“Thanks for not dragging me back down,” I say.
“I figured you had your reasons for being up here.”
I don’t tell her that the reasons just found me and I’m powerless to tell them to leave. Madeline shivers, drawing herself in tighter.
“You cold?”
“I’m fine.”
“These windows aren’t really built with insulation in mind.” I glance around for a jacket or a blanket or something. The only thing is the sweater I’m wearing, and right now I don’t think clothing removal sets the correct tone.
Neither does putting my arm around her and pulling her against my side, but I do it anyway. It takes Madeline a minute, but she relaxes into me.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Warmer,” she says, and we both stare out the window for a moment. Downstairs, it’s getting louder—not raucous, but excited. People love a shiny, new thing, and I can’t blame them.
“Do you make resolutions?” I ask.
“Nah, they never work. There are studies about it,” Madeline says, and I can’t help but smile at the dark forest through the glass because she read the studies. What a dork. “No one changes themselves because they get champagne-drunk and swear they’ll earn a million dollars or eat kale every day or finish their novel.”
She pauses, for a moment, then glances up at me.
“Why—do you?”
“Of course I do,” I say. “Every single year. I make one, and I really believe it for about twenty-four hours, that this is gonna bemyyear. And then by January second, I’m done with it.”
“But you keep doing it?”
“I’m an optimist. It’s easy to believe that January First Javier can do impossible things.”
Someone downstairs calls outOne minute!and the hubbub increases.
“What if you made one you could keep?” she asks. “Make one to pet your cat every day. Learn to bake cookies from scratch. Call your mom at least twice. Then a year from now, instead of thinking about what you didn’t do, you can be happy that Zorro was well-loved.”
Her arm is around my waist, her hand gently settled on my hip. I was listening to her so intently that I didn’t notice at first, and now my brain’s flooded with her touch.
“Isn’t that against the spirit of the thing?”
Madeline snorts. “You’re allowed to set yourself up for success. Trust me, I’ve been in therapy since I was, like, six.”
I take a deep breath, nod, and think for a moment. I could pet Zorro every day. I could perfect my lasagna recipe. I could put gas in my carbeforethe light comes on. Those are all solid, practical ideas that are eminentlydoable.
Then I look down at Madeline and pick the stupid, impossible promise anyway.
“All right, done,” I say.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“It’s a resolution, not a birthday wish.”
“But I want it to come true.”
“Javi,” she says, and I can’t help but like the way the nickname sounds in her mouth. “The whole point is that youmakeit come true.”
TEN!they shout below.
