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  Too bad dating never felt like that. Like the stakes were low enough you could actually enjoy getting to know someone. Instead, the stakes always felt so high, especially at my age when I didn’t have time to waste. That said, I’d enjoyed wasting time with Finn, and maybe that was more important than unearthing his political and religious views. Maybe.

  Not that I’d ever see him again.

  I gave the driver a nice tip and hurried inside my building, noting that even the regular doorman had somewhere else to be tonight. Then I rode the elevator to my apartment and let myself in, averting my eyes from Kurt’s wrapped Christmas present on the entryway table.

  Within ten minutes, I’d made myself a tea, thrown on my coziest jammies, and curled up on the couch with the Liane Moriarty book Maddy gave me for Christmas. Unfortunately, I struggled to get into it. Not because it was any less well-written than her last, but because all I could think about was the kiss Finn was keeping for me. And as I watched the digital clock under the TV creep closer and closer to midnight, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found someone else to give it to.

  Funny thing was, I couldn’t decide if I hoped he had. On one hand, I wanted whatever was best for my blue-eyed guardian angel on that cold winter night. But I was equally happy to entertain the idea that he would earmark that kiss for me forever and never spend it on anyone else.

  James called two minutes after midnight, and I answered cheerfully, smiling harder with each voice I recognized in the rowdy chorus of hoots behind him. He wished me a happy new year and said he was sorry he missed me before I left the party. Then Maddy got on the phone and said I was the best sister ever and that she loved me very much. Even Quinn and my stepsister Brie took turns offering me well-wishes for the year ahead.

  And by the time I hung up, I knew everything was going to be okay. Because it already was. Better than okay, actually. Because all the people I loved were safe and sound.

  And that was what mattered most.

  T E N

  - Finn -

  I felt the covers sliding off me and opened my eyes to peek over the edge of my bed. Sure enough, Otis was pulling my comforter away, his small jaw locked around the edge of it like he could taste the goose off the feathers inside.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said, tugging gently in the opposite direction until his short, tan legs stiffened with frustration. When he refused to give up, I grabbed the mouse off my bedside table and chucked it across the room so he’d chase after it. Well, I say mouse, but it was more like a faceless, stuffed teardrop now that Otis had destroyed all evidence of its facial features apart from one gnarled ear.

  Over the years, I attempted to replace the disgusting toy many times, but my efforts went unappreciated, so I gave up. If Otis could love that mouse despite its obvious ugliness and questionable odor, more power to him. Who was I to discourage loyalty in another, especially my own dog?

  I sat up slowly, stretched my arms overhead, and reached down to wrestle the retrieved mouse from Otis’s whiskery snout before chucking it out my bedroom door. His nails slid against the hardwood floor as he ran after it, and I followed the blurry bullet, grabbing my robe off my bedroom door so I wouldn’t get cold waiting for my first caffeine hit of the year.

  Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, flooding the room with light. Granted, it was cold winter sunshine, but it was bright nonetheless, and I found myself looking forward to the new year in a way I hadn’t in a long time. Maybe that was because I’d played a good set last night. Maybe it was because I hadn’t woken with a hangover. Or maybe it was because there was a turquoise scarf draped over my kitchen chair that meant I had a genuine excuse to make good on the spontaneous resolution I’d made last night.

  Whatever the catalyst for my good mood, I intended to enjoy it while it lasted. I threw the mouse across the room again before turning my focus to the Nespresso machine Brian got me for Christmas. I suppose it was a nice present, since it was certainly the kind of thing I’d never buy myself, but I suspected he got it because he wasn’t satisfied with the instant stuff I usually offered him when he stopped by. That, or he genuinely didn’t believe anyone could be truly happy unless they were spending a ridiculous amount of money on coffee pods.

  Either way, I was fond of the flavor in the purple capsule, whatever that was. Perhaps I should find out. Maybe that could be my second resolution for this year: not embarrassing myself in the trendy Nespresso store. Or is it more embarrassing to know the names of the blends in each pod? Tough call.

  Maybe I should stick with figuring out how I was going to get Maeve’s number. Something told me she was the kind of woman who would self-flagellate over misplacing such a nice scarf, and I hated to think she’d start the year beating herself up.

  Lord knows why. The scarf was no more my problem than she was, but I suppose I appreciated our conversation enough that I didn’t want her memory of it to be overshadowed by her untimely mistake. I also appreciated her sense of humor, her big eyes, and her juicy-looking lips, but that was beside the point. Capable types hated to lose things, and there was no way I was going to squander an opportunity to start the year with heroism.

  Besides, it’s not like I had shit else planned for the day, besides a nice walk by the lake with Otis, so I might as well play detective.

  Speaking of mysteries, the red light on my answering machine was flashing, which was strange because I didn’t think anyone had that number apart from the robots I never gave it to who occasionally called to offer me extravagant holidays in exchange for my social security number.

  Needless to say, I had half a mind to erase the message without listening to it. Curiosity got the best of me, though, so I punched the messages button and braced myself for the winning lotto numbers my long-lost Nigerian relatives were determined to share with me. And it was a relative alright, but it was one I was even more surprised to hear from: my brother.

  “Hey, Finn. It’s me…Max. Just calling to wish you a happy new year. So…yeah. Hope your things are good. Call me back or I’ll try you again I guess… Bye.”

  Holy shit. I didn’t even know where to start in terms of unpacking that mess. First of all, as if I wouldn’t recognize his voice?! As if I could be so lucky. And hope your things are good? Did he mean he hoped I was good or that things were good? Tit. He knew damn well I’d never call him back. Ugh. This is why no one had answering machines anymore. Because no one ever left messages that anyone sincerely wanted to receive.

  My cell rang across the room where it was charging by the couch, and my stomach churned. It couldn’t be him, could it? I assumed he deleted my number years ago. Then again, I knew for a fact I never gave him the house line so… I set my coffee down and crossed the room, my bare feet relishing the warmth of the heated floors as I prepared myself for the worst. Not that I would answer if it was him. I didn’t have anything to say to him, least of all happy fucking new year.

  Much to my relief, it was Brian. “You’ll never guess who called me,” I said, unplugging the charger so I could return to my coffee.

  “Happy New Year to you, too,” he gruffed.

  “I thought we already did that last night?”

  “It means more when you’re sober.”

  “I respectfully disagree,” I said. “Max.”

  “What?”

  “He left a message on my landline.”

  “Sounds serious,” he said. “Did he mean to call 911? I thought that was the only reason anyone used landlines anymore.”

  “Beats me. He didn’t say.”

  “How’d he sound?”

  “Like a stupid fathead.”

  Brian laughed, remembering the time my brother called me that in fifth grade. “Classic.”

  “Maybe the finest words he ever strung together.”

  “Ouch.”

  It was a joke, but the bitter songwriter inside me fucking meant it.

  “You going to call him back?” he as
ked.

  “When the year’s off to such a fine start? No chance.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “You don’t think that.”

  “It’s still the right thing to say.”

  I looked out the kitchen window, squinting at the sunshine glinting off the lake in the distance. “I don’t pay you to say the right thing.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You don’t pay me to fuck off,” I said, keeping the joke going. Truth was, he hardly paid me at all. It didn’t matter. I didn’t go into business with him because I needed the money. Besides, he could afford to pay himself and the rest of the staff more that way, which made me feel less guilty about enjoying my royalty checks. “Also, you called me, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, there’s a message for you on the landline here, too.”

  I laughed. “Wait, what year did it turn into last night? Do you think we found a wormhole back to the nineties?”

  “I don’t know. Look in the mirror.”

  “Good idea.” I bent down to look at my reflection in the toaster and ran a hand over my unshaven cheek.

  “Well?”

  “It’s not the nineties. I don’t have a single pimple and my hair is unremarkable in color and appearance.”

  “Thank God.”

  “So who’s the message from?”

  “That woman.”

  I pressed my ear against the phone. “What woman?”

  “The pretty one you bombed with last night.”

  “I didn’t bomb with her,” I said. “What did she say?”

  “That she left her scarf here. Except I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “I have it.”

  “What? With you?”

  I glanced towards it. “Yeah.”

  “Is it turquoise cashmere with a tag that says Made in London?”

  “Yep.”

  “Huh,” he said. “Guess you do have it. Which is weird of you.”

  “I didn’t want someone else to nab it. It’s a really nice scarf.”

  He laughed. “Right. Whatever’s best for the scarf.”

  “Did she leave her number?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. That was easy.”

  E L E V E N

  - Maeve -

  I looked up from my desk when I heard a knock, and my face fell when Kurt popped his head around the door.

  “Happy New Year,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

  I shuddered. He’d never looked sheepish before, and it wasn’t a good look for him. “Happy New Year,” I said, my professionalism trumping my desire to say something snarky and cutting. Then again, I was too proud to admit he’d hurt my feelings.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Are you avoiding me?”

  Does that stupid question really deserve a response? “Can I help you?”

  “Don’t be like that,” he said, walking up to my desk. “I came to see if you’re okay.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean after we talked the other night?”

  I made a face like I was wracking my brain. “Ohh. You mean when you stood me up and then dumped me over the phone? I remember now.”

  “Well?”

  My face furrowed. “Well, what?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, dragging out every word.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m not going to jump off the building, if that’s what you’re asking?”

  He sighed. “No, Maeve. That’s not what I’m asking.”

  “Then I guess I don’t understand the question.”

  “I just mean are we cool?”

  “How can we be cool when you’re wildly, dysfunctionally uncool?” I asked. “Which reminds me…” I reached down for the small garbage bag that I put his Christmas presents in because I didn’t want his inferior retinas feasting on my beautiful wrapping efforts in front of me. “This is for you.”

  “Maeve—”

  “Just take it. It’s all non-refundable at this point, and I can’t burn it because I don’t have a fireplace.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  I cocked my head at him. “Yes, obviously I realize that now.”

  “Once you’ve had some time to cool off, I’m sure you’ll see this is the best thing for both of us.”

  Once I cool off? “I’m ice cold, Kurt. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “I don’t want to make a scene.”

  Jesus. I had pillows with more emotional aptitude. “Have I ever done anything since you met me that made you think I’m the kind of woman who appreciates a good scene?”

  He shook his head.

  “So what are you really doing here?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  My mind flashed back to the time I popped a pimple on his back, and I felt so low for a moment I thought I might faint. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Please.”

  “I was doing okay until you showed up, but the mere sight of your face has sent me spiraling into an agony of unmanageable hormones from which I may never recover.”

  “Sarcasm.”

  “Well spotted.” I glared at him and then dropped my attention to the workflows in front of me.

  “Do you still want me on the Primera project?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, letting more sass into my tone than I meant to. “Is our breakup going to affect the quality of your work?”

  “No.”

  “Then keep doing your job, Kurt, and leave me to do mine.”

  “Maeve—”

  “Stop saying my name like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m ever going to speak to you about something besides work again.”

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  “It is very much like that, yes.”

  “So you’re just my manager now, and that’s that?” he asked. “Aren’t you worried there’s a conflict of interest here?”

  I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You didn’t seem to think there was a conflict of interest when we were sleeping together?”

  “You know what I mean, Maeve. I just want to make sure you’re not going to sabotage my career like a woman scorned.”

  “God, were you this charming when we were together? Maybe I should be depressed that a catch like you slipped through my fingers.”

  “You don’t have to be a bitch.”

  “Don’t forget your present,” I said, mostly to highlight the fact that of all the things I was, a bitch wasn’t one of them.

  He grabbed the garbage bag off my desk. “What is it?”

  “Chess lessons and a golf book.”

  He blinked at me. “Wow. I didn’t expect you to actually tell me.”

  “You might consider working on your communication skills in the new year,” I said. “If you haven’t picked your resolutions yet.”

  “I’m sorry things worked out this way.”

  “Again, those words don’t make sense in that order, all things considered.”

  “I care about you, Maeve. I just want you to be happy.”

  How ironic that we want the same things now that it’s over. “Then leave my office and don’t come back unless you have an important update about one of our client projects.”

  He left with his head held high as if I was the one whose behavior had been regrettable, and for ages, I just gaped at the door, wondering what I was thinking. Sure, he was perfect for me on paper. Good job, nice—if not slightly vanilla—family, and a dedicated flosser. But there was no edge to him.

  Maybe that’s why I tried so hard to make it work. Not only did he seem pliable, but he seemed safe. He never would’ve hit me or shouted at me or intimidated me into thinking he might do either, and that realization made me sad. Because maybe my standards weren’t as high as I thought.

&
nbsp; Or maybe I was right the day I told Maddy a boyfriend could never fill the void in me that a baby would. Besides, I had the rest of my life to find a suitable companion. Whereas if I wanted a baby, I needed to get a move on yesterday.

  Looking back, it was crazy to think how close I’d been to choosing a donor when Kurt first asked me out. Was that why I said yes? I’d been so quick to change my plans, as if some small part of me wasn’t yet brave enough to face motherhood alone. But I’d stayed with him out of fear, and I knew now there were worse things than being single. Like having plenty of the wrong fucking company. Ugh.

  No use crying over wasted time. I’d rather pick up where I left off with renewed focus. Hell, I could be pregnant by Valentine’s Day if I buckled down. It seemed an optimistic prospect, but optimism was exactly what I needed in that moment. That, and any excuse that would make doubling down on my chocolate consumption socially acceptable.

  Then again, Chicago winters were a perfect excuse to put on protective weight. Which might not be a bad idea. Getting a little fat. I’d be able to hide the pregnancy for longer that way, so my colleagues would let me get on with my job. Which is all I really wanted. To be left alone.

  So, of course, my phone started ringing that very second.

  I stared at the screen for a moment, struggling to place the number. But when I remembered I was waiting to hear back from the bar about my scarf, I picked up.

  “Hi, can I speak to Maeve?”

  The voice sounded familiar, but I was sure my mind was playing tricks on me. “Speaking.”

  “Hi, Maeve. This is Finn from FedEx. We have a New Year’s kiss for you that we were unable to deliver.”

  My lips tugged towards a smile.

  “I’m just calling to see when it might be a good time to try again?”

  I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say.

  “I also have your scarf.”

  “You do?”

  “I think so,” he said. “It matches the description you left in your message anyway.”