Page 75 of Not For Keeps
The last few days with Analyse have been…something else. I keep thinking there aren’t words for it, and then I look at her, really look at her, and I realize that maybe it’s because I’ve never felt anything quite like this before. Maybe that’s why there aren’t the right words to describe how she’s making me feel. Maybe it’s why no words feel great enough.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and instead of going to a party or the club, Analyse and I decided that we wanted to stay home with Maya…ringing in the new year with our favorite little girl.
Outside, it’s snowing like crazy. Thick, quiet flurries falling in sheets, frosting the windows and painting the world white. But in here, it’s all warmth. Pillows piled high, fuzzy blankets everywhere, the scent of butter popcorn lingering in the air. And them—my girls—curled up on the couch beside me, laughter soft and easy. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. No one else I’d rather be with.
Maya is curled between us under a mountain of pillows, head on Analyse’s lap, feet in my lap, holding the remote. “Okay,” she says, “one more movie and then we switch to the countdown.”
“You’ve said one more movie three times already,” I tease.
She gives me a look. “Princess rules!”
“Oh, you’re right, milady.” I hold up both hands. “I forgot that we are in the presence of royalty.”
Analyse snorts, brushing a hand through Maya’s hair. She looks over at me, eyes soft with affection, and for a second, it feels like time slows. This moment is one we’ll carry into every new year from now on. And it hits me in the chest—how much I needed this. How long I’ve been longing for something like it. It reminds me of memories I haven’t dared revisit in a long time. Moments I used to wish I could relive. And now, I think, I get my second chance.
The movie plays, something animated and with a lot of singing, but I’m not really watching. I’m too focused on the way Analyse smiles when Maya laughs, the way she absently traces circles along Maya’s arm. The way she glances over at me sometimes. And every time she looks over at me, I swear my heart stops for a moment, in awe of her beauty, of the way she makes me feel.
When the clock finally hits 11:45, Maya jumps up. “We need hats! And noise things!”
Analyse laughs. “You mean noisemakers?”
“Yeah, Mami! That’s what I said!”
She runs to the kitchen and comes back with a small stash of party supplies Analyse picked up from the party shop in town. Sparkly paper crowns, gold confetti poppers, and plastic horns. Maya hands me a silver crown and declares, “You’re King Mateo for the night!”
I raise a brow. “Do I get a throne?”
“Nope. Just a crown and a horn. Blow it!”
Analyse doubles over laughing as I give the horn the saddest attempt of a celebratory honk. We switch the TV tothe New Year’s countdown, and by 11:59, Maya is bouncing in place, half from excitement, half from sugar. I sit with one arm around Analyse, the other resting on Maya’s back, feeling like my whole heart is wrapped in this moment.
The countdown starts—ten, nine, eight…
Maya shrieks, jumping up and down on the couch.
Seven, six, five…
I look at Analyse. Her eyes meet mine.
Four, three, two…
She leans in, forehead against mine.
One.
Maya screams, “Happy New Year!” and starts blowing her horn like we just hit the jackpot. Confetti flies everywhere. One of the poppers explodes, glitter raining down on all three of us. But all I see is her.
I kiss her before I can think twice. It’s soft and unhurried—full of promise. It’s a kiss that feels like hope. The kind of hope that only comes when a new year begins, and you’re lucky enough to start it with the person who already feels like home.
When we pull back, she whispers, “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, chula,” I murmur.
And then Maya launches onto our laps, giggling, and we wrap her in our arms, holding her close. This is beginning to feel like forever.
After Maya finally comes down from her sugar and the New Year’s high wares off, we tuck her into bed. She’s out in minutes—curled up in a pile of blankets, arms flung wide, hair tangled around her pillow.
Analyse and I stand there for a moment, just watching her sleep. Both of us are tired, but it’s a type of tired that also comes with joy. This past year…damn. It’s the one I never saw coming. If you had told me in January that I’d be standing here, in this house, with a woman like Analyse and a kid like Maya—that I’d feel whole again, somehow—I would’ve laughed in your face. Hell, I would’ve told you you were out of your goddamn mind. And yet…here I am.
