Resolutions

by Lucy Eden

  "So you gave up your career for your husband?" I asked, as my spoon made a clanging sound at the bottom of my bowl. Without missing a beat, Anna switched bowls with me, and I smiled gratefully, scooping up another spoonful of delicious boozy ice cream.

  "Hell no! I gave up my career for me. It was fun while it lasted, but it's not for everyone. I sing in the church choir, and I teach piano lessons. That's good enough for me." She smiled and put her hand over mine again.

  “Mike is like me. He’s smart, talented, and he took his career as far as he wanted to, but he’s not cut out for that life. I could see it in his eyes years ago. But what I see in his eyes when he looks at you…well, that’s completely different.” She smiled again and pushed herself away from the countertop, walked to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. “That was a very long-winded way of saying don’t worry about the way those empty-headed assholes at industry parties treat you. You just worry about the way my son treats you. He’s a good man. I should know, I raised him.”

  When she turned around to face me, she was holding a sandwich and a glass of water, and she indicated for me to follow her. My face must have registered confusion.

  "Sweetheart, you've been traveling for hours, and you ate about a half a bottle of Bailey's. I'm not sending you back to New York until you've had a sandwich and a nap. Your room is still made up. I'll get you some sleep clothes."

  “Thank you,” I whispered, “…for everything.”

  “Anytime.”

  Fall in Love + Bonus

  ten

  My eyes fluttered open, and I was comforted by scents of cedar and sandalwood.

  “Merry Christmas, Stella,” Mike whispered before planting a kiss on my forehead. “How are you feeling?” My body instinctively moved towards his and he wrapped his arms around me. It felt like home.

  "I'm really thirsty, and my head hurts," I said in a raspy whisper. Mike chuckled.

  "Well, that's what you get when you day-drink with a woman who was born and raised in Tennessee." He handed me a glass of water, and I gulped it down.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked after making a contented ah! sound.

  He laughed again. “This is my house.” Then, responding to my head tilt, eye roll combination that said you know what I mean, he said, “My dad called me and said you and Mom were eating ice cream and getting shit-faced in the kitchen”—he grinned down at me—“and that you had brought cookies, so, naturally, I came right up.” He kissed my forehead again. “I think the better question is, what are you doing here?”

  “I opened your gift.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I loved it. How did you get that signed album?”

  "I'm friendly with the band's manager, and he owed me a favor. Did you like the song?"

  “I loved the song, but I think I might send it to the GRAMMY voting committee and tell them they made a terrible mistake.”

  He tickled me. “So, you rode the train from Manhattan to Wappingers Falls to tell me that you opened my gift?”

  “Well, you didn’t answer your phone. How else was I supposed to tell you?” I shrugged. He laughed again.

  "I'm sorry. I turned my phone off for a few hours this morning. When I turned it back on, I saw your message and about ten voicemails from my dad."

  I took a deep breath and tilted my head up to face Mike.

  “I also came here to tell you that I’m an insecure idiot and I’m in love with you.”

  "Jane, you are the furthest thing from an idiot, and in case you haven't figured it out, I'm in love with you too." He kissed me.

  “I also came to cross something off of my list.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Number Eighteen.”

  “I thought you did Number Eighteen last week.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “When I tell our grandchildren this story, I’m not going to say that one of my New Year’s resolutions was trying to fit their grandfather’s entire penis into my mouth.”

  Mike burst out laughing, and I joined him. "At least, the story would be accurate. I think you also accomplished another one." He was gazing at me, and I knew exactly which one he was talking about; Number 29: Fall in Love.

  “Mike, that resolution wasn’t about you,” I said and Mike furrowed his brow in confusion. “I wanted to fall in love with someone else.”

  “What?” He turned to face me. “Who?”

  “Anyone who wasn’t you.” I looked away, then forced myself to meet his eyes again. “Because I was already in love with you and I thought you were in love with someone else.”

  “Jane, I don’t think I can remember a time when I knew you and wasn’t in love with you.”

  My face spread in a giant grin and I pulled Mike into a kiss.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “Finally.” He laughed. “Now, are you ready to tell me what happened at the party?”

  I took a deep breath and told him everything that happened in the soul-sucking eternity that was the fifteen minutes that he left me alone at the party and how it made me feel.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Who?”

  “The motherfucker in the Joy Division shirt.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m gonna find out who he is, get him fired, then kick his ass.”

  “Easy there, Balboa. You’re not going to do any of that. I just want to forget that party ever happened.”

  "Fine," he said, tucking me into the crook of his arm. "But you know you could never be my personal assistant, I would never get any work done." He curled his index finger under my chin and tipped my head up until our eyes met. "Now, I can't tell you to stop feeling insecure, but I can tell you that you will always be the smartest, funniest, coolest, most beautiful, and sexiest person in the world to me and I'm just lucky that I met you before Professore Moretti did.”

  I arched up and kissed him, laughing. “I brought your gift with me.”

  “I know.” He squeezed me into him and kissed me again. I laughed and playfully slapped him in the chest.

  “No, goofball. It’s on the dresser.” I pointed to the small square package on the other side of the room. Mike retrieved it and climbed back into the bed. “It’s not as nice as your gifts, but I hope you like it.”

  He smiled, kissed me again, and tore the wrapping.

  “What?” he cried when he opened the box. “These are awesome. How did you get these?”

  “eBay.”

  Mike took the two empty halves of a coconut shell that were souvenirs from the long-closed Spamalot Broadway musical and started knocking them together, mimicking the sound of a horse galloping.

  "Thank you. This is the best Christmas ever." He put the coconut shells on the nightstand and leaned over kissing me.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck as he rolled on top of me and slid a hand under my shirt. His greedy fingers left trails of heat over my hips and belly.

  “Mike,” I whispered, breaking our kiss. “I don’t want to have sex with your parents down the hall.”

  “Jane, it’s fine. I’ll lock the door.”

  “No way.”

  “Fine,” he sighed. “Can we quietly make out like horny teenagers with my parents down the hall?”

  “Yes.” I grinned.

  "Okay," he said. "How many bases are we talking?" He propped his head up on his fist, and I giggled.

  “Two.”

  “Two?” he cried. “You have to give me at least three.”

  “Mike, if we go to third base, we might as well have sex.”

  "Exactly!"

  “Second base or forget it.”

  “Fine,” he sighed, “second base.”

  He lowered himself on to me and sealed our lips together. I ran my fingers through his hair grabbing handfuls as he pressed himself between my thighs. He broke our kiss and gazed at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  "Jane, is this really happening? Are you rea
lly mine?" He had moved on to my neck, and he was nibbling and planting small kisses on my skin making me shudder.

  "Damn, I hope so, or this is one hell of a daydream."

  Mike’s hand slid under the waistband of the pajama pants I was wearing and under the elastic of my panties.

  “Stella,” he whispered, grazing the shell of my ear with his lips, “I’m about to steal third.”

  “Do it, Captain.”

  Mike’s phone pinged. He grabbed it and started tapping on the screen. “My parents are going out for Chinese. They invited us, but I told them you were still sleeping.”

  “Then, make it a home run.”

  It was late when we got back to Mike’s apartment building. We stopped outside his door and he wrapped his hands around my shoulders and turned me to face him.

  “I have one last surprise for you.”

  “Okay, you really need to stop.”

  "It's the last one, I swear, and it was on your list."

  “I’m pretty sure I did everything on the list, except lose five pounds.”

  He ignored the last part of the sentence. “This was a bonus.”

  "A bonus?" I knitted my eyebrows together while I tried to figure out what he could be talking about when it hit me. "No way. Seriously?" I pointed to his door. He nodded, and he tucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and grinned. "Well, open the damn door," I squealed.

  Mike turned the key and pushed the door open. There was a large wooden kennel tucked next to the couch with the door open. Inside, curled up in some blankets was a tiny beagle puppy fast asleep.

  "Oh my God!" I whispered. "He's so precious…or she." I was dying to grab it and snuggle, but it was sleeping so peacefully. "A rescue?"

  “Yeah.” Mike sat behind me on the floor and pulled me into his lap while we stared at the little brown and white bundle of fur. “This little guy was rescued from a puppy mill in Missouri.”

  “Aww, that’s a long trip. No wonder he’s so sleepy.”

  Mike chuckled and kissed me. “What do you want to name him?”

  “You tell me. You know him better than I do.”

  “Hmm. I’ve only known him for two days—”

  “Was this what you had to rush back to the city for?”

  "You were supposed to be with me when I picked him up, and I was also trying to give you that space you wanted."

  “Oh, right, that.” I frowned.

  He chuckled softly and squeezed his arms around my waist.

  "Well," he sighed, "I picked this little guy because he seemed a little scared and overwhelmed. They had him in a big crate with a bunch of other beagle puppies, and he was all by himself, tucked in a corner."

  “Aww. He was scared.” I clucked my tongue. I turned to look at Mike. “Sir Robin?”

  “Brave Sir Robin. I like it.”

  "I wanted a dog for years, but Grammy hates dogs, and I can't have one in my apartment."

  "Yeah, I was thinking about that." He turned me to face him. "Puppies are a big responsibility, and I have to travel for work a lot… What do you think about…moving in with me…to help take care of Sir Robin?" He shrugged before grinning at me.

  Wow. Mike wasn’t wasting anytime, but it felt right. We’d wasted three years by not admitting how we felt about each other. We had a lot of lost time to make up.

  “Just to take care of Sir Robin?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “No.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “In that case, I would love to move in with you…to help take care of Sir Robin.”

  In a week, Sir Robin turned out to be as rambunctious as Sir Lancelot, tearing around our apartment and the dog park. He was also as naughty as Sir Galahad because his favorite pastime was knocking over the dirty clothes hamper and raiding it for my underwear.

  “Hey, at least he has good taste,” Mike said the first time he did it. We soon invested in a steel bin he wasn’t strong enough to knock over.

  I moved in with Mike right away, but I still paid the rent for January to make sure my roommates had enough time to find a replacement. Plus, Mike's apartment was more than twice the size of my old apartment, and I didn't have to share a bathroom with three other people.

  “Are you sure you don’t regret not going to a party?” I indicated the stack of fancy invitations on the kitchen counter.

  “Are you kidding?” He walked up behind me and planted a kiss on my shoulder. “This is the only way I want to spend New Year’s Eve forever.”

  “For ever ever?” I mimicked Outkast.

  “For ever ever.” He grinned. He disappeared into the kitchen and came out holding a pint glass full of beer and what I guessed was a Captain Morgan and Coke. “Let’s make a toast to where it all started.”

  “Let’s hope I don’t spill this one.” I laughed.

  “That worked out very well for me the last time.” He winked and I smiled.

  "To where it all started," we said in unison and clinked our glasses together. I started to drink the pint, and I noticed Mike was staring at me expectantly. Halfway through, I tipped the glass up and noticed something at the bottom of the glass. It looked like a ring.

  When I pulled the half-empty glass away, I tilted my head to peer inside the amber liquid. It was a ring.

  Why is there a ring in my glass?

  I dug it out of the glass and turned it over in my hand. Mike was kneeling in front of me when I looked up. He took the drink from my hand and set it on the floor as I continued to stare at the ring. It was a gold band and where a diamond would usually sit was a small gold star.

  So beautiful.

  So simple.

  So us.

  "Hey, Girl of My Dreams,” he whispered. "Do you like it? I know it's not usual for an engagement ring, but I know you hate diamonds and flashy jewelry. I just saw it and I immediately thought of you. You don't even wear jewelry… Shit.” He wiped his face with his hands. “If you don't like it, we can get something else. If you want an emerald or a ruby… Are engagement books a thing—"

  “Mike, shut up.” I sniffled. “It’s fucking perfect. I love it.” My eyes filled with tears and I handed him the ring so he could put it on my finger.

  “Jane Elizabeth Standish, you sexy little hobbit, will you make me the happiest, luckiest, and most exhausted man in the world and marry me?”

  I laughed and nodded. “Yes, you dirty old pervert. I would love to marry you.”

  "It’s almost time for the ball drop," a disembodied voice from the TV called. Mike looked at me, waggled his eyebrows, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

  He set me on the kitchen counter, pulled down my panties, and I reached into the junk drawer to grab a condom. Mike tore it open, rolled it on, and entered me just as the countdown started. Every pump of his hips brought us closer to the end of the year.

  “Three…

  two…

  one…”

  The crowd on the TV counted down as I dug my teeth in Mike’s shoulder and he murmured my name.

  "Happy New Year, Stella.”

  “Happy New Year, Captain.”

  * * *

  THE END

  Lose Five Pounds

  Epilogue

  “Merry Christmas, Stella.” I kissed my wife’s soft lips.

  “Mmmm.” She sighed and yawned. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

  We were a tangle of arms and legs squeezed into the full-sized bed in her old bedroom at her grandmother's house in Oceanside, Long Island. I was way too big for this bed, but I refused to sleep in the guest room if it meant not sleeping with the woman I'd dreamt about every night for the past five years.

  “What is that?” I turned her to face a spot on her bedroom wall and pointed.

  “What?” She was trying to stifle a giggle which let me know that she knew exactly what I was talking about.

  "That." I pointed again. "That was definitely not there before." I turned her to face me. The jig was up, and she burst out laughing. "Where the hell did you find t
hat?" Jane had hung one of my old band posters on her bedroom wall. That picture had to have been taken almost fifteen years ago.

  “eBay.”

  “I’m taking it down.” I tickled her but made no move to get out of bed.

  “No, don’t. It’s autographed by all of the members of the band. It’s a collectible.”

  "No, it isn't." I pointed to the poster. "That's not my signature, and Pete's name is spelled wrong."

  “Dammit.” She frowned. “Well, I still like it.” She grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and turned me to face her, kissing me. “Especially that haircut.”

  “Hey, that haircut was cool. Everybody had the haircut.”

  She laughed again. “Did you really just use the excuse, ‘Everybody else was doing it’ with a kindergarten teacher?”

  "I think I did, Miss Jane." I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her into me, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her shampoo. "What's my punishment?"

  “I’ll think of something.” She grinned and kissed me.

  “Number Eighteen?” I raised my eyebrows, hopefully.

  “Mike, we’re not having sex with my grandmother in the house.” She giggled.

  "Not even on the washing machine?" I tucked my bottom lip in between my teeth and grinned.

  “I regret telling you that.”

  “I don’t.” I crawled on top of her and brushed my lips over her jawline causing her to sigh.

  “Second base, Mr. Duke,” she whispered and wrapped her legs around my waist.

  “No promises, Mrs. Duke.”

  When we finally opened the bedroom door, the house was flooded with the smell of fresh cookies and hot chocolate. We opened gifts and listened to Grammy drop about a hundred not-so-subtle hints about being ready to become a great-grandmother. It started innocently enough when we announced our engagement two years ago, but it's grown into a full-blown frenzy after we got married.