the TV plays the classic Home Alone.
Honestly, I rest my head on Simons shoulder, Ive never felt this calm on a NewYears night.
I feel the same, he kisses my crown. No rush, no obligations. Just us.
When the clock strikes midnight, we dont raise any grand toast. We simply look at each other, smile, and clink glasses. In that moment I realise that losing old friends isnt a loss at allits a gain of freedom to be myself.
My phone, switched off since earlier in the day, lies forgotten by the hallway. We step into the NewYear light as unburdened as possibleno expectations, no debts. It feels like the perfect start.
The first morning of January is surprisingly bright. Sunlight streams through the halfdrawn curtains. For the first time in years I wake up wellrested, with no one pounding on the door at dawn, no one demanding a second round of food, no crying babies.
Morning, love, Simon appears in the bedroom doorway with a tray. Thought Id treat you to breakfast in bed.
Youre my hero, I grin, taking the steaming mug of coffee. Its oddly quiet, isnt it?
And tidy, he winks. No crumpled wrappers, no empty bottles, no dishes piled up.
I sip the coffee, reach for my phone, and glance at the notifications: six missed messages from Megan, four from Sophie, even a personal note from Charlie.
Olivia, whats going on? Weve been friends forever! Is it really about money?
Maybe well still come over? Weve pooled together and can chip in.
Olivia, answer! Were worried!
Dont read them, Simon snatches the phone. Remember our pact yesterday? No toxic chatter in the NewYear.
I nod, though unease lingers. So many years of friendship Could I truly walk away?
You know, Simon says, as if hes read my thoughts, last year Charlie started a renovation on his house, right?
Of course, he talked about it all summer.
And we offered to help. I spent three weekends there doing wiring because friends help friends.
I raise an eyebrow.
Whats that got to do with anything?
Its that when we needed help fixing our fence a month later, Charlie was suddenly very busy. Megan and her husband were also tied up, and Sophie was out of town. Yet when we finished the fence ourselves, they were the first to show up for the housewarmingready to admire our work.
I remember, I say, setting my cup down. They always pop in when everythings already done, just to take advantage.
Simon sits beside me, arms around my shoulders.
This isnt friendship. Its a consumer relationship. Their outrage at us asking them to chip in for the feast proves it.
A car pulls up outside. I look out the window and see Megans car parked at the gate.
No, theyre serious? Simon mutters. Think theyll expect us to let them in?
The doorbell ringsonce, then twice, then again.
Olivia, Simon! We know youre home! Lets talk! Megans voice sounds urgent. Please, let us in!
Simon looks at me.
Do you want to let them in, just to hear them out?
Its your call, he shrugs. But remember our promisethis year is different.
I take a deep breath and go downstairs. Opening the door, I see Megan, her husband, and Sophie, all carrying bags of food and presents.
Happy NewYear! they force a smile.
Happy NewYear, I reply calmly, not moving. Why are you here?
What, why? We always get together on the first of January. Its tradition!
Tradition? I feel a wave of irritation rise. Did you ever think traditions could change? Especially ones that make one person do all the work while the rest just take?
Olivia, stop, Megan pleads, stepping forward. We brought food, even bought champagne. Everything you asked for!
No, I shake my head. Thats not what I wanted. I wanted you to realise that friendship isnt just about taking, its about giving too. Its not a right to use our hospitality as if its owed.
What are you talking about? Megans husband snaps. Were friends!
Friends? I laugh bitterly. Where were you when we needed a hand with the fence? When I was ill last year and asked for medicine? When Simons car broke down and we needed tools?
A heavy silence falls. The guests glance at each other, clearly surprised by the turn.
You know what? I straighten up. Go home. I dont want to start the NewYear with old grudges and pretence. If you ever understand that friendship means both giving and receiving, give me a call. Until then were better off not talking.
Olivia Sophie begins.
Goodbye, I say firmly, closing the door.
I stand in the hallway, hearing the car engine start, the doors slam, the tires crunch in the snow. My heart races, tears well up, yet I feel oddly light.
Proud of you, Simon comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I know it was hard.
The strangest thing, I turn to him, is Im not sad at all. It feels like Ive finally dropped a heavy backpack Ive been lugging for years.
Because all those years werent friendship, just a strange dependency. You feared losing them and let them use you.
I nod. Now things will be different.
Exactly, Simon smiles. Now lets have breakfast. Weve got a list of plans for the holidays, remember?
After the festive season, life settles into a comfortable rhythm. I delete the old group chats, move photos of past gatherings into a distant folder, and throw myself into work. I finally feel I can breatheno more worrying about who will show up, what to cook, or how to entertain.
Imagine, I tell Simon over a midJanuary dinner, we saved nearly £50 on the holidaysfood, drinks, cleaning
And thats just the money, he adds. Think of the time and energy we wasted. Youd spend a week prepping, then another week recovering.
I nod, chewing a piece of roast chicken.
Now Ive signed up for a photography course. Ive wanted to do it forever, but never had the time.
And I finally finished the workshop in the shed, Simon says, grinning. In two weeks I built the garden bench Ive been planning for a year.
The doorbell rings. Our neighbour, MrsPatricia Green, stands there with a fresh apple tart.
Good evening, neighbours! she beams. I thought Id bring over a slicejust baked.
Thank you so much! I reply, inviting her in for tea.
Over tea we discover she also enjoys photography and sometimes shoots childrens parties for extra cash.
How about we go on a photo walk together sometime? she suggests. There are some lovely spots around the town, especially now with the snow.
Wed love that! I say, genuinely excited.
Later, Simon muses, Weve lived next door for five years and never really talked. Always too busy with guests or prepping for gatherings.
True, I agree. Shes actually fascinating, and the tart is brilliant!
A week later we join Patricia, her husband, and their teenage daughter for a winter photo walk. She shows us hidden lanes in the woods, teaches a few professional tricks. We return chilled but thrilled, our camera rolls full of images and a promise to repeat the outing next weekend.
In early February, Megan calls. I stare at the incoming number before answering.
Hi, her voice is tentative. How are you?
Im fine, I answer calmly. Whats up?
I Ive been thinking about what you said on NewYears. You were right. We took your hospitality for granted.
I wait.
I want to apologise. We were all wrong. Maybe maybe we could start over?
Ive thought a lot too, I say slowly. But a start over would mean the same old expectations, the same old roles. Ive changed, and I like my new life.
Weve been friends for years
Yes, we were. Im grateful for the good times, but sometimes relationships simply run their course. Thats normal.
After hanging up, I feel a final release, as if the last thread binding me to the past snaps.
MidFebruary, Patricia invites us to her birthday dinnera small, familystyle gathering with her husband, teenage son, and neighbours.
Can I bring my famous tart? I ask.
Please do! she replies. Ill teach you my apple one too.
The party is warm and cosy. Kids play board games, adults swap recipes and plans for springPatricia boasts a thriving vegetable patch shes happy to share tips about.
Look, Simon whispers as we walk home late, no one got drunk, no one caused a scene, no one had to stay on the sofa all night.
And no mountain of dirty dishes, I laugh. Thats what real, healthy relationships look likecomfort for everyone, no debts, just being ourselves.
Back home I open the photo folder on my laptop, glance at old pictures with former friends, then decisively click delete.
Are you sure? Simon asks.
Absolutely, I reply. You cant build something new while clinging to the old. And you know what? I finally feel truly happy.
Simon pulls me close. Me too. Its like weve finally started living our own lives, not the ones others expected of us.
Outside, snow continues to fall, blanketing the world in white. I watch the flakes drift by the lamplight, thinking about how sometimes you have to lose the familiar to gain the genuine. It takes courage to let go of those who keep you anchored in the past, making room for those ready to walk forward with you.
A year passes. December again drapes our village in snow, and the festive spirit buzzes in the air. I arrange new photographssunsets over the lake, misty forest dawns, early spring blossoms, autumn coloursin sleek frames around the living room.
Stunning! Patricia exclaims, admiring the prints. Were helping Simon install a new chandelier hes been meaning to replace.
Its all thanks to you, I say. If you hadnt taken me on that photo walk, I might never have pursued photography seriously.
And now you even have students, she teases, winking.
Three months ago I started a beginner photography class. Six people sign up, and every weekend we head out for shoots, learning about light, composition, and editing.
Simon comes downstairs, wiping his hands on a towel.
The chandeliers up. Shall we have a cuppa?
We sit down and chat about holiday plans.
Were thinking of a streetwide celebration, Patricia says over the phone later. A community tree in the square, mulled wine, everyone brings something. Kids can have snowball fights, adults can catch up. Will you join?
Wed love to! I reply. Ill set up a photo booth with fairy lightsitll look lovely.
Ill help with the tree, Simon offers.
That evening, after the neighbours have left, I start a spring cleaning in the cupboard. I stumble upon a box labeled NewYear2023. Inside are old tinsel, handmade ornaments from the days Megan and Sophies kids helped craft, and a photo album from last years celebrations.
I flip through the album, a smile creeping across my face at how much has changed. I no longer keep in touch with the old crowd, only glimpsing their lives through occasional socialmedia postsMegan has welcomed a third child, Sophie moved to another city, Charlie and his wife bought a new car.
What did you find? Simon asks, settling beside me.
Just a reminder, I say, closing the album. We made the right choice. Look at all the good thats come into our lives this year.
Simon hugs me. Exactly. Youre a photographer now, I finally finished my workshop and even take commissions for carpentry. Weve got real friends
Remember the lake trip with Patricia and her family? Just because? I recall. Purely for fun, no agenda.
And her grandchildren asking me to teach them how to photograph.
And the fence we built together.
We fall quiet, reminiscing about the year gone by.
Whats the biggest lesson? I ask suddenly. Weve learned toWeve learned to cherish our present moments, let go of past expectations, and welcome each new day with honest, uncomplicated joy.
