by Lucy Eden
“I have to go,” I whispered and unbuckled my seat belt.
"Hey," he said. "Can you at least tell me if I'm forgiven for not telling you about the breakup? I never meant to hurt you." His brown eyes were sad, and he was chewing his bottom lip. I leaned over, took his face in my hands, and pulled him into a kiss. He unbuckled his seat belt, and his arms flew around my waist, drawing me deeper into him. Mike's tongue teased the seam of my lips, and they parted for him. His embrace was desperate and passionate as if he could feel me slipping away. If this kiss lasted one moment longer, we would end up in my bed making love and delaying the inevitable. I pulled away and opened the passenger door ushering in a gust of cold air.
“I forgive you, but I have to go.”
Spend More Time With Family
eight
"Grammy!" I called to the empty living room with no response. I was cold, wet, tired, and hungry. For the last three years, I'd been spoiled by Mike's giant pick-up truck and spared the mass transit nightmare that was the ninety-minute journey from Manhattan to Grammy's house in Long Island. After taking a bus and two trains, I had to walk twenty minutes in the freezing cold. The rain started when I had five minutes left in my walk, and I ran the rest of the way. My old bedroom looked exactly the way it did when I left for college eight years ago, and I began to peel off my wet clothes before slipping into an old pair of pajamas. I flopped on the bed and was staring at the ceiling when I heard my grandmother’s voice.
"Janie?" she called, sounding like she was in the kitchen. "Is that you, sweetie?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I found her standing at the countertop unpacking grocery bags and some boxes. The kitchen looked like the stock room at a food pantry. “Grammy, how did you get all this stuff?”
"Michael, dear." Her back was turned so she couldn't see the color drain from my face.
“Mike was here?” I asked, suddenly wishing I was still in my wet grown-up clothes and not SpongeBob Square Pants pajama bottoms and a My Chemical Romance t-shirt that was too small.
“Is here, sweetie,” she corrected me. “I called him and asked him if he could help me pick up a few last-minute things for Christmas.” She picked up last-minute things, all right, if she were preparing for the last minute before the zombie apocalypse. A man wearing Mike’s boots walked into the kitchen carrying a 24 pack of paper towels stacked on top of a 48 pack of toilet paper that obscured the entire upper half of his body.
“Where do you want these, Grammy?” he groaned and kicked the back door closed with his foot. My heart started to race. Running out of the kitchen before he put down the groceries seemed like a solid plan for a split second, but then I remembered my grandmother already knew I was there. I stood frozen on the spot unsure of what would happen next.
"Just put them down anywhere, sweetie." Mike lowered the packages to the floor and pushed them over to the wall with his foot. He momentarily froze when he noticed me standing in the kitchen and gave me a small smile that didn't reach his eyes and mouthed the word hi. My heart melted and I wanted to run into his arms, but I didn’t. I returned his smile and gave him a small wave. “Jane, don’t just stand there. Help me put away these groceries.”
Snapping out of my Mike-induced trance, I started reaching into bags, pulling out cans and boxes and shoving them into the cabinets.
“I’ll take the heavy stuff to the pantry.” Mike picked up a box of giant cans and walked out of the kitchen.
"Janie, go help him," Grammy said and nudged me with her elbow. Unable to think of a reason not to that would make sense, I picked up two of the 64 ounce containers of laundry detergent and followed Mike downstairs into the basement.
"Hey, stranger." He set the box down and reached out and stroked my cheek. "Nice PJs. My Chemical Romance?"
“What do you have against My Chemical Romance?”
“Nothing. They’re cool guys. I used to hang out with Ray all the time.”
I nodded. "Sometimes I forget you were a big rock star."
“We did okay.” He sighed and started unpacking the box. “I’m not stalking you, by the way. Grammy called me this morning and asked me to help her make a Costco run.”
“So you volunteered to go to Costco on Christmas Eve?” I started handing him the giant cans of tomato soup.
“Well, how else was I supposed to get Christmas cookies?” He grinned at me. “And you know I can never say no to your grandmother.”
My parents died in a car accident when I was five, and I was raised by my grandparents. About two and a half years ago, my grandfather died after suffering a massive heart attack, and Grammy and I really leaned on Mike for support. I know he still takes her to run errands and fixes things around the house, when he has time.
“She is very persuasive.” I smiled handing him the laundry detergent.
“How are you, Jane?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“I miss you.” His words pierced me. It had barely been twelve hours since our fight. Though, it felt like less of a fight and more like the ramblings of an insecure insane person. I was the insecure insane person which was more of a reason Mike would be better off without me.
“You just saw me last night.”
“I miss you whenever I’m not with you.” He took a lock of my hair and twirled it around his finger before releasing it. We were gazing at each other, the tension thickening with every second.
Before I could stop myself, I launched my body onto Mike, and he caught me, crashing our mouths together. He set me down on top of the washing machine and pulled my pajama bottoms down, not daring to separate our lips. I heard the jingling of his belt buckle as he fumbled to free himself and I reached down to help. Within seconds Mike had plunged himself between my thighs, and my teeth dug into his shoulder to keep me from crying out. The washing machine rattled as he drove it into the wall with his hips and there was no way my grandmother couldn't hear it, but I didn't care. It felt too fucking good. Mike's face was pressed into my neck where I could feel his warm breath caressing me and hear him calling my name.
“Jane. Jane? Jane!”
I blinked and look up at Mike who was standing in front of me, fully clothed and wearing a knowing grin.
I had just had a sex daydream about Mike, who was standing right in front of me.
“Hey, Dreamlover,” he said. “That looked like a good one. Was it me?”
“No,” I lied, my face burning with embarrassment. “It was Jason Momoa.”
“Nope.” He grabbed the empty boxes and made his way towards the stairs. “It was definitely me.”
"It was Khal Drogo and Aquaman, at the same time," I yelled to his retreating figure, and he answered me with a chuckle.
We finally finished unpacking the groceries and collapsed at the kitchen table where Grammy served us hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. When her back was turned, Mike slid the entire plate of cookies in front of himself and slapped my hand away when I tried to reach for one, making me chuckle. It was bittersweet how comfortable it felt, and I know Mike felt it too.
“All right, young lady,” he said addressing my grandmother. “I have to get going.”
“Are you sure, Michael?” she asked with genuine disappointment and it made my heart constrict.
Mike tossed a quick glance at me before answering, “Yeah, I have some work stuff to take care of in the city.”
“On Christmas? You work too hard.”
"Yeah, I know." He leaned down and kissed her cheek, and she handed him a tin filled with cookies. His head tilted as he passed me telling me he wanted me to walk him to his truck and I followed him out of the kitchen.
"Thank you for not throwing me under the bus with Grammy," I said.
He smirked. “You’re welcome. And besides, I got what I came for.” He held up the tin of cookies.
“I’d double-check that if I were you. Every time I ever opened one of those it was full of sewing supplies.”
He chuckled and his smile faded. “I w
asn’t sure if I’d see you tomorrow and I knew you’d be here, so—” He opened the driver’s side door and grabbed a large gift box. “—I wanted to make sure you had something to open from me.” I took the box from him and clutched it to my chest.
“I didn’t bring your gift with me.”
"That's okay, you can give it to me right now." He gave me a mischievous smirk, and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.
"It was me, wasn't it? In the basement?" He climbed into the truck and was leaning out of the driver's side window. I rolled my eyes and tilted my head. He made no move to leave my grandmother's driveway, and I knew he was waiting for an answer.
“It was you, okay. Happy?”
“Not even close, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Do Something Brave
nine
Mike’s still unwrapped present was taunting me from the foot of my bed in my apartment.
I woke up early to open gifts with Grammy. I got her a set of classic romance novels that I know she didn't have, a gadget that attaches to the kitchen countertop to peel apples when you turn a crank, and a pair of pearl earrings. She gave me a sweater, a tin of her homemade hot chocolate mix, and the usual wad of cash that I promised myself every year I wouldn't spend on school supplies for my kids, but usually did anyway. This year, I used part of it to treat myself to a costly car ride to Manhattan.
I would have liked to stay and hang out with my grandmother all day, but she prefers to spend the holidays in service to others, and I wasn’t feeling very charitable.
After staring at the large white box wrapped with a giant red ribbon, I tugged one of the tails causing the bow to unravel. I lifted the lid and gasped.
It was a framed LP of Maroon 5’s album Songs About Jane. The word Jane was surrounded by a heart drawn with a silver marker. There were six very recognizable silver signatures adorning the empty space on the cover next to the nude red-haired woman, with her eyes closed in seeming bliss holding a music box.
I lifted the frame and examined it for a long time. Tears fell on the glass pane making me glad it was framed. I set it aside and noticed there was a note card in the bottom of the box. It was completely blank except for Mike’s scrawling handwriting:
* * *
Merry Christmas, My Precious,
http://bit.ly/StellaSongs
Love,
Your Samwise
* * *
I opened my laptop and typed the link into my browser. It was a Spotify playlist called Songs About Stella: The Star of All My Dreams. It was composed of some of our favorite songs and bands we’d seen together, but mostly it was made of the silly nicknames Mike called me whenever he caught me wandering around in my thoughts, which were all song titles with the word dream in them. My eyes pricked with tears. I scrolled to the bottom and saw a title I didn’t recognize:
* * *
*Bonus Track* Sparkling Stella - Mike Duke
* * *
I clicked on the song and immediately recognized the chords of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” being played on an acoustic guitar, followed by Mike’s singing:
* * *
She spilled a beer and stole my heart.
When she leaves me I just fall apart.
She’s pretty even when she’s mad,
And she’s smarter than my dad.
When my hobbit smiles at me
I want to buy her a shrubbery.
* * *
The girl with sparkling chestnut eyes
always takes me by surprise.
Infectious laugh and long brown hair,
I can’t help but stop and stare.
Gorgeous Jane, we've come so far.
Did you know that Stella in Italian is the word for star?
* * *
On the last line, he did that thing where singers speed up to cram too many syllables into one line while strumming wildly on the guitar. It was the worst song I’d ever heard and was instantly my favorite song in the world.
I flopped onto my bed listening to “Sparkling Stella” on repeat and ruminating on what an insecure dumbass I was, before reaching for my phone.
Mike's phone went straight to voicemail. I sent him a text, but he didn't respond. The tattered sheet of college-ruled paper was still folded on my dresser where I'd tossed it after coming home from the shelter over a week ago. I opened it, smoothed it flat, and crossed out Number 18 before I stomped into my boots, grabbed my coat, and left my apartment.
“Jane.” Mike’s mom beamed a smile at me when she opened the front door. She did a quick, confused check over my shoulder. “This is a nice surprise. Come in.”
“Hi. Merry Christmas.” I stepped inside. “I brought some of my grandmother’s homemade Christmas cookies.”
She took the tin from my hand, and I peeled off my coat, removed my boots, and followed her into the kitchen.
"So, is everything okay with you and Mike?" She slid herself into the barstool next to one where I’d settled myself and placed her hand over mine. I turned to face her but couldn't speak. "I ask because Mike has spent the last three years singing your praises, and when he finally brought you home to meet us, you were every bit as lovely as he described. I've never, never seen my son happier and I've seen him win a GRAMMY."
Her words made me blush, and I could feel tears pricking the back of my eyes. "He told us he was bringing you home for Christmas, but then he called last night and said you weren't coming and neither was he. Stephanie is spending the day in the city with friends, so I thought it would be just Chris and me. Then you show up on our doorstep on Christmas morning, alone, holding a tin of cookies and looking more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows waiting for a response.
“Mike’s not here?” I asked. She shook her head and gave me a small pitying smile. My body deflated as if I were a balloon that was quickly losing air.
On a whim, I'd decided to spend almost three hours taking two trains and a Lyft to go to my best friend's parents’ house—whom I'd only met once—to tell him I loved him, but I didn't even bother to make sure he was there. Well, the resolution was Do Something Brave not Do Something Smart.
Since I was already dying of embarrassment and pretty sure that—despite my Scrabble prowess—Mike’s mother was convinced that I was a total idiot, I decided to throw caution to the wind and confide in her.
I told her everything—with as much detail appropriate for his mother—starting with spilling a beer on her son three years ago at a concert and up to deciding to hop on the Metro-North this morning, including what I hadn't told Mike, which was exactly what happened at the after-party in Boston. She listened sympathetically and patiently, occasionally nodding. When I'd finished, she took two bowls out of the cabinet, filled them with two scoops of vanilla bean ice cream each, then retrieved a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream from the fridge. She shook the bottle at me, with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, please,” I sighed, so relieved that Anna seemed to understand exactly what I was feeling. She waved the bottle over the ice cream, coating it in Bailey’s and slid a bowl in front of me.
"You may not be able to tell by my glamorous lifestyle"—she waved sarcastically around her kitchen—"but when I met Mike's dad, I was a singer."
Mike showed me an old YouTube clip of his mom performing with Dolly Parton in the eighties, so I already knew this. She looked almost exactly the same as she did thirty years ago, minus the shoulder pads and giant hair.
"I never got as popular as Mike and his friends, but I had a hit record, and I did okay." She smiled, and it reminded me of Mike's smile. "It's amazing getting to spend your life doing what you love, but it can get real lonely if you don't have people—folks that really love you—to share it with. So, I was on tour, and we were playing a couple shows at the Civic Center in Poughkeepsie. I was bored to tears, so a bunch of us went to a local bar. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and white Keds without a stitch of makeup w
hen I met Chris. He had no idea who I was." She laughed at the memory. "We talked all night long until the bar closed, but he was too nervous to ask for my number."
"I wasn't nervous," Mike's dad called from the doorway of the kitchen. "I was a gentleman." He walked up to his wife and planted a kiss on her shoulder before reaching over her and grabbing a handful of Grammy's cookies. "Are these the cookies Mike is always talking about?" He popped a whole one in his mouth before closing his eyes and moaning. "Mmmm." His exclamation made Anna look at me and roll her eyes. "Where's my son? His truck isn't outside."
“He’s not here,” Anna replied hurriedly, continuing before he could ask more questions. “I need another minute with Jane. Girl talk.”
He nodded his understanding and grabbed another handful of cookies before backing out of the kitchen. “Jane, I hope you don’t plan on leaving before I get to annihilate you at Scrabble.”
“Not unless I vanquish you again.” I grinned. Annihilate was a thirteen point word, while vanquish was worth twenty-three.
He narrowed his eyes, shook his fist at me, turned, and left the kitchen. “I wasn’t nervous,” we heard him call from the hallway causing us to laugh.
"So, where was I? He was too nervous to ask for my number, and we didn't have social media and the internet like you kids do, so every time I was anywhere in New York State, I went back to that bar, hoping he'd come in. Two years later, he did. He'd been doing the same thing. We spent every minute of the next three days together. My career was already starting to fizzle, and I didn't feel the same joy that I did when I started. Being with Chris made me feel like I'd been living my life in a dimly lit room before he flipped on the light switch, showed me how much dirt was in the corners, then opened the door and said, ‘Hey, girl, why are you in this dirty old room when there's a whole wide world out here.'" She smiled at me.