You have to admit it wasn’t quite as romantic-sounding.

We’d tried to come up with a cute name for it, like Hibernation Weekend, or Snuggle Down Weekend. So far, it was still being referred to as Groundhog Getaway. And me bringing someone was still impossible.

“You’re giving me a month to meet a guy and get to know him well enough to invite him on a weekend trip,” I said to Emma. “Are you insane?”

“Yes, she is, but that’s not the issue,” Jones said. “The issue is that we think you’re great, and you deserve a romantic weekend just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, really? That’s sweet, but who are you bringing?” I asked her. As far as I knew—and I knew pretty much everything about Jones—she didn’t have a boyfriend, either. Neither of us had any prospects, exactly.

“Well. I’m not sure yet,” she said. “If nothing else turns up? I’ll ask Chris.”

“You dumped him,” I reminded Jones.

“Yeah, but he’s a good skier and he knows how to build a fire. He’d be fun to have along.”

“So you’re inviting him because he’s a Boy Scout, basically,” Crystal observed.

“Was a Boy Scout,” Jones said. “He didn’t make eagle. I think he got stuck at like pigeon scout.”

We were all laughing, so I decided not to tell her how mean that would be, to invite a guy who was still basically in love with her. “Okay,” I said. “So you want me to find someone to invite. Well, that, uh, begs the question. Does inviting someone count, or do they actually have to show up with luggage and stick around for the weekend?”

“Ooh…they? You’re bringing more than one guy now?” Jones teased me. “Hot!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll be lucky if I bring my nephew and the dog,” I said.

“Oh, please. It’s not like you’ve even asked anyone,” Crystal said. “There are tons of guys at school who’d jump at the chance to spend the weekend with you.”

“Okay, but I’m not even going to be home before Groundhog Getaway,” I said.

“Which is why you can find a guy here,” Emma argued. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

“Yeah. Right.” I’ve never had a real, or real serious anyway, boyfriend.

I did go out with this guy Tyler last year for a few weeks, but then he fell for Emma.

Everyone acts like it’s no big deal that I haven’t dated much, and it isn’t, I guess. Except that at times you do feel a little left out, and a little…old-maid-ish.

First it was that my parents were being super protective, not letting me date until I was sixteen because my sister was a bit, well, promiscuous.

Well, that backfired on them, now, didn’t it? Seeing as how they drove away any potential boys in the surrounding area by forcing me to tell them, “No, thank you, I can’t, my parents won’t let me.” Some boys asked me once or twice, and then gave up for good. Other boys met my father when he came to pick me up after a group date and realized he is a very large, very strong, ex-football-playing-lineman-tackle. And they knew my mother from her showing up at school sporting events, like my soccer games, and screaming like crazy until you thought, well, maybe she is crazy.

You can’t escape your family in a small town. I was doomed to remain a spinster until at least twenty-five, unless I got out of Cloquet.

Well, here I was, in the Cities for the next month. Leave it to me to antagonize the first boys I saw.

“You know, if you don’t find someone on your own, we’ll invite someone for you,” Emma said.

“Yes, if you refuse to come up with a date, one will be provided for you,” Jones said. “And we all have really terrible taste in guys, so you’d better pick for yourself.”

I laughed.

“You’re not going to have a problem meeting guys here,” Emma said. “All you need to do is find your inner flirt.”

“Inner what?” I asked.

“I saw a TV show about it,” Emma said.

“Well, then, it has to be true.” Jones rolled her eyes.

“Let’s get in touch with our inner presents,” Crystal said, lifting a bag onto the table. “You guys ready for gifts or what?”

The four of us have a tradition of giving New Year’s gifts instead of holiday ones. That way we have something to look forward to after the big celebrations are all over. And, we can shop for more things on sale, and therefore get each other more presents.

The first gift I opened was a striped scarf from Emma. It matched my pink and orange puffy down jacket perfectly. “Maybe you could drop that at the rink, too,” she suggested.

“Yeah, just leave random items of clothing there. See what happens,” Jones added.

I lashed her with the scarf. “Shame on you. I’m not going to disrobe on an icy lake.”

“Maybe not, but you’d find a date really fast if you did!” Jones said, and we were all laughing again.

That night, just before midnight, I made a pact with a fake fire.

I was staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace, and because I could see my reflection in the glass, flames appeared to be coming out of my head. I looked a bit possessed.

I was thinking: I resolve that next year, when New Year’s rolls around, I’ll have someone special to celebrate it with. Just once it would be great to go out on a fancy, expensive, special date with someone I really cared about. Who also happened to be very good-looking.

This year, Gretchen and I were watching the giant crystal ball preparing to drop in New York’s Times Square. For a few reasons, I felt really excited about the new year. So many things could change—they would change, whether I wanted them to or not. I’d be spending half the summer working in a program for kids in Duluth and the other half on a trip to England with my high school English club.

“To getting out of high school this year,” I said, raising my glass.

“To getting out of this cast this year.” Gretchen clinked her glass against mine, then took a sip of the sparkling apple juice we were drinking instead of champagne. She had this rule about not having alcohol in the house when I was around, which I could have told her was completely unnecessary. I’m enough of a klutz without adding something else into the mix.

“To finding the perfect pair of shoes at Nordstrom on sale,” Gretchen said.

“To world peace,” I said.

My sister and I are similar in some ways…and others, not so much. We look alike, and yet we don’t. We’re both about 5’8”, and we both could have the same blond hair, only she bleaches and highlights her hair so that it’s very California. She gets her nails done weekly. She tans. She knows how to put makeup on perfectly so that it looks like she’s only wearing a little.

My hair is its natural color. I wear a tiny bit of mascara and that’s about it. I paint my own nails—fingers in winter, toes in summer.

“To losing ten pounds by February second, so no one sees my shadow,” Gretchen proclaimed.

I smiled uneasily—February second. Groundhog Getaway Day.

“Come on!” Gretchen held her glass toward mine. “Okay, how about this one? To both of us meeting new guys this year and falling in love.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Really? You’re ready for that?”

“I’ve been dating plenty since the divorce.”

“I know, but nobody serious. All really superficial,” I said, thinking, Kind of like you can be at times. “Right?”

“True. But sometimes you look at me like I’m over the hill. I’m only twenty-four. So I made a bad choice the first time around, that doesn’t mean, like, my romantic life is over,” she said. “To me the real question is, are you ready for meeting a new guy?”

“What? Of course I am. What do you mean?”

“Come on, Kirsten. You’ve been dragging your feet ever since things didn’t work out with that Roger guy.”

“Roger?” I asked.

“Wasn’t it Roger?” she said.

“No, no Roger. Maybe you’re thinking of the town. Rogers? Out near Plymouth?”

“Okay, so it wasn’t Roger, you don’t have to get snippy about it.” She took a sip of the sparkling cider. “Richard then. That Richard guy.”