New Year's Kiss

by Lee Matthews

  “What? How long?” I asked as the kids below cheered. I even heard a parent call out, “That was amazing!”

  Christopher turned the phone around. It read 31.6 seconds.

  My heart leapt. “We did it!”

  I jumped up and down and threw my arms around Christopher’s neck. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d get so excited about a paper airplane, but I was. Over thirty seconds! Who even knew it was possible?

  “You did it!” Christopher said. “You get to cross the first thing off your list!”

  I pulled back, and one of his crutches crashed to the floor. He lost his balance and leaned into me, and suddenly I found myself holding him up, his cheek brushing mine. His body was heavy and strong and warm.

  “Whoa. Are you okay?” I asked, one hand against his very solid chest.

  “Fine. I’m fine.” His voice was a bit deeper than usual as he pulled back and looked at me. His gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips and back again, leaving my lips tingling. “Congratulations,” he whispered.

  “Um, thanks,” I whispered.

  Suddenly everything around me went fuzzy. The pool noises grew sharper. But above it all my heart pounded like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  Christopher pulled me the tiniest bit closer. There was a hitch in my chest. And then, he leaned toward me. And I leaned toward him. We were going to kiss. This was really happening. And I—

  The elevator dinged. “Tess!”

  Loretta emerged into the hallway and looked around at the fallen crutch, the open backpack, and Christopher, who was trying very hard to spring away from me on one good leg. Taking it all in, Loretta’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line.

  “I heard someone was throwing paper airplanes into the pool, but I never thought it would be you. I assumed I’d find Lauren up here.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “We just—”

  “I suppose I have you to thank for this,” Loretta snapped at Christopher, looking him up and down with thinly veiled disdain. “Just because you feel the need to push the envelope, young man, that doesn’t mean you need to rope my granddaughter into it.”

  “Sorry, Loretta.” Christopher looked at the floor.

  “No! Don’t apologize,” I protested, confused at her comment. “Loretta, it wasn’t—”

  “Clean all this up and get back to your room to change,” Loretta directed, interrupting. “We’re going to dinner in half an hour.”

  Then she turned and strode off down the hallway toward the stairs.

  “Okay. I’m starting to see what you mean about your grandmother being terrifying,” Christopher said.

  “Thank you!” I replied, throwing up my hands.

  And not just terrifying, I thought as I bent to pick up his crutch. But also a kiss-blocker.

  TESS’S NEW YEAR’S BUCKET LIST

  Make a paper airplane that actually flies (20 seconds at least) ✓

  Sing in public

  Strike up a conversation with a stranger

  Wear high heels outside the house

  Make out with a guy whose last name I don’t know

  TP someone’s house

  Get Adam Michel’s autograph

  Get a short, stylish haircut

  Ski a black diamond slope

  Eat sushi

  The Sinatra and Pasta dinner was held in one of the smaller party rooms, with round tables draped in red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. Wine bottles had been repurposed as candleholders at the center of each table, and the candles dripped wax onto the cut-glass plates beneath them. Waiters dressed in black tuxedos served heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs, chicken parmesan, and Caesar salads. I sat between Lauren and Loretta and tried to enjoy the food—which all smelled delicious—but it was impossible. My stomach was—big shock here—filled to the brim with butterflies.

  At least I’d crossed one thing off my list. Even after getting caught by Loretta and not getting kissed, it had felt beyond satisfying to take that Sharpie and make a big old check mark next to #1. I was officially on my way.

  “Holy wow, Tess, if you’re going to keep doing that, at least do it with some rhythm,” Lauren said, slapping a hand down over mine on the table.

  My heart skipped a startled beat, and I looked down. I was holding a fork in my flattened hand and didn’t realize until that moment that I’d been tapping it against the table.

  “Sorry,” I said, and withdrew my hands into my lap. Instantly, my feet began to bounce. But at least that wasn’t as noticeable.

  “Sheesh. You’re a mess.” Lauren took a huge bite out of a garlic knot and eyed me curiously. “Why did you even agree to this karaoke thing? Did that Christopher kid dare you or something?”

  “Shhh!” I admonished, glancing over at Loretta, who was still chatting up the woman sitting on her other side, thank goodness. I didn’t need our grandmother blaming more things on Christopher and getting it into her head that the two of us shouldn’t be hanging out together. “I don’t take dares anymore. That was the old me.”

  “That you was a lot more fun,” Lauren shot back, but not nastily. More matter-of-factly. And I didn’t entirely disagree.

  When I was little, I’d been known for never turning down a dare. One time, on the playground behind school, I’d even eaten a dead bug when Sebastian Domaskis had told everyone I was too scared. (And then had spent the rest of the day puking up my guts. But at least Sebastian had puked, too. And before I did. He deserved it, the little jerk.) What had happened to that version of me, though? Not that I wanted to go around eating dead bugs or anything. But I’d definitely become a lot more timid somewhere between then and now.

  I looked at Loretta again. My grandmother seemed to have made a new best friend in the middle-aged lady who had come along with her husband and another couple. The two of them had found common ground when the woman had brought up her latest trip to Europe, and they had been comparing notes on the best hotels in the Pyrenees ever since. It was really amazing, how easy it was for Loretta to talk to strangers—to make friends out of everyone she met. Everyone who worked for her loved, or at least respected, her, and from what I could tell, she loved or respected them right back.

  “I just thought it would be good to try some new things,” I said with a shrug, and took a sip from my water glass. I wasn’t ready to tell my sister about the list. There was no doubt in my mind that Lauren would find the whole idea mockable. Lauren was the kind of person who just did things. She didn’t make lists. She didn’t even double-think her decisions. If I was an over-thinker, Lauren was an under-thinker. A non-thinker. She was a doer.

  And I’d never seen her make a list in my life.

  “I think that’s cool,” Lauren said. “I’m impressed.”

  A warm and fuzzy feeling erupted inside my chest. It was nice to feel like my sister was proud of me for once. Over on the small stage in the corner, the singer—who actually looked a lot like Frank Sinatra if I squinted—launched into “New York, New York.” He looked so confident up there, holding his microphone casually, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, snapping his fingers to keep the beat.

  “How do people do that?” I whispered to my sister.

  “Some people are just natural-born performers.”

  “Maybe I’m one and I don’t even know it?” I said hopefully.

  Lauren scoffed. “Doubtful.”

  I groaned and slumped.

  “Sorry. I’m just messing with you. I’m sure it will be fine. You just get up there, pick a short song, and it’ll be over before you know it. That’s the thing about karaoke. You might be bad, but within three songs, there will definitely be someone worse. Plus no one is focused on you because they’re all so focused on what they’re gonna sing.” She pa
tted me twice on the shoulder. “Just be forgettable, that’s my advice. Don’t try too hard, and no one will remember it tomorrow.”

  Don’t try too hard. Did she even know me? The very idea of not trying gave me hives.

  “So, girls. Do you know who absolutely loves Frank Sinatra?” Loretta asked out of nowhere, finally turning her attention to the granddaughters she’d forced to come here so they could enjoy “family time.”

  “Our dad?” Lauren said moodily.

  “Exactly!”

  “We know,” I said, twirling some spaghetti onto my fork unenthusiastically. “He plays his music all the time in the car. I’ve never understood it. Wasn’t Frank Sinatra, like, very before his time?”

  “Yes, in fact, he was, but your father got into his music because he was your grandfather’s favorite,” Loretta said, and took a sip of her wine. “Most kids would have shunned their dad’s musical interests, but not your father. He was always such a good son—so kind and so loyal. Instead of making your grandfather feel like an old fool for his choice in music, he listened and ended up appreciating it as much as your grandfather did.”

  “Yeah, well. He lost that whole loyalty thing somewhere along the way,” Lauren muttered, ripping into another garlic knot.

  “Lauren! That’s not fair. Nor is it appropriate,” Loretta said, and my heart squeezed.

  “Call it what you want, Loretta, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the one who’s leaving,” Lauren said, and swallowed hard. “So forgive me if I don’t want to sit here and get all poetic about how amazing and loyal he is.”

  And just like that, Lauren shoved her chair back from the table, got up, and stormed away.

  “Lauren! Get back here!” Loretta said through her teeth, clearly trying not to make a scene in front of her guests.

  But Lauren either didn’t hear her or was ignoring her, and she swept right out of the room, just as the crooner in the corner was belting out the most famous line of his song:

  “If I can MAKE it there, I’ll make it ANYWHERE!”

  I sat back in my seat, hard. I couldn’t believe it. All this time, in the many months since our parents had sat us down and told us they were getting a divorce, Lauren had never gotten emotional about it. Not once. Her completely blasé attitude had been pissing me off forever. So why now? Why here?

  Loretta reached for her wine again, and I saw that my grandmother’s hand was shaking.

  “I’m sorry, Loretta. I guess she’s just upset about this whole thing.”

  “It’s all right, dear. It’s not your fault,” Loretta said, giving me a wan smile. “It’s going to take everyone a while to adjust to this new normal.”

  But that was the thing—I had been sure that my sister already had adjusted. That she’d never really cared to begin with. Had I been wrong this entire time? Had I missed something? Or was my sister just the greatest actor of all time?

  “Well, it’s too bad,” Loretta said, perking up again. “Now she’s going to miss Campfire Bingo.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head. Lauren was supposed to run interference with Loretta for the rest of the night so I could go change into my boots and sing karaoke. Now, my wingman was gone.

  “Campfire Bingo?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “What’s Campfire Bingo?”

  “You’ll see,” Loretta said. “Don’t worry. The kids always seem to enjoy it. And there’s hot chocolate!”

  “Where is it? What time does it start?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “Outside around the fire pit,” Loretta told me, cutting a small piece of chicken. “Promptly at nine o’clock.”

  * * *

  • • •

  So there I was. Playing bingo under the stars. With about two dozen second graders and their parents. When Loretta said, “the kids always seem to enjoy it,” she meant the kids. As in overtired little humans with snot running down their faces and a serious inability to sit still. Yes, the stars overhead were lovely, and the fire roared impressively. Plus there was not just hot chocolate but s’mores of all kinds. But still. Not another person my age was in sight. Unless you counted the college-aged nanny who had a toddler pulling on her braids across the fire while she tried to keep track of three other kids’ bingo cards. Which I did not.

  “N twenty-two! That’s N twenty-two!” shouted the gentleman in charge of the snowballs. That was what they were calling the little white balls that came out of the bingo tumbler, which had been decorated to look like a snowy mountain. There was really no detail overlooked around here. My grandmother ran a tight holiday ship.

  I looked down at my card, which was shaped like a snowflake. No N 22.

  “Bingo!” a little kid named Ethan shouted, jumping up and down with his arms in the air and then striking some semi-disturbing weight lifter poses like he was a pro-wrestler or something.

  “See? Isn’t this fun?” Loretta said, leaning toward me as she cleared her own bingo board.

  “Ethan’s sure having a good time,” I replied.

  I only knew Ethan’s name because his mother had been shouting it at him for the last twenty minutes straight. Ethan, stop hitting your sister! Ethan, get your finger out of your nose!! Ethan, don’t eat that! Ethan! Ethan! Ethan!

  Now he ran over to the bingo table, trampling everyone and everything in his way, to pick up his prize—a brand-new, light-up Bluetooth speaker.

  “I already have one of these!” he wailed, and threw it at the ground. Everyone around the fire heard the loud crack of the speaker inside the box breaking.

  God, kids really sucked sometimes.

  “Ethan! Say you’re sorry!”

  There was a bit of a distraction while Ethan threw a tantrum and his mother tried to corral him, so I took the opportunity to check my phone. There were a bunch of texts from Christopher.

  I got us a table. Have you begged out of bingo yet?

  It’s starting. Where are you?

  The song list is filling up fast. Should I sign you up?

  What do you want to sing? Did you decide???

  OK I signed you up. Are you coming?

  This was a nightmare. I both really needed to go and really didn’t want to go from the depth of my soul. Maybe I should just say forget it. Maybe this list thing wasn’t meant to be and I should just sit here under the heat lamps and this glorious fleece blanket and play bingo with the brats. But then I thought of the list. And of Christopher’s face when he told me the plane had flown for over thirty seconds.

  And of Christopher’s lips when he’d almost kissed me.

  Okay. I really needed to go.

  But how? There was no sneaking away from Loretta when she was sitting three inches from me.

  I glanced over at her, and she quickly looked away, studying her blank bingo board as if it held the meaning of life. Had she been trying to sneak a peek at my phone? What had she seen? Loretta was a lot of things, but I had never pegged her for a snoop.

  “Is that your sister? Is everything all right?” she asked.

  So she hadn’t seen anything. And her question made me pause. A tiny tingle of adrenaline raced up my spine. Lauren may have ditched me, but was it possible she could still get me out of Campfire Bingo?

  “Actually, yeah, that was her,” I lied through my teeth. “She wants to talk. Is it okay if I go?”

  I shoved my phone away in case she decided she wanted to see the messages. Loretta started to speak, but then the shouting on the other side of the fire got louder. A lot louder.

  “I don’t want another board! I want my prize!” Ethan was shouting.

  “You got a prize. Just say thank you and let’s go,” his mother begged.

  “I want a good prize!”

  Ethan dove into the huge box, wrapped up like a present, that held the prizes, and started flinging
smaller boxes out onto the ground. All of which held the exact same Bluetooth speaker he’d just won.

  Loretta looked torn for half a second, then said, “I should deal with this. Yes, go. I’ll see you girls in the morning.”

  Then she shoved herself out of her Adirondack chair with surprising dexterity and marched around the fire to deal—diplomatically, I was sure—with young Ethan.

  And I was free!

  To sing in front of a room full of people.

  Gulp.

  “Next up, please welcome to the stage, Tess Sachs, singing…‘Wonderful Christmastime’!”

  My body completely shut down. I’d been waiting for this moment ever since I’d walked into the room almost an hour ago—hell, I’d been waiting for it all day. But somehow, hearing the cheesy DJ dude in the comically oversized sunglasses call my name was still a total shock to my system. Also, “Wonderful Christmastime”? What was Christopher thinking?

  I looked over my shoulder at him—we were seated at the tiniest round two-top table I’d ever seen—and he shrugged. “I figured it was seasonal and easy to carry,” he said. “You’re the one who wouldn’t answer your texts.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. At least I knew the song. It was one of my mom’s favorite Christmas classics. Plus, it was really more talking than singing. It was kind of a genius choice, actually. “Thanks for getting me on the list.” I hoped I sounded sincere. At the moment I really had zero clue what I was feeling. Faint, mostly.

  “Tess Sachs, are you still out there?” The DJ put his iPad over his eyes, as if he was using it to shade the sun, and slowly scanned the crowd. “Going once…”

  Christopher leaned across the small tabletop, where each of us had been nursing root beers while we waited for my ultimate demise. “You can do this, Tess. Come on.”

  “Going twice…”

  “In five minutes it’ll all be over.”