Forced Resolve

“We’ve got everything,” Ahmed deposited an armful of plastic bags onto the chipped coffee table in his living room.

“Took you long enough, it’s almost midnight.” She tapped her wrist where a watch would be if this was 1997, but this wasn’t 1997, and nothing was there but pink skin. 

“I had to hunt around to find a place that was still open.” Ahmed defended himself, sliding his slim frame onto the secondhand sofa. Him and his girlfriend smushed together in the center where the sofa sagged. They’d only been dating a few months, so every holiday had been their first together this year, which was coming to a close soon.

Erin picked through the bags. She plucked out a box of chex cereal, chocolate covered peanuts, and a bag of pretzels. 

“Mix is a go!” She cheered, ripping open the peanuts and tossing a handful in her mouth. She then pulled out the bottle of sparkling cider, opposed to bubbly. Ahmed didn’t drink alcohol, but they both liked sugar well enough. Something twinkling caught her eye.

“You found them!” She cheered, popping on a pair of glasses with giant numbers as lenses. Ahmed slipped his own on.

“Fifty percent off since they’ll be worthless tomorrow. And watch this...” He pressed at the corner. The frames lit up and played a tinny song. Erin shrieked with delight and activated hers.

“This is it, the perfect New Year.” Erin hopped off the couch, intent on getting a bowl to create the mix in. Ahmed stopped her by tugging on her elbow.

“There’s more.”

He fished out two sparkly memo pads.

Erin tilted her head.

“You taking an online class or something?”

“What, no. It’s for New Years.” Ahmed explained. “We can write our resolutions on the first page and then keep track of our progress towards meeting our goal.” He tapped the glittering cover. “I got silver for me and gold for you, since you’re a morning person and I’m a night person.”

 “Oh.” She disappeared into the kitchen. Ahmed set to work scrawling down his resolution to the soundtrack of her shuffling through the overstuffed cabinets and the party in Times Square on TV.  She came back and dumped all the ingredients for the mix into the bowl and stirred it with her hands.

“See, like this...” Ahmed showed her his resolution: get a raise at work. 

“This is important to you, huh?” She asked, flipping the small pages of her own notepad. 

“For a relationship to grow, each person in a relationship has to be their best selves.” Ahmed told her. Erin scrawled something in her notepad and snapped it shut. She flung it to the corner of the coffee table where it bumped against a box of tissues teetering on the edge. Ahmed leaned to grab the memopad, but Erin blocked him with a gentle kick of her bunny slipper clad foot. 

“I want to read what you wrote so I can help you succeed.” Ahmed’s fingertips stretched.

“If you see it, it won’t come true!” Erin protested, swatting him.

“That’s Birthday Wishes, not resolutions.” He stood up from the couch and walked around the back of the sofa to get to the other side of the coffee table where he fetched the memo pad. He opened it.

She had written: Nope.

He frowned, patting the notepad on his hand.

“What does this mean?”

Erin shrugged.

“I don’t do resolutions.”

“Okay, so you didn’t before, but you’re willing to start now with me right?”

Erin fidgeted with her glasses, pulling them off of her face and running her fingertips over the frames.

“Nope."

“They don’t have to be super serious. It can always be something fun, like watch all of your favorite actor’s filmography or something. I did that one year.” Ahmed’s voice had a strand of worry in it that wasn’t there before.

“I just hate resolutions, drop it. I’ll use the notebook for keeping grocery lists or something.”

“A resolution is just a goal. Are you saying you hate goals? Or is it the commitment part?”

“No, I like goals, I just hate resolutions.”

“Why?” Ahmed asked. Erin shoved a fistful of pretzels into her mouth and chewed. Ahmed, deflated, tossed the notepad back down and slumped to his seat. Erin’s phone rang; she’d left it in the kitchen. She heaved a sigh and Ahmed popped up to get it for her. The caller ID had a picture of Erin’s twin sister (though no one would ever get them confused, as Erin was chubby and her sister was not.) 

“It’s your sister calling.” Ahmed walked over and offered the phone to Erin. She shook her head, muttered ‘nope’, and ate a fistful of mix. A text popped up that said ‘Happy New Year’.   “She wished you a Happy New Year.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Erin stared at the TV but wasn’t reacting to anything on screen.

“Did you fight? I thought you liked your sister.”

“We didn’t. I do.” 

“She’s sent a balloon and confetti emoji. Should I text back?”

“I don’t care.”

“Her feelings will be hurt if you just blow her off. Didn’t you say yesterday she is having a hard time right now?”

“I don’t want to lose weight.” Erin flung a pretzel at the ad on TV for the gym, it shattered but some salt got caught in the screen’s static and lingered. 

“Huh?”

“Every year my mom would vow to lose weight and she’d make me and my sister go in on the resolution. My sister kept skinny and mom was so proud, but it’s only because she picked up smoking in sixth grade.”

“I didn’t say your resolution had to be about weight loss-“

“But you wish it was right? I bet you think she’s pretty.” Erin ripped a tissue from the box on the table, knocking it to the ground. She didn’t pick the box up.

“Who?” Ahmed glanced. The TV had the statue of liberty on it. 

“My sister. All the kids at school liked her better than me too. They always said my sister was the hot twin. I was just a leftover who ate all the leftovers.”

Ahmed laughed; he didn’t mean too. He couldn’t help it. The insult was obvious but unexpected word play and he’d always been a sucker for sick roasts. This prompted a fresh wave of tears from Erin. Seeing he’d hurt her immediately cut off his giggles as sure as if he’d been punched in the gut.

He reached out to hug her, but she elbowed his arm off of her. 

“Do you think I’m fat?” Erin asked, bleary eyed.

“I mean, objectively…“ Ahmed trailed off as Erin's face crinkled like the tissue gripped in her hands.  “But it’s fine!”

“Well then you can just go!” She barked. 

Erin gestured at the door with an angry pointing finger. Ahmed glanced from it to the door and back to Erin. He retreated. He had his apartment key so could come back whenever he needed. He stepped into the hall and listened to her cry through the thin walls. 

He scrolled on his phone, not seeing the feed past his own circling thoughts. 

She was fat!

 Her chin and neck were plush when he ran kisses along them, her padded upper arms gave the best hugs, and her stomach pressed against him when they flipped over and switched spoon positions in the middle of the night. If he lied to her, she’d know he was being inauthentic.

Normally when she was like this he’d get her chocolate, but that seemed like it’d be the wrong move right now.

Finally, his eyes focused and he saw the time: ten minutes until midnight.

He’d been so excited to greet the New Years with a kiss, now that he had a sweetheart after years of singlehood.

How could he convince her he hadn’t meant to hurt her? He didn’t want her to change.

As he clicked on his phone a self-made model popped on his feed, winking at him as she posed in a glittery sequined dress that clung to her prominent butt.

He’d unfollowed most of his ‘social media hos’ (his joking name for girls he fawned over online but never interacted with beyond liking and commenting) when him and Erin had become official. This one had slipped through the cracks, she’d been posting less sexy selfies for a few months as she’d been in a relationship herself... but that was over, it seemed from the #freedom and #singlelife hashtags. Ahmed hovered over the unfollow button.

He frowned. This app kept a history of all activity, including likes and comments.

Since he’d been doing it as the objectionable images popped up, he’d never done a purge of his history. He scrolled through it, seeing reminders of the many women he’d ogled over the last few years.

He bolted up and knocked on the door.

“Erin! Erin!” He hammered. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

Ahmed didn’t have to use his apartment key, as Erin opened the door. Kind of. The chain latch was still locked. She glowered up at him.

“What?” She mumbled. 

“Look at this.” Ahmed passed her the phone through the gap in the door.

She blinked away tears, taking it. She tapped through the endless feed of ladies posed  in outfits that skirted violating the Terms of Service of the site the images were hosted on, many of them in skirts. 

“Your... what, naughty collection?” She unlatched the final lock and let him back into the apartment. She tried to return the phone, but he pressed it into her palm. 

“Notice a pattern?” He asked.

She sniffed.

“There’s a lot of chubby ones.”

Ahmed guided Erin back over to the couch as she scrutinized his internet history. They sat, watching the ball get ready to drop on TV out of the corner of their eyes.

“Knowing you look at other girls doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Looked, not look. Notice the dates?”

She tapped.

“None of these are recent.”

“Which means...?”

“You spent a lot more time with your hand before we got together.”

Ahmed snorted, but ignored the sick burn in favor of resolving this whole conflict.

“Which means I’m not settling; you’re what I want.”

She tossed the phone back into his lap and curled her arms around herself, turning away from him.

“How do I know you’re not just dating me as some sort of fetish thing?” She asked the tilted lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“How do I know you’re not just dating me to make your parents angry?” Ahmed countered.

“Aha, trick question! Neither of my parents love me enough to get angry at who I date.” Erin held up a finger in triumph at this sad reality.

“You ever date a brown guy before?”

“No, but-“

“We’ll see then.” Ahmed knew from experience that dads who didn’t bother showing up for any of a white girl’s birthdays would suddenly be invested if they found out the child they’d left behind was in an interracial relationship. “Look, I know I said the wrong thing. If I always had the right words, I’d be in sales, not graphic design and I wouldn’t live in this dump.”

Erin giggled, then scowled, angry at her own mouth for betraying her.

Ahmed picked up the box of tissues, plucked one and dabbed at Erin’s face. She didn’t shove him away this time. 

“I’m not very charming... but all I meant was that you were fine as you are.”

“You’re not going to get me a stationary spin bike next year for Christmas and urge me to make a resolution to use it every day?”

“Graphic Design, not sales, remember?” Ahmed chided. “It’d be a stretch for me to afford a normal bike.”

Erin snuggled with suspicion against his chest.

They watched the ball drop. He tasted salt when they kissed.