All For You [New Girl]

12. Bad Day's End

Her hair dripped onto the just-cleaned floor, but even Schmidt had the good sense not to say anything. She heaved silently, her chest rising and falling in rhythm. She must have taken the stairs, Nick realized. They would all be taking the stairs for a while.

"I am having... a bad.. day." Her eyes widened slightly like the world was blurry and she was trying to ascertain whether this was a dream. It was just the water in her eyes. Not as bad as saltwater, but not great. Her phone rang and she muttered something about the obsolescence of voice calls in the modern age and why couldn't everyone just text if they needed to say something and why did people always have so much to say anyway and-

"Oh, God. It's Colin. He's walking up the stairs right now." She cursed and attempted in vain to wring out her hair. Schmidt opened his mouth to object at the cascade of sticky water landing on the floor, but Winston put a hand on Schmidt's arm. Not now, it said, not now.

"He's coming over. Can you guys stall? I have to fix this mess." Without waiting for an answer she disappeared down the hall.

"Uh, for how long?" Nick called after her. There was no response, but he heard the shower turn on.

A knock at the door. Colin was let in. He smiled, friendly. His hair looked perfectly tousled. Nick couldn't be sure, but he was pretty confident the way Colin was dressed was "business casual."

"Hey"—he pointed a thumb over his shoulder—"There's a bunch of firefighters in the hall. Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. There was a problem with the elevator."

"Is Claire here? I was supposed to meet her."

"Yeah, she's just getting ready."

"So, uh, what kind of sculpting putty do you use?" Schmidt asked Colin. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned against the kitchen table, trying to look cool. He had forgotten, however, that there was no way to look cool

Something in Nick let go. He wasn't sure what it was, but it let go. He let go, maybe. Nick remembered the look on Claire's face when they were behind the Iron Curtain that night. She looked so sincere. She really liked this guy, he could tell. Ah, fuck. He was about to do something he'd regret.

"You should come over, Colin," he said, "We're doing a big Thanksgiving dinner."

"Really? I wouldn't want to intrude."

"No, come. It'll be good." Nick could almost picture a tiny, action-figure sized version of himself standing on his shoulder kicking him in the side of the head. Though, that could have been the death-ray stares from Schmidt and Winston. Worst of all, he actually meant what he said. He really wanted Colin to come.

"Sure, that sounds great. Thanks."

Claire reappeared. Her hair was still dripping, but it was dripping clean water, and instead if dripping on Schmidt's beloved hardwood floors, it was dripping onto a clean towel. Jess' towel, which reminded Nick he'd have to deal with Schmidt's towel at some point. Like most of Nick's problems, it was a problem for another day.

"Hey, Colin. What are you guys talking about?" Claire asked with the tiniest bit of concern in her voice. It was as if she had suddenly remembered that she had left her boyfriend alone in a room with three of the dumbest boys she'd ever known. The same three boys who had seen her do some truly ridiculous things. Including accidentally steal a car, bake a cake with salt instead of sugar, and pretend to be related to Rashida Jones to get into a bar (it worked). Those were stories she didn't necessarily want Colin to hear. She was pretty sure he thought highly of her and she liked it that way. Oh, she realized, she needed to make sure no one ever brought up True American.

"Nick was just inviting me to Thanksgiving in the loft," Colin said.

"He was?" She looked at Nick for confirmation.

"Yeah." He shrugged as if it was no big deal. Behind him, Schmidt and Winston were having a silent discussion to the effect of "What the hell has this world come to?"

"Alright. Well, we'll see you guys later. Tell Jess I said hi."

As soon as the door closed behind the outgoing couple, Nick's roommates sprang on him. First metaphorically, then literally.

"Nick!" Schmidt yelled, "What happened to Chillgrim's Day?"

"Stop calling it that," Nick said in response.

"You can't just bring in randos! He's going to harsh the vibe!"

"Okay, you're all over the place today."

"I just wanted to drink beer and eat turkey," Winston complained, "Now I have to make small talk with someone I don't know instead of watching the game."

"Whoa, whoa. We're still watching the game. Who said we're not watching the game?"

"You did," Winston said, "when you, for no apparent reason, invited the boyfriend of our neighbor to eat Thanksgiving with us. Isn't he from Alaska? He probably doesn't even know what football is. What do they play up there? Ice-ball? Chase the moose?" Nick, used to being the disgruntled one in a conversation, was somewhat at a loss. But he knew the deal was done. He'd already offered a seat to Colin and it was too late to revoke. Jess would take his side. All that was left now was to placate Winston and Schmidt.

"It'll be fine, okay? You don't have to talk to him. Jess will do that."

"What if he wants to watch the parade?" Winston asked. His voice was bordering on panic.

"Calm down. Nobody's watching the parade."

"You'll pay for this, Nicolas."

"Schmidt, stop talking like a Bond villain. It's going to be fine."

"That's what everyone says in horror movies before they die a terrible death."

"Then your fate is sealed, Schmidt. There's no point worrying about it now. Hey, did you hear what Winston did to your Austrian cooking pot?"

"What!"