COLLINS

I did stupid things tonight because of love. The thought of making her excited had nudged me to do stuff.

I stood and smiled in front of the mirror. I could jump out of my bed in the middle of the night, walk barefoot on fire or run around with life support for all things related to Angelina Adeline Cole. I could moonwalk in my bedroom since she was on her way to my house. The time was perfect. My plan was working.

Angelina Adeline Cole, the finest of souls. We started since I could understand the difference between green and blue. I was six, and she was seven, the best kids in class, the children couple, even though I didn't think too much of it at the time. We were too young to have such thoughts. But, silently, or rather secretively, my heart… our hearts burned with the fire of fondness.

Not lust. We were kids, and at that stage, all we wanted was to see each other play, but it was more than that. There were childish dreams of going to the altar and getting married even though, at the time, we were only a few inches taller than the said altar.

But, why, why, after all the years, she hadn't admitted that she wanted to accept my genuine request? We could both go to England if she said yes. Tonight, my only wish was that this wouldn't be another no.

The weather was quite dull this evening, like it would rain. At half-past five, the sun had retreated. I looked at the fireplace; there was enough wood to keep us warm for the night. It would be a sign of good luck if it eventually did rain. It would be my best night if everything worked in my favor.

She called eventually and said she was outside. She didn't need to call, though. I had heard a car pull over in front of the house and looked out of the window. She stood there by the road and stared straight at my window. How different did she look from last year? Wearing a gold-colored gown and brown shoes, smiling at me, and holding her purse so elegantly --- she was perfect. The wet road, street lamps, dark sky, and bulb-decorated shops made it look like one of Da Vinci's masterpieces.

But there was something more beautiful than what a mere artist could create.

Angelina.

We were friends. We were still friends. We separated after getting jobs in different countries and only communicated over the phone. The best time it really felt like we were friends again, like childhood sweethearts, was every Christmas and a week after that before I fled back to London. We would arrange a meeting and spend time together. It had been happening for six years, the rush home during the holiday and the anxiety to run away when the break was over. It wasn't how I wanted it. But when I wanted more, she reminded me I was asking for too much. Dating was out of the question; friendship was the game we had to play.

She waved at me, and I waved back. I had stared too long, letting her wait a little longer than she should have. Stupid thing I did. I’d been stunned by her presence, staring at her like a moment that nature had carved out. An angel on the wet and silent but Christmas-decorated street.

I immediately walked to the door, dashed out of the living room, and ran down the stairs.

When I got to Angelina's side, she rushed to meet me. She stopped right before me, grinning like I was holding her favorite present. This excitement, she always had it whenever we met, whenever we made phone calls which were weekly. I used to feel like I had some gifts that excited her. Or, Oh... I was the present; seeing me again was the prize.

Inviting her here was a decision I had to make. I told her if we were truly friends, and I meant a lot to her, she would spend the night of Christmas with me. That's what I said, but what I meant was greater. I shouldn't push too hard yet, not here on the street. Six years ago, the last time I did, she would never talk to me again. And it all felt like a miracle when she called again after a year.

"You look gorgeous," I said.

"Thank you," she said. Oh my God, the way she giggled, harmlessly like a child. The way her eyes blinked away when I tried to make eye contact. Those blue eyes held as much power as the sun. I stared too hard, and sometimes it felt like I was in a trance. My child, my first child, would be lucky to have those hazel eyes, the type that looked at you and melted you, starting from your feet, and by the time it got to your knee, you were already asking God for a chance to die this way often and often.

"You are staring," she said and looked away. Then she glanced back at me and said, "come here." I moved closer, and we hugged. In the moment of that embrace, old memories came back flooding. We once played a game when we were young. I was seventeen, and she was nineteen. We held each other's gaze for more than one minute, and we ended up being hypnotized. It was a secret, our secret. We couldn't explain it and never told anyone about it, so we would take it to our graves.

I pulled out of the hug and held her left hand. Together, we walked toward the house. The smell was familiar; the tattoo on her left breast was still there. Nothing had changed. I glanced at her neck. The necklace was a new one, though, a different one, not the one I gave her last year, the one I thought she would wear.

"I miss you. I miss this town. And I was planning to have more time together this year."

"I am glad you chose to spend this night with me."

She stopped walking and looked at me. Oh, my, I wished we could hold our gaze for long. I would love to experience that miracle again. But, perhaps it was a mistake, and unless we tried again, we would never find out if it was true or a false assumption.

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"This is the best holiday moment for me too," she said. "I just wish…. We could…"

I frowned. "We could what?"

"I wish we would have some pancakes. I hope you haven’t lost your touch? Because I would have to force you to remember."

I laughed and looked at the left side of the road. There was a signboard some meters away. We couldn't see what was written from a distance, but we both knew the words on it. It was the road to her grandmother's farm. The note on the board was Mrs. Adeline's street, named after her grandmother.

Her grandmother was the most decorated woman in the town who was still living. She acted bravely when the city started and was there to save the lives of those who fell during the civil war.

"I still cook everything pretty well. Pancakes aren't an exception."

She nodded. "Trust you. Is there something you don't get better at? Collins?"

I laughed as we walked toward the house. Now it seemed we would go down memory lane of how I was a good sportsman: football, horse riding, and swimming. But life happened. I got a job that brought me back home once a year after four years in the university. Those were four miserable years if you asked me. Every holiday felt like liberation, and I would jump on the first flight leaving London because our town had something that mattered to me. At first, it seemed she didn't share the same enthusiasm, but I would soon learn she had been afraid of something for years. But it was true that no matter how long and how far we had been separated, there was a line that would draw us back to one another.

"Welcome to my place," I said, pushing the door open.

"Thank you," she said and walked in.

Then she exhaled and smiled. I had done the work, vacuumed the rug, removed the cobwebs, and washed the flower vases. I didn't know how best to prepare the house in a bit of time, but I did my best. To Angelina, even my barest efforts were encouraged with don't worry, "I know you did your best." But why didn't she want more than what we shared at the moment? I was ready to give all of me, every part of me, to her. She felt the same. The last time she rejected the offer to be with me for life, she cried for days because she couldn't say yes.

She walked to the table and picked up the bottle of Johnie Walker. Oh, I had forgotten the ice cube and the juice just how she liked it. I was too nervous, forgot some of these things, and now she was heading to the kitchen to get them. She understood the house. She'd lived here, like a family when my parents were still alive.

"Oh, stop. I could get you the ice," I said, walking after her. But she wouldn't stop or listen to me. Instead, she waved my offer for help with a hand and went ahead.

"I need some juice," she said, pointing the glass of wine at me. "I hope you have some in the fridge."

"Yes, I do."

So she went to the kitchen and fetched a bottle of juice. I watched as she mixed some of it with the ice and the liquor. Then she took a sip, and she folded her lips. Hmmm, she said, and I partly did the same even though I was only looking and not drinking.

"You want to have some," she asked.

I wanted some, but she was already mixing the liquids inside another glass cup. Then she handed it over to me.

"Do you have something we could eat now?" she asked.

"Could you please make yourself comfortable while I do the work?"

She nodded and giggled.

We spent the next hour talking about her job in California. She had met a man named Eric, and this Eric guy seemed to be a guy who liked to have as many women as he could in a month. But something had kept them together, the fact that he was her boss. She would need his favor if she wanted to settle down. She needed to get better pay and rent a better house than the miserable and tiny place she'd rented with her meager salary.

And there was me—the big boy who lived in London. I worked with one of the biggest companies in Europe. I could afford a home for us, and our papers would be processed so she could move in with me. I could get temporary documents since I was working in a company. We could get married next month, and if she wished, we could have our first child, a daughter with hazel eyes, in some years.

"Tell me about where you live. Is it comfortable?"

"It is comfortable. But I would have preferred someone I know so well to be around, at least. I have only a few people, and it is difficult. Promise you will come to California one day."

"Yeah, sure."

It was a beautiful city, California. I spent hours seeing the pictures on Instagram, and we made video calls when she went shopping around the town.

"Can I taste that?" she asked.

"Of course, I am doing this because I want you to enjoy a first-class meal."

She giggled and took the dish I served her. I turned to continue cooking the last batch of pancakes. Then we moved to the dining seats next to each other, glasses of liquor in hand and a bottle of Johnie Walker on our table. I didn't really know whose idea it was that we should watch Bridgerton, but it was worth it as we saw it and talked about our lives in different countries.

"If I am being honest, coming home isn't important to me every year."

"Why did you say that?"

"Sometimes, I feel like I have nothing here anymore."

"What about me?"

"You can guess the reason I still show up every year," I said. "I can't do it without you."

She took a sip from the glass cup and exhaled. "To be honest, I only have three people here. I have a family here. And you… You, my grandmother, and my mother. You are my family."

"It's crazy for me. Sometimes, I want to have my holiday in London, but I can't rest once the holiday begins. I always want to see you. Have you ever felt that too?"

She wouldn't look at my face. Instead, she was quiet, her fingers rubbing the side of her glass in circles. Then she smiled. "It's "us," Collins. I am always happy to be here with you. It's another feeling entirely. And it is strange." Now she licked her lips. "It is like I can have this feeling again once a year." Then she lifted the glass cup and took a big gulp, a mouthful that she tried too hard to take in. She swallowed it completely, and then she exhaled. "I wished there was something I could do about it, but…."

I had to stop her before she could choose another excuse why we could not share a future together. I was tired of hearing all of them: we are meant to be siblings, her parents wouldn't approve of it, or the time she told me I was better off without her. How could she have said that when all the time I spent in London, I thought of her? An angel grew up with me, and I thought she would keep growing with me for the rest of my life. "Let's do something about it, Angelina. I don't want to spend the next year without you beside me."

I reached for her left hand. She set the glass down with her other hand and exhaled. Then, before I could blink thrice, she was sitting on my lap, and we were kissing. I had waited long about this, so we ravished each other's lips and tongues.

And then, she transformed into a wolf.