Happy New You

by St John Brown, Brenda

  That, plus my resolution for self-care, is why I’m standing in front of Happy Feet Massage and Reflexology Spa for the Soul, Mind, and Body. I’m no branding expert, but that seems like a lot to put on one sign. I check the address again because this place isn’t exactly what I’d expected. Judging from the outside it appears that the owners might be using the word “spa” loosely, but I’m willing to reserve my opinion until I get inside the building.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, indicating a text from Matty.

  This is ridiculous. I’m calling you on your bullshit. So you got drunk and acted like a drunk and then had to have your friend take your drunk ass home. So what? It happens. Get over it and stop avoiding me. You take yourself way too seriously, Al. Meet me at the gym tomorrow, or I’m coming to your office, and we both know that won’t go well.

  Fiery prickles of heat make the skin on my neck and cheeks tingle. He’s right. I have been avoiding him. It’s been four days since I made a fool of myself in front of him and a bar full of people, and I can’t get over it. The thought that he witnessed such a humiliating scene is more than I can take. The vise that’s been pinching the muscles between my shoulder blades ever since I woke up to Matty making me that disgusting shake cranks tighter. I can’t face him now, not until I get a little more of my dignity back.

  I pocket the phone and head inside of Happy Feet Massage and Reflexology Spa for the Soul, Mind, and Body. The place is dimly lit, with tranquil, soothing music playing through the speakers mounted on the wall. The smell of lemongrass and eucalyptus washes over me. It’s not unpleasant, but the contrast between the interior and the brightness outside is a bit disorienting.

  A pretty young woman with dark curly hair, porcelain skin, and ice blue eyes tucks her phone in her back pocket and greets me. “Welcome to Happy Feet Massage and Reflexology Spa for the Soul, Mind, and…”

  “Body,” I supply helpfully.

  She smiles sheepishly. “Yes, body. I’m new, and it’s a lot to remember.”

  Even the employees have trouble with the name.

  “I’m Sophia, how can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment. Allison Gottlieb.”

  “Oh, yes. I see you here. Oh, lucky girl, you have an appointment with Miko. You’ll love it! Follow me.”

  Sophia ushers me into a curtained-off room. She instructs me to undress, lie on the bed, and cover myself when I’m done, which pulls me up short. I’d forgotten about the naked thing.

  The only other time I’ve had a massage was when I was a bridesmaid in Carla Birnbaum’s wedding. The ceremony took place at a swanky spa in the Poconos, and we all got the full spa treatment. While it had been weird to strip down and crawl under someone else’s sheets, it’d also been heavenly. So, I do as I’m told.

  I reach for the sheet to cover myself, but it’s a regular-sized bath towel instead. I’m not a particularly big girl, but I’m not a dainty thing either. I wiggle and twist, then twist and squirm in an effort to cover the appropriate areas, all while naked. It’s harder than I thought it would be, but I’m no quitter. I graduated at the top of my law class, and by God, this bath towel will not beat me.

  Finally, I get my terrycloth nemesis positioned horizontally across my body for maximum coverage of my side-boob and my ass, which is still naked, and wait for Miko. Thankfully I don’t wait long before I hear someone step into the room. I look up with an eager grin.

  One tiny hiccup. Miko is a man.

  Is that a problem? Maybe. I don’t know. I just would’ve liked to have been told. My stressed-out muscles give a little cry for mercy, and I realize I don’t care. If this small, unassuming Asian man with a sweet, fatherly smile wants to give me a massage, so be it.

  However, my determination to be pampered is quickly tested when Miko snatches up the towel and repositions it long ways down my body, which means for a second—a very unfortunate second—my bare ass is shining in the darkened room. But this man’s a professional, and I’m resolute, so I beat back any trepidation and try to relax.

  As soon as Miko’s skilled hands go to work on the knots in my back, all anxiety flies out the window. I melt into the bed and let the soft music and soothing incense take me away. The serenity helps me to untangle my thoughts about Matty and the embarrassment of behaving like an idiot at the bar. I begin to see how kind he was to me and has been to me ever since New Year’s Eve in the diner. How kind he’s always been.

  But before I can delve too much into that thought, Miko flips the towel completely off my butt. For a second, every muscle in my body contracts, which is not good when my ass is exposed for the world to see. I do a quick assessment.

  Do I feel threatened?

  No.

  Is it jarring?

  Yes.

  But this massage feels better than anything has in a long time, so I repeat to myself Americans are weird about nudity. Nudity is no big deal. When this man is at work, he is asexual over and over in my mind and try to keep from clenching my butt cheeks, because the last thing this situation needs is clenching butt cheeks.

  After Miko works his way down my body, he places a warm, damp towel over my back. This is nice for about a minute, but then he begins to rub the oil from my body…vigorously. I’d like to say there is no side-boob action, but sadly, I cannot.

  He’s scrubbing, and rubbing, and working his way down my back to my…

  No, no, no, no!

  This can’t be real. Seriously, are there hidden cameras in this place? While I’m contemplating this, Miko comes to the head of the bed and whispers, “Okay.” Then leaves.

  Okay? Okay, what? My ninety minutes aren’t up, I’m naked under a bath towel, and I have no idea what to do next. Several moments pass, and no one comes back into the room. I wrap the towel around myself and peek out the curtain.

  Thank God, Sophia is standing on the other side of the partition. Her young face breaks into an excited smile. “Wasn’t it great?” Her enthusiasm tells me she’s never had the Miko special.

  “Um, yeah...great. What exactly do I do now?”

  “Get dressed and meet Miko at the reclining chairs for the final portion of your massage.” Again, with the life hasn’t beat the shit out of me smile.

  I dress and make the walk of shame out of my little room.

  I’m a bit apprehensive, and who can blame me at this point, but this part is actually very nice. Miko massages my hands and head and one by one the muscles that tightened during the oil removal phase of the program uncoil.

  Then he moves to my feet, and…heaven. Angels sing, gold stars burst behind my closed eyelids, and I briefly consider asking Miko to marry me.

  I have to admit that there is something to be said for self-care. I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in months.

  However, the serene ocean of tranquility I’m floating in is disrupted when I feel Miko’s hands on my shins, and the reclining chair dips. I open my eyes to see him crawling up the length of my body like an eighties video vixen. The only thing missing is the bad hair and a wind machine.

  Before I can say, “The wedding’s off!” he positions his hands on my hip bones and pushes with all his weight. When our eyes meet, he says, “’S’okay.”

  I give him a weak smile and nod. But it’s not okay. Not because I feel threatened; I don’t. Miko’s been a complete professional. A tad bit aggressive, maybe, but still professional.

  A savage blush burns a path up my body. This isn’t how a normal massage is supposed to be, though. Normal, successful people don’t get themselves into these kinds of crazy situations. What is wrong with me?

  My coworkers would laugh their asses off if they could see me now. Just one more way I don't measure up to the standards of the Benson, Hyatt, and Menski Law Firm and Mr. Benson in particular.

  But I didn’t pick this place, my mother did. How was I supposed to know that this would turn into an episode of don’t let this happen to you?

  Then it hits me. Why am I so embarrassed? Because I
do take myself too damn seriously. No one’s here to witness this except Miko, and surely there’s some confidentiality clause in the masseur code of conduct.

  Is this moment a metaphor for my life?

  A bubble of hysterical laughter gurgles up my throat. I gag, cough, and try to choke it down, but it’s no use. When I snort, Miko gives me a toothy grin, and that unleashes the flood gates. Once I start, I can’t stop. I laugh and laugh and wish like hell Matty was here to laugh with me.

  It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve laughed more in the last few months than I have in the previous few years. Is that because of the resolutions or because Mateo is back in my life? He’s one of the good guys and has always been sweet to me. Shame pulses through my veins like sewer sludge because I know I’ve not always been sweet in return. The guy rescues my drunk ass, and I repay him by ignoring him.

  Real classy, Allison.

  That changes today.

  With that decision made, I make a mental to-do list. Stop taking myself so seriously, apologize to Matty, and start having more fun.

  Miko dismounts, pinches my big toe and says, “Okay.” Then he walks away.

  I add one more item to my list.

  Strangle my mother.

  15

  Mateo

  May

  Is it okay if we meet at my place instead?

  My eyes flit over the words on the screen of my phone—yet again—as I start up the stairs to Allison’s apartment. With my pulse throbbing in my ears, I pick up the pace to a gentle jog. I must have read the text message a zillion times since it popped up on my phone last night.

  Yes, after four days of radio silence, Al has invited me to her apartment... I still don’t know what to make of that.

  Honestly, I wasn’t expecting a reply from her after I lost my cool and sent her that bossy text message yesterday. I started having second thoughts about the message the minute I hit send.

  Maybe I’ve been too hard on her... Maybe I pushed her even further away... Dammit. I'm such a fool when it comes to that girl.

  It’s just that I’ve been so frustrated with her for shutting me out and letting her pride get in the way of our friendship ever since Happy-Hour-gate. Yesterday, I decided I was done letting her shrug me off. I refuse to let things go back to the way they were all those years—me, trying to carve out a place for myself in her life while she shut down each of my attempts to connect. Spending time with her over the past several months has been amazing and I don’t want to lose that again.

  And besides, I promised her I’d hold her feet to the fire and make sure she fulfills her resolutions. I take that promise seriously.

  In any case, that’s why I sent her the angry text message warning that I’d show up at her office if she kept avoiding me. My plan of action had been to march into Benson, Hyatt, and Menski tonight, in full boot camp drill sergeant mode, and drag her cute, stubborn butt out from behind that barricade she’s built around herself.

  But thankfully, I won’t have to set that plan in motion. Because Allison Gottlieb invited me to her apartment. I glance down at her text message again. Shit!

  Slowing my pace, I make another futile attempt to get my restless energy under control. The mere idea of being alone with her in her home causes a wayward bud of optimism to sprout up in my consciousness. Like a pesky garden-variety weed, annoying and out of place.

  The chances that Allison is inviting me over for something more than a platonic evening between friends? Slim to none. Given our track record, she probably just asked me over to help her pop some hard to reach back zit or something.

  My mind drifts to the way she flirted with Seth and the lumberjacks at the axe-throwing thing like she was trying to kick a reverse harem situation into gear. And then at the bar, she got pretty damn irate with that guy, Eric, when he refused to kiss her. Both times, I’d been standing right there and she hadn’t even spared me a glance.

  The girl sees me as nothing more than a buddy. Good ole Matty. I’ve got tenure in the friend zone. Permanent residency in Platonicville. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it. Tonight is the night that changes. Allison’s gonna know how I feel about her before I leave this apartment building. I’m a man on a mission.

  When I get to Al’s floor, I give myself one last pep talk as I move down the brightly lit hallway. I remind myself that the only way things between Allison and me are going to change is if I grab the monster by the balls and wring it into submission.

  Stopping outside of her door, I lift my hand to knock but then hesitate. I adjust the collar of my jacket and comb my hair into place with my fingers.

  Then I cup a hand over my mouth and puff a breath into my palm. Technically, I pass the breath test but still, I pop a few more mints because you can never be too minty fresh for a girl like Al.

  I lean close to the chrome-plated door knocker and bare my teeth to make sure there aren’t any stray chunks of spinach in there from lunch.

  I’m stalling. It’s lame.

  Pulling in a breath, I position my knuckles over the door to knock. “Stop being a coward, bro. Let’s just pop that back zit and get it over with,” I mumble to myself.

  Before I can finish getting the words out, the door swings open and Allison stands there, staring up at me with confusion in her eyes. She sticks her head out and peers up and down the deserted hallway. “Are you out here talking to yourself?”

  I go all crazy-eyes on her. “Pftt. No, nah. I was just, um, you know.” I clear my throat as I search for an excuse. “Your neighbor...she, uh...” But then, my eyes zero in on Allison’s outfit and I blink with confusion of my own. “Wait...what are you wearing?”

  There’s no innuendo in the question. I’m genuinely perplexed.

  She’s in head-to-toe Pepto-Bismol pink fleece with gold sequins scattered about. There’s a hoodie pulled up over her head and it’s got enormous embroidered eyes, a horse’s snout and a single horn poking up in the middle.

  “Adult onesie pajamas, silly.” She punches me playfully in the shoulder. “I’m a unicorn. Cool, huh?” She spins around, giving me the 360-degree experience.

  “Um…” I'm at a loss for what to say because Al is cute and she'd look hot in just about anything, but this might be pushing it. “Why are you wearing adult onesie pajamas?”

  “Because we're having a pajama party.” She makes the announcement with so much glee, I half expect our high school pep squad to burst around the corner and do a cheer routine.

  I hike my brows at her. “A pajama party?”

  My response is much too sedate for her liking. She leans one hip against her doorframe and sighs heavily. “Look, I've been an asshole, Matty. Straight up. I've taken myself too seriously and I've taken you for granted. And I'm sorry. So, we're having a pajama party. This is my apology. Can you accept that?” One corner of her mouth kicks up into a hopeful smile.

  It's that smile that does me in.

  I like to think I'm a pretty tough guy—I've got muscles and all that stuff—but Allison Gottlieb is my weakness. She has a way of making my damn heart do medal-worthy gymnastics routines. Beautiful, smart, unassuming. One smile from her and I'm back to being that awkward dork I was in high school, suffering from a bad case of unrequited love.

  “I can accept that,” I concede.

  She claps her hands together and launches at me, arms coming around my waist for a bear hug. “You're the best, Matty.”

  I let my arms close around her, too. I squeeze a little tighter than usual and indulge in the apple-sweet scent of her hair. When she moves to peel herself off of me, I linger and she looks up at me with confusion. I keep her body squeezed flush against mine and grin down into her face. Her cheeks pink up and she licks her lips. There’s a flash of something hot in her eyes but her expression tells me she’s not quite sure what to do with this new, unexpected feeling.

  Allison swallows and slowly takes a step back. She blinks away her lustful expression, forcing a happy-go-lucky grin to her pretty l
ips. “You and I have some hardcore bonding to do tonight, mister. Come. I have something very special for you.” She grabs me by the wrist and makes a valiant effort to yank me inside. I bite down a grin and move willingly so she doesn't put too much strain on her burgeoning biceps.

  She quickly releases my hand and scampers off down the hall ahead of me. Wow—look at that unicorn butt go.

  Over the years, my fantasies about Al's sleepwear collection have always featured little, lacy numbers with satin trims and girlish ruffles, but—my gaze sweeps over her onesie again—I can work with this. I'm an open-minded guy.

  “Hurry up.” She gestures me forward right before she shoves her bedroom door open.

  And now, I really like where this is going.

  I'm grinning hard enough to split my face in two. But as I step into the room and glance down at the bed, my smile evaporates and horror rises up my chest.

  She beams as she waits for my reaction. But all I feel is terror.

  “What on Earth is that?” I spit out.

  She sweeps the shroud of green velvety fabric up off the mattress and holds it up for my inspection. “A dinosaur onesie. Just for you, Matty!”

  16

  Allison

  May

  Some might argue that I went overboard with the onesie pajamas. But I can explain.

  You see, I was still in a Happy Feet Massage and Reflexology Spa for the Soul, Mind, and Body-induced stupor when I replied to Mateo's text yesterday. I typed out the ill-conceived invitation and hit send as I hustled past the reception desk, pretending not to hear Sophia’s offer to schedule my next appointment with Miko.

  Basically, I didn't think it through.