by Lucy Eden
* * *
Almost one year ago, we woke up early to join the crowd of couples desperate to tie the knot before the year ended at city hall, witnessed by my parents, my sister, and Jane’s grandmother.
Afterward, we had lunch at Serendipity, where instead of cutting into a wedding cake, we shared an Opulence Sundae. I use the word share generously because I was lucky to get two bites. She did save me the chocolate-covered almonds.
Later that night, we had a giant party at The Brooklyn Bowl where I called in a lot of favors and wrote a giant check to get The Struts to play the song for our first dance, “Could Have Been Me.” My wedding present to Jane was a Dukes of Duchess County reunion because aside from occasionally playing children’s music for her students on my guitar, she’d never seen me perform live. We even played a fully arranged, extended version of “Sparkling Stella,” with two verses she’d never heard which were just as bad as the original two. Mom sang “Keep Me in Your Heart” as a tribute to Jane’s parents and grandfather while my dad danced with my bride and I twirled Grammy around the floor. At eleven o’clock, my wife and I left, what Steph later told me was a party that raged on until four a.m., to go home to our apartment where we could make love just as the clock struck twelve.
We dropped Grammy off at the soup kitchen where she usually spends Christmas feeding the homeless and made our way upstate, stopping in the city to pick up Sir Robin.
Mom greeted us with open arms. Dad did the same after he confirmed that we'd brought some of Grammy's Christmas cookies. Steph was working in Paris, but she was able to watch Dad get trampled by Jane in Scrabble over video chat. After lunch, Mom and Sir Robin watched Me, Dad, and Jane, who'd become a semi-pro in two short years, ice-skate on the lake until we were too cold to continue.
On the ride home, Jane fell asleep with a snoring Sir Robin in her lap. She was so beautiful at that moment that I felt tears stinging my eyes and I was overcome with how perfect my life was.
* * *
About ten years ago, I was getting ready to walk on stage at the O2 arena in London. While my excitement for performing had been dwindling for the past year, it was the first time I felt nothing. I called my mother, explained to her what I was feeling, and she recognized it immediately. When the tour ended, I had a talk with my bandmates, and I never stepped on another stage again, until my wedding reception.
With plenty of money saved to fall back on, I used my contacts to become a booking agent and built a good life. It was everything I loved about music with a lot less of the shit I hated, but it wasn't enough. I wanted what my mother found with my dad and I'd almost given up when my girlfriend at the time dragged me to a concert, I didn't want to go to.
A tiny brunette with big brown eyes and pillowy pink lips spilled a pint of beer on me and knocked over my drink in the process. Thank God the bar was so packed because in the twenty minutes it took to get our replacements, we struck up a conversation, and I discovered she was smart, funny, and spoke fluent sarcasm and Monty Python movie quotes. She also had no idea who I was. For the first time in a very long time, I was just Mike. It took three long years before I could finally call her mine, but I was hers after that night.
“Hey, Mike.”
“Yes, gorgeous,” I replied as I kicked the front door shut and dropped the bag of gifts on the floor.
“I think Sir Robin is ready to open gifts.”
“What?” I came walking into the living room where our beagle had evidently sniffed out which gifts were for him and began to tear into them.
We sold our apartment in Manhattan and bought a brownstone with a backyard in Brooklyn for Sir Robin, and for the fifty children we planned to have, according to Grammy. It also cut our commute to Long Island in half, because Jane worried about her living alone in that big house. We asked her to move in with us, but she's too independent.
Our brave sir knight was gnawing on a giant pig’s ear when I sat down in front of the tree next to Jane and pulled her into my lap.
“Okay, Sir Robin’s done. Who’s next?” I asked.
“Me,” she said before crawling out of my lap to face me, beaming a mischievous grin. “Your gifts are always way better than mine, but I think I have you beat this year.”
"What?" I kissed her neck. "Your gifts are always awesome." Jane never spent a lot of money, but she made up for it in time and effort. Last year, she got me a Snoopy Snowcone Maker she found on eBay, of course, because I told her I always wanted one as a kid. We spent the night grinding up ice cubes and drizzling them with Kool-Aid.
"Okay, you can go first." I handed her my gift. It was an early edition printing of Jane Eyre in a glass case. It was one of her favorite books, and it also fit my theme of buying her gifts with her name in them.
"Holy shit, Mike." Her jaw dropped, and she was staring at the case. "This must have cost a fortune."
"Well, I tried to get it autographed, but apparently the author's been dead for over a hundred and fifty years, so…" I shrugged, and she narrowed her eyes at me.
“I love it.” She leaned over and kissed me, making the gift worth every penny I’d spent at auction. “Now it’s your turn.”
She handed me a small rectangular box. My guess was a vintage Mickey Mouse watch.
“So, I finally finished my list,” she said before I opened the gift. I turned to the wall. Her resolutions list from two years ago was still hanging in its frame next to our marriage license and the autographed Maroon 5 album, but I noticed that Number 21: Lose 5 Pounds was crossed out in red marker. I looked back at her, then at the box. She sensed my confusion. Was it a FitBit?
"I lost them when I had that stomach virus a couple of weeks ago." She smiled and bit her lip. "But it wasn't a stomach virus…" She nodded at the box. I lifted the lid and looked inside. I looked back at Jane, and she was chewing her bottom lip and searching my face for a response.
It was a pregnancy test and in the window was a dark pink plus sign.
“We’re having a baby?” I whispered, feeling a lump forming in my throat.
“Sir Robin is going to be a big brother.” She nodded with tear-filled eyes, and my eyes filled with tears for the second time that day.
“Well, this does beat my dusty old book, doesn’t it?” I sniffed. I pulled her into my lap again and kissed her. She giggled and nodded before straddling me and wrapping her legs around my waist. “This is the best Christmas ever.”
“You say that every Christmas,” she whispered against my lips.
“It’s true every Christmas.” I rose to my feet with Jane still wrapped around my torso and walked to our bedroom. “Do you need anything else from out here?”
“No, why?”
"Because we're not coming out of that room until next year."
The Soundtrack
Songs About Stella: The Star of All My Dreams
The Resolutions playlist can be found here on Spotify:
* * *
Moonage Daydream - David Bowie
Could Have Been Me - The Struts
Daydream Believer - The Monkees
Location - Khalid
Dream A Little Dream of Me - The Mama & The Papas
Cheverolet Van - The Nude Party
Sweet Dream (Are Made of This) - Eurythmics
Ms. Jackson - Outkast
Jolene - Dolly Parton
Dream Weaver - Gary Wright
Blitzkrieg Bop - Ramones
Dreamlover - Mariah Carey
Keep Me in Your Heart - Warren Zevon
Girl of My Dreams - Brandon Heath
She Will Be Loved - Maroon 5
Everybody’s a Star (Starmaker) - The Kinks
Always Look On The Bright Side of Life - Monty Python
http://bit.ly/StellaSongs
* * *
(Sorry, I was unable to locate songs by The Dukes of Duchess County or The Suicide Tacos, because they don’t exist.)
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read,
Resolutions.
I hope you had as much fun reading Jane & Mike’s love story as I had writing it.
Keep your eyes peeled for next novelette. Will it be about Danny & Steph, Chellie, Grammy or someone entirely new?
I honestly don’t know, but I’ll find out soon and so will you!
Thank you:
My musical technical advisor : A.B. Thank you for all of your insight and inspiration. Mike and Jane wouldn’t have met if it wasn’t for you and Jane wouldn’t have been inspired to make that list.
My amazing critique partners: Marina Garcia & Miri Stone. Your encouragement and very honest opinions kept me going week to week while writing.
My amazing beta readers are alway giving me inspiration and encouragement.
Romance Rehab, especially Jennifer, for your brilliant author services, particularly, the blurb critiques.
My ARC team for giving their time and energy to read my work and help spread the word.
Thank you so much, dear reader, for reading Resolutions!
I hope you liked it. Please consider leaving a review on your social media feeds wherever you share your good news!
* * *
December 2018
Notes From Paradise
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Also by Lucy Eden
Visit lucyeden.com for purchase details
Melted
Everything’s Better With You
Everything’s Better With Kimberly
Everything’s Better with Lisa
Cherishing the Goddess
An Angel for Daddy
Bear with Me
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one
cole
2-6-5-3. Red X.
“Fuck!”
2-6-5-3. Red X.
“Shit!”
I typed my code into the keypad a third time with no success.
"Goddammit!" I kicked the wood doorframe of the hundred-year-old Harlem brownstone I'd called home for the past six years.
“Hey, asshole! Shut the fuck up!” a female voice shouted from the ground-level apartment.
I looked over the banister to see a short woman with waist-length, chestnut-colored hair staring up at me, holding a baseball bat.
"Crystal?" It was too dark to see her clearly. I was definitely more than a little buzzed, and my biological mother was the only short woman with long dark brown hair I knew. But why was she holding a baseball bat, and why was her voice different?
With a little difficulty, I walked down the stairs to get a closer look. The woman took a step back as I approached and held the bat higher, tightening her grip on the neck.
"My name is not Crystal, and I live here."
Upon closer inspection—as close as I could get without getting clocked in the head, anyway—I could tell she definitely wasn't Crystal. She was younger, way more beautiful, with pale golden brown skin and she didn't have my birth mother's bright blue eyes. Crystal also moved back to Missouri four years ago. Most importantly, tiny Babe Ruth definitely didn't live in my house. I was drunk, but not that drunk.
"You live in here?" That wasn't exactly how I meant to phrase that, but my brain and my mouth weren't cooperating. Also, I'd become aware that I was leaning against the brick wall of the stoop to support my weight.
"Yes," gorgeous, not-Crystal hissed. "I live here." She was so sincere that I was hit with a wave of confusion, and when it ebbed, realization slapped me in the face. I took a step back and looked up at the door I had been kicking a moment ago, then I looked to the right at the door I should've been kicking.
“Shit.” I did it again. I went to the wrong fucking house.
Why did these brownstones all look the same?
I turned to head to the brownstone where my code would work, and I guess I turned too fast because I stumbled and had to grab the railing to keep from crashing to the ground.
"Are you okay?" She lowered her bat, but she didn't take a step forward. I was drunk. I was trying to enter the wrong house, and I had almost busted my ass in front of my sexy neighbor.
“I’m fine, Crystal. Mind your business.” This ordeal was embarrassing enough without Batgirl, suddenly concerned for my welfare.
Hadn’t she just called me an asshole?
I didn't need her help. I was a grown-ass man who needed to walk twenty feet to his front door.
"Excuse me?" she said. "Again, dickhead, my name is not Crystal, and you screaming in the middle of the night woke me up from my much-needed sleep, so it is my business."
I turned to face her and felt myself sway as I tried to stabilize. Her outburst was sexy as fuck and I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her.
Nope. Nope.
That was definitely the alcohol talking.
I can’t kiss her.
I have to get home.
The word home floated to my consciousness, but instead of focusing on that goal, I decided to speak.
"You kind of look like my mother, but not really. Her name is Crystal. I'm fine. Just got confused. My house looks exactly like my sister's house." I pointed at the brownstone next door before pointing at Kimmy's.
"Your sister?" She gave me the look, the skeptical look I get when people found out about my adopted family. One would think I'd gotten used to it after all these years. Maybe it was all the tequila shots, but tonight it pissed me off. She continued, "The woman that owns this brownstone is not your sister, and I'm not your mother, so you need to take your drunk ass home, to your actual house, before I call the cops."
"Kimbery Shimmins is my shishter!" I yelled as I backed away from her towards my house. I could hear myself slurring my words and considered the possibility that trying to walk and talk at the same time wasn't the best idea. I turned toward my house, continuing to amble forward. "And I'm glad you're not my mom because my mom is awesome, and you'd be a shitty mom with your baseball bat and your potty mouth."
Even though I was sure I just used the words "potty mouth," I knew I'd said something profound because I was met with silence.
I turned to look at her and found her expression blank. A loud and expletive-filled response was what I expected, but she just stood there, frozen and a little sad. A feeling like regret crept over me, but I couldn't figure out what I should have felt regretful about. I tried to replay the last thing I said, but I couldn't fucking remember, something about Kimberly and a shitty potty?
That look… I couldn't stand seeing it, so I turned away from her and climbed the steps to my door, where I typed in the four-digit code.
Green checkmark.
The throbbing in my head woke me up before I could open my eyes. I'd stayed out late drinking last night and stumbled into bed fully clothed. Again. I barely remembered anything after Beck Cameron's last round of shots. I must have taken a cab home, and I vaguely remembered meeting someone last night. A woman—a beautiful woman who was pissed at me for some reason. I climbed out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, swallowed two Advil, and turned on the shower.
The hot water beat me into consciousness, and memories of last night began to float together in tiny little patches. I had tried to get into Kimberly's house last night, thinking it was mine. We used to have the codes to each other's houses until I went to her home by accident one night, and her fiancé almost beat the shit out of me with a hammer before he realized who I was. Apparently, the nickname Thor had more significance than his resemblance to Chris Hemsworth. The though
t ignited a flicker of a memory. The beautiful woman I met last night had a baseball bat. She was outside of Kimberly's house. I said something to upset her, but I couldn't remember what it was. I focused on putting myself together and getting to work.
After a stop at Starbucks, I stepped off of the elevator at seven forty-five. Technically the offices didn't open until eight thirty, and unless we were working on a big case, the senior associates and partners usually didn't show up until after nine. I was a first-year associate, which meant I always had to be here, working my ass off, but not busy, in case one of the partners needed something. My father was also a partner at this law firm before he became a judge, so I also had to prove that I wasn't just a rich kid using Daddy's connections. My dream had always been to work for Hollander and Cameron ever since my dad would bring me here as a kid. I wanted to be just like him. Whenever Crystal was in trouble, we would come to this building, and her lawyer, Reginald Simmons, would fix everything like a superhero. He was also a legend at the firm and was now a United States district court judge, so I'm sure my presence at the firm wasn't purely based on merit. That's why I was determined to work twice as hard as everyone else.
"Good Morning, Judy." I flashed the office manager a grin and handed her a venti mocha latte, 130 degrees.
“Thank you, Cole.” She snatched the cup from me and took a sip. “There is not enough coffee in the world. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”