Joey looks at me and then at the mascara wand I totally didn’t steal out of her makeup bag. “I have a photoshoot that will probably give me frostbite and hypothermia because apparently print-ads for snow boots require models in bikinis, and then I’m meeting my parents in Copenhagen for Christmas with my grandmother and her girlfriend.”

“Sounds fun,” I say. “Minus the potential frostbite and hypothermia.”

Joey shrugs. “Honestly, I already have a headache. I have twenty cousins and none of them know what an indoor voice is. I’m already trying to come up with an emergency plan to get me out quick—oh, you could call me and tell me the apartment is on fire!”

“I feel like that’s not something we should joke about,” I say. “Our smoke alarm doesn’t work.”

“Even better!” she says. “Our apartment is on fire and you’re in the hospital for smoke inhalation.”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning is exactly what I wanted for Christmas.”

“See, we both win,” she says. “Call me on Christmas. The airport will be dead. I’ll be able to get a flight out. I bet they’ll upgrade me.”

“You’re a terrible person,” I laugh. “Don’t you want to see your family? That’s what the holidays are about.”

Joey scoffs. “I would much rather be on an island in the sand with a couple magazines and a lot of cocktails—oh, maybe I’ll fly to Ibiza instead.”

“Nothing says Merry Christmas quite like tan lines and the blistering sun.”

“It sounds amazing.” Joey throws her head against a pillow, a dreamy smile flickering over her lips. It’s like she’s already there, drunk off fruity drinks and soaking in the sun. “You can come if you want.”

“To Ibiza?” I laugh, capping the tube of mascara.

“Yeah,” she says. “Or you can come to Copenhagen too, if you want—if you don’t already have plans for Christmas.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re not going to spend it with Asher?”

“Oh.” I swallow. “No, I’ll probably just spend it here. Or, I don’t know, maybe I’ll look into helping at a shelter.”

“The offer still stands.”

“I really appreciate it.”

But I can’t afford a trip to Copenhagen or Ibiza. I can barely afford an Uber to the Upper East Side. Also, I don’t want to impose on anyone’s holiday traditions.

“I really should get ready, but…” Joey sighs at the TV. “Maritza is about to confront Keegan about taking Paisley to winter formal.”

“She slaps him.”

“Olivia! Spoilers!”

“Sorry,” I say, swiping bronzer over my cheeks.

“I’m not surprised,” Joey says. “I worked with Maritza’s sister, Margarita, on a shoot last year and she was a nightmare. Crazy must run in the family.”

“Anything to get those views.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says. “Speaking of disgusting celebrities, how are things on the Levi front?”