#newleaf100words

Halfway down the slope, I wiped out. I hated falling. It was embarrassing, especially with everyone's eyes on me. It wasn’t my first time on the hills, but going from skiing to snowboarding was a challenge.

My cousin sped by me. “That was bad.”

“Piss off.” I wanted to give up, but I’d made a resolution to get better than her.

Some guy stopped next to me, holding out his hand. “Alright?”

My cheeks heated. “Fine.”

“You learning?”

“Trying.”

“Maybe I can help.”

I laughed. “We’d be out here until midnight.”

“Fine by me.”

“Grow a pair. Ask her out,” Derek said.

“Sure, I’ll just say some cheesy line about my resolution being kissing her at midnight.” What was proper protocol for first kisses anyway?

“You need a wingman.”

“I need to accept my unchangeable fate.”

Derek grinned. “I’ll take that as a challenge. Claire!”

“No.”

“She’s my cousin; we’re a friendly species.”

I spun away from Derek, shoving into Claire and knocking her glasses off.

Red-faced, I picked up the pieces. “I-I’ll pay for them.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”

Fireworks coloured the midnight sky. The first of my set. The crowd across the lake cheered; they always started out loud, then they’d quiet down in awe as the fireworks got crazier. Couples kissed, families smiled, and friends joked around underneath them.

I used to share everyone’s happiness when I watched them shoot up overhead. Now happiness felt like a challenge. I made a resolution to stop being a downer. Depression was a cousin to my sadness, but I’d learn to conquer it.

This isn’t the New Year’s I planned.

Usually I’d be in some chalet, “having fun” at a family party, but I decided to stay home for the first time to be independent. Then my cousin convinced me to throw a party to help me reach my resolution of being social. Now it’s midnight and I’m locked in my bathroom with random people outside.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Anybody in there?”

The man and the woman sat by the lake, waiting for the fireworks that started at midnight. They pretended they were fine; she leaned her head against him, he buried his nose into her hair.

“Any resolutions?” he asked.

She wanted to say something trivial, but the pretense was becoming a challenge. With each miscarriage, they’d grown apart, their feelings barely a cousin of the love they once shared.

She swallowed. “We should take a break.”

“From trying or from each other?”

“Trying… We’ll always have each other.”