New Year's Eve

July 4th has always been my favorite holiday, but New Year's Eve is a close second. As a lifelong daydreamer, I thoroughly enjoy envisioning where the next 365 days will take me. My predictions are almost always wrong! Thankfully, the real journey tends to be far more surprising than I had imagined. 

Of the 34 NYEs I've experiencing on this spinning globe, my favorite ones have always taken place in warm climates. There's something magical about wearing short sleeves while waiting for the clock to strike midnight. 

The main character in my 13th novel, Callie Schneider, is spending her New Year's in Atlanta. She'll head to Miami the following day; that girl is always chasing the sunshine. I can certainly relate. 

xoxo,

Lisa

Chapter 10: DECEMBER 30

Our hotel in Atlanta is right beside the airport, in an area that doesn’t have much to offer besides lodging. The shuttle drops us off in front of the lobby, which twinkles with Christmas lights. While waiting for the driver to unload our suitcases, I glance through the parking lot in search of a restaurant that’s walking distance. Past the rows of cars and trucks, all I can see is a Holiday Inn and a Hyatt Place.

              “Anyone hungry?” I ask my crew. “I might go down to the hotel restaurant. Doesn’t look like there are any other options nearby.”

              The pilots tell me they’ll come downstairs to grab a bite, and Jordan says he will join us too. Tess, the short redhead who was flying in the back of the plane, informs the group that she’s too tired.

              We check in and ride the elevator up to our rooms. Mine is small and simple, with white walls and light gray furniture. I slide out of my uniform at record speed, eager to get some grub. It’s almost eleven o’clock; I rarely wait this long to eat dinner. After changing into a hoodie and leggings, I head downstairs.

              Have fun with the guys tonight, I text Andrew while waiting for the elevator.

              His response arrives instantly. You too, Cal. I hope you have a great New Year’s. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night.

              I shove my phone in the pocket of my sweatshirt, keeping my head down as I make my way through the hotel lobby. The hotel restaurant is dim and quiet; only a few tables are occupied. Frost lines the window panes on one side of the restaurant, giving that section a hazy glow. Jazz music is piped in through speakers. It plays softly in the background while customers dressed in business suits sip their drinks. I realize that my outfit is incredibly informal for a bar like this, but I decide against going back to my room to change.

One waitress appears to be covering the entire restaurant. She sashays from table to table, dropping off cocktails with elaborate garnishes on top.

              Nobody from my crew has arrived yet, so I select a corner booth and slide into the middle seat. The waitress shows up within seconds, offering me a menu. When I tell her I’m expecting a few more people, she returns with three additional menus.

              I’m browsing the appetizers, all of which sound delicious, when Jordan arrives.

              “Hi Cal,” he says. He sits down beside me, close enough for me to smell his cologne. He’s wearing a gray v-neck sweater with dark-stained vintage jeans. His arm brushes mine when he reaches for his menu.

              “You clean up nice,” I tell him, nodding at his attire.

              He smiles. “You, too.”

              “Liar,” I say, glancing down at my faded sweatshirt and leggings. “I only had one cold-weather outfit in my suitcase. So it was this or a strapless black dress.”

              Jordan lifts an eyebrow. “I’d like to see that, please. It’s not too late to go change... ”

              I’m taken aback by the implications of that comment. Before I have time to respond, both pilots join us. The slide in to my right, filling up the rest of the booth.

“Does anything on the menu look good?” the captain, an older guy with a 70s-style porn star mustache, asks us.

“I’m just here for the drinks,” Jordan tells him. “Haven’t really looked at the food.”

“A drink does sound good,” the first officer notes. He grabs the drink menu from the center of the table. “Looks like they have a bunch of craft beers.”

The waitress returns and takes our orders. I’m the only person at the table who asks for a non-alcoholic beverage. I glance around to see if anyone noticed, but my coworkers appear unconcerned. They are talking about New Year’s resolutions.  

“Do you have a resolution?” Jordan asks me.

I shrug. “Not exactly. They aren’t really my thing; I set goals all the time, not just on January 1st.”

“What are your current goals?” the first officer inquires.

“Hmm. Within the next few months, I would like to adopt a cat. I also wouldn’t mind if I got something published. Not necessarily one of my novels, but a poem or short story would be fine. I’d like to see something in print.”

Jordan nods. “Those sound like realistic aspirations. I hope you get published, Callie.”

“Wait, you write books?” the captain asks, glancing up from his menu. “For fun?”

I nod. “Um, yes. I’m a nerd. I wrote my first book several years ago. It’s addicting. It’s like getting a tattoo; once you have one, you want a million.”

“Where are your tattoos?” Jordan asks.

I bite my lip. “Oh, I don’t have any. It was just an analogy.”

“So you’re making comparisons to things you don’t even have…” he notes with a half-smile.

“I have a tattoo,” the captain announces, catching us all off guard. He lifts his shirt sleeve to reveal a slightly faded anchor tattoo.

“Nice. I see you were in the Air Force,” Jordan jokes, and we all burst out laughing.

The waitress arrives with our food and drinks. The guys raise a toast before taking a sip of beer. I clink my water glass against their beer mugs; nobody seems to care that I have the most boring beverage at the table.

“Can I have a bite?” Jordan asks, eyeing my spinach and artichoke dip.

“Sure,” I tell him. “If I can try your IPA.”

He scoops a heaping pile of dip onto a tortilla chip and pops the whole thing in his mouth. “That’s a fair trade.”

I grab his mug and take a sip. It’s hoppy, with a faint fruity aftertaste. “Kinda bitter, but not terrible,” I note aloud.

“You can have more,” Jordan tells me, reaching for another chip. “If you want.”

I swallow another mouthful and hand the glass back to him, fully aware that if I keep it in front of me, I’ll drink the entire thing. I lean back, into the booth cushions. They’re fluffy and cozy. The pilots are talking about home improvement projects, but I’m only half-listening as I polish off my spinach and artichoke dip.

“Cal,” Jordan whispers, wrapping an arm around me.

I look down at his fingers around my waist, surprised at the tingling soaring through my body. The pilots are still engrossed in conversation over the best way to construct a toolshed. I tilt my face upward, toward Jordan.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, the corners of his hazel eyes scrunching up as his mouth forms a partial grin. “You were off in space, Cal. I ordered you an IPA. My treat, since I ate half your food.”

I swallow. “Thanks, Jordan. I’m trying to cut back, so I might just drink half of it…”

“I’ll finish what you don’t,” he assures me. “Also got a flatbread for the table to share. I figured we are all hungrier than we originally thought.”

My phone buzzes from inside my pocket, but I don’t dare to check it. Jordan’s arm feels so good around my side. Mesmerized by the restaurant’s tranquil atmosphere, I remain completely still, trying to cling to this perfect scene. Everything has been spinning so quickly lately, spiraling out of control while I’ve stood, bewildered, at the center of the storm. But in this exact second, the world feels calm.

“You are beautiful,” Jordan tells me, his eyes locked on mine.

“Huh?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “I feel gross from flying all day. And I’m basically wearing workout clothes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “None of that matters. You stand out, Callie. You’re different.”

The waitress sets our food and drinks on the table, stirring me from the moment. A flatbread sits directly in front of me, still sizzling. Steam rises from the plate in circular wisps. I reach for a knife and carve myself a small slice. Jordan releases his grip on my waist. He slides one glass of beer toward me and raises the other one to his lips.

“We’re calling it a night,” the captain announces, placing a few bills in the middle of the table. “Early show for us tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to wait for the ball to drop?” I ask the pilots. “Fifteen more minutes until midnight…”

The first officer shakes his head. “Nah. We are old.”

“Older than dirt,” the captain tells us, chuckling as he rises from his seat. “Good night, guys.”

“Night,” I say as the pilots walk toward the elevators.

Jordan scoots closer to me. “Smile.”

Suddenly there’s a phone in my face. I grin as the forward-facing flash goes off.

“Instagram story?” I guess. “Do I look dumb?”

Jordan shakes his head. “No and most definitely no.”

He shows me the image. With the lighting in here and our complimentary complexions, the picture turned out pretty good. Jordan has a movie star smile, which makes for a great photo.

“I don’t post much on IG,” he reflects. “But I do add photos to my website every now and then, even though I have been out of the acting biz for a couple years. Not sure why I still update it. Some dreams die hard.”

“I’d like to see your website,” I tell him. I reach for one last slice of the flatbread. “Is it a blog? A portfolio of sorts?”

“Not a blog,” he clarifies. “It has my bio, union affiliations, and resume. I used to do career updates every time I landed a job, but I haven’t done anything in a while. Aside from being involved in local theater in Cocoa Beach.”

“Do you sing, or just act?”

“Both,” he says. “I’m better at acting, though.”

“I suck at acting, but my singing voice is ok. Or so I’ve been told,” I say, shrugging.

“I’d love to hear it,” Jordan tells me.

“Maybe someday. If you’re lucky.”

“Hey, I can send you the photo. Type in your number.” He hands me his phone.

I roll my eyes. “Really? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“So what? Doesn’t matter how old a trick is if it still works,” he says with a sheepish grin.

I type my number in his phone and hand it back to him. He looks at me for a second. The corners of his mouth move, as though he’s considering saying something. I lean in just a little bit. My cheeks are reddening but I can do nothing to stop this process.

“10, 9, 8, 7…”

We both turn toward the television screen near the bar, where a countdown flashes in big, bright letters.

“Six! Five!” I shout along with all the other patrons in the restaurant.

“Callie?” Jordan asks, scratching his chin while the countdown continues. “Is it, um, is it ok if I kiss you?”

“One! Happy New Year!”

I nod, knowing full well that I might regret this in the morning.

Jordan holds my face in his hands, gently, and pulls me toward him. His lips are soft. My body seems to melt into his; somehow I end up with an arm pressed to his chest, my fingers resting on his collarbone.  When I open my eyes, he’s smiling down at me.

“Thanks,” he says. “Happy new year.”

“Hmm. I…I have to go to bed,” I stammer, pulling my gaze from his. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. Just tired. We had a long day today.”

“Let me walk you back to your room,” he offers.

“That’s ok.” I place some money on top of the stack left by the pilots. “Thank you, though. Get some sleep, Jordan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hurry toward the elevator, never looking back. The lock screen on my phone displays a series of notifications, including the photo from Jordan. I quickly scan the other texts that came in. Mackie sent me a sweet New Year’s message and my roommates sent a couple photos from the house party they attended in the Mission District. Of course, there’s a message from Andrew.

You deserve everything good in the year ahead. Happy New Year, California.

I sigh and wait for the elevator to bring me to my floor. Then I hurry inside my hotel room, eager to scrub this night off my skin.

A message from Jordan lights up my phone screen while I’m washing my face. Didn’t mean to scare you off. Sleep well, Callie.

Without responding to anyone’s texts, I turn out the light and crawl into bed.