Honey & Love Read online

  honey & love

  a

  new year’s eve

  story

  by:

  jessica pots

  in this book

  copyright

  credits

  author’s note

  song list

  quote

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  about me

  honey & love

  Copyright@ 2018 Jessica Pots

  Published by Jessica Pots

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  To Millie, my wife and best friend of eleven years. You are the one person who keeps me afloat in this crazy world and because of your encouragement, I’ve managed to do the bravest thing I could ever imagine and write this book.

  To my dear friends, Lizbeth, Rian, and Melissa, thank you for the countless hours you spent as beta readers for this story.

  Thank you to Tiffany B. for proofreading this novella.

  Thank you to the readers.

  This novella wouldn’t be what it is without your support.

  Lots of love with all my heart, J

  author’s note

  Dear Friends,

  Firstly, I would like to wish everyone Happy Holidays!

  And as always, I would like to thank you in advance for reading this story.

  The holidays, for me, have always been one of the best times of the year. It is an occasion when families come together, to eat and laugh and appreciate one another. It is also when the upcoming new year gives everyone the opportunity to start anew.

  I wish you all peace and happiness, and I hope this year ends with a BANG, and next year gifts you with everything you’ve ever hoped for!

  Love, Jess

  song list

  “All I Want for Christmas Is You” — Mariah Carey

  “Puppies Are Forever” — Sia

  “Blue Christmas” — Elvis Presley

  “Homemade Dynamite” — Lorde featuring Khalid, Post Malone & SZA

  “Imagine” — John Lennon

  “Santa Baby” — Madonna

  “Jingle Bells” — Smokey Robinson and The Miracles

  “Winter Wonderland” — Ella Fitzgerald

  “Who has words at the right moment?”

  — Charlotte Bronte

  one

  honey

  I LOVE HER…

  Unquestionably.

  Undeniably.

  Completely.

  I breathe in the distinct aroma of pine along with the warm scent of sugar cookies. They were baked at some ungodly time hours ago while music played on the stereo and endless glasses of pinot noir were poured and shared.

  Last night was wonderful.

  Just like almost every night has been since I met her.

  I scan the large bedroom of the apartment in Wicker Park we’ve been sharing for the last three years. It used to be bare—white walls, no furniture, no life in it. Until we filled it. With everything we love…A framed print of Georgia O’Keefe’s Red Poppy. My Love’s eclectic music collection that consists of everything from opera to rock-n-roll to reggae. Our weird and nerdy magnet assortment which now sticks to the sides of the stainless-steel refrigerator in the kitchen.

  It’s warm here, safe, home.

  A photograph of her rests on the nightstand. In it, she’s seven years old and settled in her mother’s arms with wild hair and grinning a toothless grin. She was adorable then just as she is now.

  Now, she’s a woman who loves pink roses, eating cookie dough ice cream at late hours of the night, watching endless Star Trek reruns, despises when folks litter and who’s great at spotting authentic people when she first meets them.

  A tiny breath escapes me when I twist around to face her.

  With her fingers tangled in the hideous Santa Claus bedsheets which she insisted we put on the bed to usher in the holiday season, she sleeps. Shallow breaths leave her slightly parted lips and her shoulder-length red, red locks fall out everywhere blending in with Mrs. Claus’ cape.

  That blinding color is just a reminder that’s who we were known as in college.

  We were the two redheads. The wild ones. The girls who were always smiling.

  No one ever believed the color of our hair didn’t come from out of a box.

  It was the truth!

  The shade of these tresses has always been au naturale—hers and mine.

  I suppose for me it’s the result of being born to half-Irish parents. And for her, it’s probably because her great-grandmother, who she had never met, was a Welsh woman who it’s been said had “hair of fire.”

  It’s a shame I’m not graced with the spectacular hue of her emerald eyes just yet. But the light smattering of freckles that decorate her cheeks are on full display. She’s flawless, even beneath the morning light with sleep still scribbled across her features.

  A giggle bubbles up in my chest then I wipe the tiredness from my eyes which find the clock on the nightstand. It blinks bright and red, displaying that it is now 5:00 a.m. Sia’s “Puppies Are Forever” sounds softly from the radio. “Rise and shine Chi-Town.” The DJ laughs. “Now most of you are still in bed but for those of you who must be up early, just like I am right now…” A big yawn follows. “I’m wishing you a wonderful day ahead...” The DJ laughs more. “And I want you to know that if you’re looking to start life over on a clean slate, your chance is only a few hours away. So, get ready to put on your best outfit tonight along with a big smile and some sparkly shoes. Grab some champagne. Get ready to sing Auld Lang Syne. And be prepared to kiss the one you love!” She giggles. “Or maybe get ready to kiss the one you’re going to fall in love with.” Her voice fades and the music rises.

  It’s way too early in the morning…

  My eyes fix on the large window opposite the bed and I’m blinded by nothing but snow.

  The Chicago sky…

  White, white, white.

  Chicago.

  A city which sits on the shores of Lake Michigan.

  Home to nearly three million people, Wrigley Field and the Magnificent Mile.

  A city which invented our now beloved brownie.

  It’s a place I love.

  I focus on the view beyond the glass.

  Snow covers rooftops. It falls from the sky. It’s even stuck to the window ahead.

  It’s damn near twenty degrees Fahrenheit outside. And with the wind chill, it’s possibly below zero.

  I love this city during this time of year—so beautiful and full of life and cheer.

  The same human who three months ago wouldn’t have let you step in front of them in the Starbuck’s line without cursing you out and into the next century is now fumbling with the cash in their wallet offering to buy your coffee there and insisting that you accept it. Christmas makes people so nice. Even if it isn’t genuine, I say accept it, especially since you know it won’t last for long.

  A little laugh bubbles up in my chest.

  My eyes dance around the bedroom, over the colorful and twinkling lights along with the unopened gifts including the vacuum cleaner that my dear Mom thought was a fabulous idea to buy Love. I shudder at the thought and let it go. Then I freeze on the two glittery numbers that Love and
I are supposed to wear tonight for the grand opening of our baby. We bickered endlessly about these dresses knowing with the weather outside that we could possibly be stone-cold frozen before we made it to the red carpet in front of the building even if we arrived donning full parkas over them. But Love insisted that winter dresses, you know…long sleeve, turtlenecks, long hems… just weren’t cute. So, now it looks as though I’ll be rocking a super short and sparkly number tonight.

  I slant my head to the side and decide that just like the beautiful woman who’s been sleeping next to me for the last ten years, it is perfect. My cell phone buzzes, vibrating the nightstand.

  Ignoring it, I slide open the drawer and pull out the robin-egg blue box that I’ve been holding onto since the summer. I flip the top and flinch with Love exhales and shifts where she’s sleeping. Then my eyes are back on the single solitaire once again and I’m mentally kicking myself wondering why I haven’t asked her yet. Because I’m waiting for the perfect moment…It was supposed to happen Christmas morning near the tree, while we were having coffee and in our pajamas. But when my sister, her love interest and their new puppy crashed our party, I packed this ring away…again, and decided that I would ask the question later. And that was a week ago.

  Since then, our realities have just been a mess of overbooked schedules and endless obligations.

  After venturing out on our own three years ago as management consultants and then recently opening Crush—one of the hottest and newest nightclubs dedicated to women just like us in the city on West Hubbard Street, our lives have just been nothing short of hectic.

  Okay, maybe that’s an understatement.

  Our lives have been insane.

  And it hasn’t slowed down.

  Maybe it’s simply the city gal sort of way of life…

  We’re Chicago natives being born and having lived here all our lives—me in Lake View and she in Lincoln Square—still we call this city home unable to imagine ever living any place else.

  After graduating from Northwestern University—where we met—and majoring in communications and public relations at the same time and doing the whole look-for-your-dream-job sort of thing after, we both decided that the whole nine-to-five, boss-from-hell, completely-insane-coworkers thing just wasn’t gelling for us. We hated working for others. Our visions were too wild. Our ideas were “not mainstream,” as we had been told. We got tired of asking for permission. So, on one summer day, after strolling the riverfront pavilion and sipping slushies, we decided that on the following Monday, we would both quit our jobs, combine our savings and just go for it.

  And it was the best decision, together, I think we’ve ever made.

  Now, we sleep during the day much of the time since at night we’re usually living at Crush. We spend at least eighty percent of our lives sorting through business and the other twenty percent we try to make sure we spend with each other.

  Pretty difficult when you’ve just committed your life to a growing establishment.

  Yet, we vowed we would make it work.

  And so far it has.

  We knew our lives would be crazy at least until the new manager we had hired found her footing. And with the breakneck speed we brought her on board with and trained her to the best of our ability and introduced to her to everyone she needed to know—in one day to be exact—we were simply grateful she didn’t quit on the spot and run for the frickin’ skyline.

  A slow exhale slips from me.

  Tonight is the big night.

  The grand opening.

  Our do-or-die.

  It’ll be a ribbon cutting ceremony along with a soiree to follow.

  Crush is booked solid and will even be featured in a magazine—Chi-Town Nights—which highlights the city’s best hotspots. Tickets were flying out the door, and as a venue, the place is booked for months ahead.

  My phone buzzes.

  I ignore it and focus on the diamond ring.

  It buzzes some more crazily, so much so that it starts to slide across the nightstand and threatens to fall off the edge. Then it rings.

  I accept the call. “Honey, here.”

  “Um, yeah, Honey…” It’s Gemma, said new manager. “I’m really sorry…I-I-I know it’s 5:00 a.m. and you probably haven’t even had breakfast or coffee yet.” Her giggle is weak. “But we have a bit of a situation down here.”

  I groan.

  A fire? A flood? Did the building collapse?

  I dare not ask, terrified of the response.

  Not in the mood for it honestly.

  Realistically, I’d just love to lay in bed this morning with my Love. But I suppose when you own your own business those things just don’t often happen.

  “Um, yeah, so if you could get here as soon as possible, that would be great.” She sighs.

  My brows knot. “Are you there, now?”

  She barks out a laugh. “Yes, of course. Tonight is the opening night.”

  I scrub my face with a hand then make my hair messy. “Okay, give me an hour. I’ll be there.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She hangs up.

  I shove the jewelry box back in the drawer then stare at my phone for a beat, focusing on the endless messages there. Most of them are about work. But the others are from the very woman who brought me into this world.

  Mom: Did you ask her yet?

  I blink at the words feeling a little ashamed of myself.

  Me: No, not yet.

  Mom: What are you waiting for, Honey?

  The perfect moment…

  I smile, and it lingers when I gaze at my own name—Honey.

  After thirty years of being alive it still baffles me.

  As a little girl I wondered why I was named after something bees become aggressive over. When I questioned my mother over and over, she’d tell me that I had the best name of all. Mostly because it reminded people of something sweet. Then she’d kiss me on the nose and say it all over again.

  As I got older, the name only solidified everything about the woman I knew I’d become.

  I’m one who is mostly sweet, who prefers life to be smooth and loves to take things slow.

  It’s partly the reason why I’m still holding on to this ring it took me eight hours just to pick out!

  Mom: You’ve had the ring since forever, Honey. Just ask her!

  Me: I will.

  I promise, I will.

  Mom: Are you afraid of her response?

  No, absolutely not…I think.

  I glance over my shoulder at the woman I love who still sleeps peacefully.

  Me: No. I guess I’m just waiting, Mom.

  Mom: Now, I didn’t bring you into the world, Honey, to spend your life waiting…

  A breath leaves me, the same caliber of exhale I used as a teenager whenever my mother would scold me. It’s only extra annoying this morning as I do it because firstly, I need coffee, and secondly, I know she’s right.

  Me: Yeah, I know, Mom. It’s the same thing you tell me every-single-time you get the chance.

  Mom: I love you, Honey. I will see you tonight.

  Me: Yes, I’ll see you then.

  Another Christmas song takes over the radio’s airwaves. I drag my fingers through my messy hair, swiping it away from my face. A long ‘to do’ list runs through my mind. And it all feels like it’s heading my way like a freight train just blowing more steam the faster it chugs down the track.

  One-more-sigh slips from me.

  Before this night is out, even if I don’t get to the end of the very long agenda which awaits me, I will at least have done the most important thing which has kept me awake at night for the last six months…I will have asked her if she wants to share the rest of her life with me.

  It’s a promise.

  love

  IT HAPPENED OVER COFFEE…what now seems like years ago.

  I was just a broke college girl questioning where her life would go, and she was too.

  Yet, every time I found myself in her company, I fel
t so frickin’ rich.

  I think of the photograph she was always reluctant to show me of her at fourteen years old with braces along with acne-covered skin and chubby. She described herself as the biggest nerd who hardly had any friends and told me that her teenage years sucked epically. The memory still burns her. So, whenever she brings it up, I always kiss her and remind her that although she’s still the “biggest nerd” Chicago has ever seen, still she grew up to turn into one of the most beautiful swans anyone would ever lay their eyes on. She’s a woman now who still loves to play Scrabble, doesn’t eat lobster because the shell creeps her out and who would drive half way across this state to find a restaurant that serves the perfect deep-dish pizza.

  I remain on my side feeling the warmth of the sheets beneath my fingertips where she had been sleeping just a few moments ago. I still completely when she drags her fingers through her fire-red hair that falls down and hits the middle of her back in waves and over the snowman-print nightshirt she has on. She looks deep in thought.

  It’s one of the very best times when I love to just look at her—when her mind is focused.

  A soft song drifts from the radio reminding me that it’s still Christmas and that tonight is New Year’s Eve. And as much as I want to just lay here this morning and take in the view out of the large windows, I know I can’t. Because we have so much work to do…My inhales and exhales are soft as I gather my nerves and try not to think about how much tonight means to us along with the success of Crush.

  I had convinced myself leading up to right now that I wasn’t worried.

  And that everything would go perfectly.

  Crush would be the talk of the town.

  Honey and I would finally find success with our business idea…

  But that was a lie.

  The fact is, I’m petrified!

  I worry that now at thirty years old and beneath a mountain of business loans, promises and hopes, that everything will fail. I’m super sure that’s how going out on a whim makes you feel. It’s what taking chances and risks is all about. The fear. The potential for failure. It all puts a permanent hole in your gut that you simply learn to live with until things start to slowly come together.