Fernie, BC

My eyelids felt like they were glued shut with cheap craft glue. The New Year's party had been a solid 8 out of 10, mostly because the hosts parents had a surprisingly well-stocked liquor cabinet that I had managed to liberate a few key items from. My head was paying the price now, a dull thud behind my eyes like a distant bass line.

Thwack.

Something solid connected with my cheekbone. My left eye cracked open. My brain, sluggish and hungover, tried to process what had just happened. A foot. A small, sock-clad foot was dangling from the side of my bed, swinging gently like a pendulum.

I followed the foot upward, past the ankle, the calf, disappearing into a sea of grey fleece. The path led to Makaylah, asleep on the floor, curled into a tight ball at the base of my bed like a cat. Her head was pillowed on what looked like a copy of Beloved, the spine creased and the pages soft from use. One arm was thrown over the book possessively, the other tucked beneath her cheek. She was completely out, breathing deep and even.

She was wearing the grey bunny onesie. The one I'd bought on impulse, wrapping it for Christmas with my usual lack of finese. The grey fleece was soft, but the fit was all wrong, stretched tight across her. The little hood with floppy ears were pushed back.

My memory of the previous night was a collection of scattered Polaroids. I remember the countdown, the alcohol, Makaylah's laugh getting louder as the night went on. I remember us sitting on the roof for a bit, talking about nothing and everything like we always do.

A tiny snore escaped her. The foot that had assaulted my face twitched. I watched her for a minute longer, the morning light catching the subtle highlights in her hair.

Slowly, I shifted, my mattress groaning in protest. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light. They found mine almost immediately, dark and unfocused for a second before sharpening with recognition.

"Your foot has a mean right hook," I said, my voice a gravelly mess.

A sleepy smirk spread across her face. "It's a gift," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep. She flexed her foot again, her socked toes brushing against my jawline. "Beats your alarm clock, doesn't it?"

"My alarm clock doesn't smell like your feet." I swatted her foot away gently, my hand closing around her ankle for a second. Without another word, I shuffled over, the old bedsprings of my twin bed groaning in harmony with my movement. I lifted the duvet, creating a pocket of warm air next to me.

She didn't need a written invitation. Makaylah unfolded herself from the floor, abandoning her book on the carpet. She moved in a lazy crawl, the onesie making a soft shushing sound against my sheets as she navigated the small space. Her knee brushed my thigh, and I felt a familiar jolt. She settled against me, her back finding its perfect groove against my chest.

It was like breathing. We had been doing this in one form or another for over a decade, from fort-building sleepovers in my basement to sharing a single camping chair at a bonfire. My arm naturally draped over her waist, my hand finding the curve of her hip. The fleece of the onesie was cheap and synthetic, but it didn't matter. I could feel the muscle underneath.

"Happy New Year, Raj," she whispered, her head tipping back against my shoulder. Her hair, smelling faintly of my shampoo, tickled my neck.

"Happy New Year, Makaylah," I rumbled back, my lips brushing her temple. The thud in my head was starting to fade, replaced by a different kind of ache.

A sharp rap on the doorframe shattered the quiet. My body, still half-lost in the warmth of Makaylah's presence, went rigid. My arm, which had been resting comfortably on her hip, tightened involuntarily.

"Raj? You two decent in there?" Mom's voice was muffled by the wood.

"Yeah, Mom," I called out. "We're decent."

The door swung open, and my mother, Simran Dhami, stepped inside. Her eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with a look of fond exasperation. Makaylah, still in the ridiculous bunny onesie, had the good sense to sit up, leaning against the headboard.

My mother's gaze lingered on the discarded book on the floor. A tiny smirk played on her lips. She started moving, her path a deliberate tour of the wreckage of my room. She bent over, picking up a stray wrapper from a bag of chips and dropping it into the small trash can by my desk. She then nudged my discarded hockey bag deeper into the corner with the toe of her slipper.

She settled into the worn leather chair at my desk, crossing her legs. The scent of jasmine and warm vanilla followed her.

"So," she began, her eyes dancing between the two of us. "How was the party?"

"Good," Makaylah said, offering an innocent smile. "Quiet. Very responsible."

My mom's gaze shifted to me, one eyebrow arched in that way that meant 'I know you're full of shit'.

"It was fine, Mom," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Just a few friends. Countdown. You know."

"Hmm," she hummed, the sound laced with maternal skepticism. She leaned forward, her elbows on my desk. "Well, I was going to make a nice, greasy breakfast for two potentially hungover teenagers but..."

Both Makaylah's and my own stomachs rumbled in unison. Makaylah clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I couldn't help but grin.

"Okay, okay," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "You win."

"Breakfast," Makaylah said, her eyes wide with pleading. "Please?"

My mother's lips curved into a smile. "Alright. Give me fifteen minutes," she said.

I watched her go, the door clicking shut behind her. I turned back to Makaylah, who was already scrambling out of bed, shedding the bunny onesie as she went. She was wearing nothing underneath. She moved with an athletic grace, a stretch of her arms and back that made my breath catch.

"Let's go, lover boy," she said, over her shoulder, as she fumbled for the casual clothes she had living at the my house.

I pushed myself out of bed, the world tilting slightly. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a faded band t-shirt. We both got ready in my tiny room, bumping hips and elbows in the cramped space.

"Your mom is the best," Makaylah said, as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun. "Seriously. If my mom saw me hungover with you in my bed, she would have thrown orange juice at you and given me a lecture."

"Yeah, well, she's had a lot of practice dealing with drunk hockey boys," I said, running a hand through my messy hair.

We found her in the kitchen, the air already thick with the smell of sizzling bacon and cha. My mom was at the stove, her back to us, humming along to a tinny song playing on the small radio on the counter.

She turned, a spatula in her hand, and smiled. "Sit."

We sat. Plates appeared. Heaps of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and toast that was slightly burnt. Two steaming mugs of chai were placed in front of us.

Makaylah dug in liek someone who hadn't eaten in a week. I sipped my cha, the warmth spreading through me.

My mother sat across from us, a cup of cha in her hands, her expression unreadable. She watched us eat, her gaze shifting from me to Makaylah and back again.

"So, Makaylah," she said, her voice casual. "Any New Year's resolutions?"

Makaylah paused mid-chew, a piece of toast halfway to her lips. She swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of cha, and met my mom's gaze.

"To not screw up my last semester of high school." A smile touched her lips. "And hopefully get a scholarship. Somewhere warm. Preferably where I can play volleyball year-round and not risk freezing on the way to class."

My mom let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I like it." She took a delicate sip of her own cha, her gaze shifting to me. "And you?"

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking. "My main resolution was to get up the courage to ask Makaylah to marry me."

Makaylah choked. A sputtering cough erupted from her, and she sprayed a fine mist of spiced tea across the table. Her eyes went wide, her body wracked with coughs.

Across from me, my mother froze mid-sip, the mug hovering an inch from her lips. For a split second, her jaw hung slack.

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the small kitchen. I reached over and thumped Makaylah on the back. "Easy there," I said, a huge grin plastered on my face. "Don't die on me now."

Makaylah finally caught her breath, her face a blotchy red. She glared at me, her eyes narrowed. "You're an asshole," she wheezed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

My mother slowly lowered her mug back to its saucer, the clink of porcelain against porcelain loud in the silence. She stared at me. "Raj," she said, her voice low.

"What?" I said, still grinning.

"You are not funny," my mom said, but the corners of her lips twitched, fighting a losing battle against a smile.

Makaylah was still looking at me, her glare softening. A slow smile spread across her face. "You're lucky you're cute," she said, her voice a little shaky. "And that your mom makes a killer breakfast."

"That's what I'm counting on," I said, winking at her.

My mom shook her head, a long-suffering sigh escaping her. "You two," she said, but there was no real heat in it. She pushed her chair back and stood, gathering our empty plates. "Just... try to be responsible. For at least one more semester."

"We'll try," Makaylah and I said in unison.

My mom took the plates to the sink, her back to us once more.

Makaylah kicked me under the table. I yelped, more out of surprise than pain.

"What was that for?" I asked, rubbing my shin.

"That," she said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table, "was for scaring the crap out of me." She paused, her eyes locked on mine. "And also for making me think about it."

I leaned in too, closing the small space between us. "Think about what?"

"Getting married," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "To you."

The sounds of my mom washing dishes faded into the background. It was just the two of us, the table between us, the weight of my stupid joke hanging in the air, suddenly not so stupid anymore.

"Maybe," I said, my own voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe," she echoed, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Alright, you two," my mom called from the sink. "Breakfast is over. Makaylah, your mother called. She wants you home by noon."

Makaylah checked her watch. "I should go."

I walked her to the door.

"See you later?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

"You know it," I said.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my cheek. "Happy New Year, Raj," she whispered, before she disappeared out the door, leaving me standing in the doorway.