ChristinaLaurenisthecombinedpennameoflongtimewritingpartners/besties/soulmatesandbrain-twinsChristinaHobbsandLaurenBillings,theNewYorkTimes,USATodayandNo.1internationalbestsellingauthorsoftheBeautifulandWildSeasonsseriesandvariousstandaloneromances.
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@ChristinaLaurenALSOBYCHRISTINALAUREN
DatingYou/HatingYou
Roomies
LoveandOtherWords
JoshandHazel’sGuidetoNotDating
MyFavoriteHalf-NightStand
TheUnhoneymooners
TwiceinaBlueMoon
TheHoney-Don’tListTHEBEAUTIFULSERIES
BeautifulBastard
BeautifulStranger
BeautifulBitch
BeautifulBombshell
BeautifulPlayer
BeautifulBeginning
BeautifulBeloved
BeautifulSecret
BeautifulBoss
BeautifulTHEWILDSEASONSSERIES
SweetFilthyBoy
DirtyRowdyThing
DarkWildNight
WickedSexyLiarYOUNGADULT
TheHouse
Sublime
AutoboyographyPIATKUS
FirstpublishedintheUSin2020byGalleryBooks,
animprintofSimon&Schuster,Inc.
FirstpublishedinGreatBritainin2020byPiatkus
Copyright?2020byChristinaHobbsandLaurenBillings
InteriordesignbyErikaR.Genova
Themoralrightoftheauthorhasbeenasserted.
Allcharactersandeventsinthispublication,otherthanthoseclearlyinthepublicdomain,arefictitiousandanyresemblancetorealpersons,livingordead,ispurelycoincidental
Allrightsreserved.
Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinaretrievalsystem,ortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,withoutthepriorpermissioninwritingofthepublisher,norbeotherwisecirculatedinanyformofbindingorcoverotherthanthatinwhichitispublishedandwithoutasimilarconditionincludingthisconditionbeingimposedonthesubsequentpurchaser.
ACIPcataloguerecordforthisbookisavailablefromtheBritishLibrary.
ISBN978-0-349-42685-3
Piatkus
Animprintof
Little,BrownBookGroup
CarmeliteHouse
50VictoriaEmbankment
LondonEC4Y0DZ
AnHachetteUKCompany
www.hachette.co.uk
www.littlebrown.co.ukContents
chapterone
chaptertwo
chapterthree
chapterfour
chapterfive
chaptersix
chapterseven
chaptereight
chapternine
chapterten
chaptereleven
chaptertwelve
chapterthirteen
chapterfourteen
chapterfifteen
chaptersixteen
chapterseventeen
chaptereighteen
chapternineteen
chaptertwenty
chaptertwenty-one
chaptertwenty-two
chaptertwenty-three
chaptertwenty-four
chaptertwenty-five
chaptertwenty-six
epilogue
acknowledgmentschapteroneDECEMBER26
Callmeharlot.Callmeimpulsive.Callmehungover.
Nooneeverhasbefore,butsomeoneabsolutelyshouldthismorning.Lastnightwasadisaster.
AsquietlyasIcan,Islipoutofthebottombunkandtiptoeacrossthefreezingfloortothestairs.MyheartisbeatingsohardIwonderifit’saudibleoutsideofmybody.ThelastthingIwantistowakeTheoandhavetolookhimintheeyebeforemybrainiswarmedupandmythoughtsarecohesive.
Thesecondstepfromthebottomalwayscreakslikesomethingoutofahauntedhouse;it’sbeenvictimizedbynearlythreedecadesofus“kids”run-stompingourwayupformealsanddownforgamesandbedinthebasement.Istretchtocarefullyputmyfootontheonejustaboveit,exhalingwhenIlandwithnosound.Noteveryoneissolucky;thatlooseboardhasbustedTheosneakinginlate—orearly,dependingonhowyoulookatit—moretimesthanIcancount.
OnceI’minthekitchen,Iworrylessaboutstealthandgoforspeed.It’sstilldark;thehouseisquiet,butUncleRickywillbeupsoon.Thiscabinisfullofearlyrisers.Mywindowofopportunitytofigureouthowtofixthisisnarrowingquickly.
Withabarrageofmemoriesfromlastnightrollinglikeamortifyingflipbookthroughmyhead,Ijogupthewidestairwaytothesecondfloor,ignorethemistletoehangingabovethelanding,roundthebanisterinmycandycanesocks,sneakquietlydownthehallway,andopenthedoortothenarrowersetofstairsleadingtotheattic.Atthetop,InudgeopenBenny’sdoor.
“Benny,”Iwhisperintothechillyblackness.“Benny,wakeup.It’sanemergency.”
Agravellygroancomesfromacrosstheroom,andIwarnhim,“I’mturningonthelight.”
“No—”
“Yes.”Ireachover,flickingtheswitchandilluminatingtheroom.Whileweoffspringhavelongbeenrelegatedtobunkbedsinthebasement,thisatticisBenny’sbedroomeveryDecember,andIthinkit’sthebestoneinthehouse.Ithaspitchedceilingsandalongstained-glasswindowatthefarendthatprojectssunlightacrossthewallsinbrilliantstripesofblue,red,green,andorange.Thenarrowtwinbedupheresharesthespacewiththeorganizedclutteroffamilyheirlooms,boxesofdecorationsforvariousholidays,andawardrobefullofGrandmaandGrandpaHollis’soldwinterclothes,frombackwhenbuyingacabininParkCitywasn’talaughablefinancialprospectforahighschoolprincipalfromSaltLake.SincenoneoftheotherfamilieshadgirlswhenIwasakid,Iwouldplaydress-upallaloneuphere,orsometimeswithBennyasmyaudience.
ButnowIdon’tneedanaudience,Ineedakindearandacold,hardshotofadvicebecauseIamonthevergeofhysteria.
“Benny.Wakeup.”
Hepushesupontoanelbowand,withhisotherhand,wipesthesleepfromhiseyes.HisAussieaccentcomesouthoarse:“Whattimeisit?”
IlookatthephoneIhavegrippedinmyclammypalm.“Fivethirty.”
Hestaresatmewithsquinty,incredulouseyes.“Issomebodydead?”
“No.”
“Missing?”
“No.”
“Bleedingprofusely?”
“Mentallybleeding,yes.”Istepdeeperintotheroom,wrapmyselfupinanoldafghan,andsitinawickerchairthatfacesthebed.“Help.”
Atfifty-fiveyearsold,Bennystillhasthesamefluffysandy-brownhairhe’ssportedmyentirelife.Itreachesjustpasthischin,wavylikeitwaspermedforyearsandatsomepointdecidedtostaythatway.Iusedtoimaginehewasaroadieforsomeagingeightiesrockband,oranadventurerwholedrichtouriststotheirdoomoutinthebush.Thereality—he’saPortlandlocksmith—islessexciting,buthisjangleofturquoisebraceletsandbeadednecklacesatleastletsmepretend.
Rightnowthathairismostlyatangledhaloofchaosaroundhishead.
Witheachofthetwelveotherbodiesinthishouse,I’vegotdeephistory,butBennyisspecial.He’sacollegefriendofmyparents—allofthegrown-upsinthishouseattendedtheUniversityofUtahtogether,exceptKyle,whomarriedintothegroup—butBennyhasalwaysbeenmorefriendthanparentfigure.He’sfromMelbourne,even-temperedandopen-minded.Bennyistheeternalbachelor,thewiseadviser,andtheonepersoninmylifeIknowIcancountontogivemeperspectivewhenmyownthoughtsareswervingoutofcontrol.
WhenIwasakid,IwouldsaveupmygossipuntilIsawhimovertheFourthofJulyweekendorChristmasbreak,andthenunloadeverythingthemomentIhadhimtomyself.Bennyhasawayoflisteningandgivingthesimplest,mostjudgment-freeadvicewithoutlecturing.I’mjusthopinghislevelheadcansavemenow.
“Okay.”Heclearssomeofthegraveloutofhisthroatwithacoughandbrushesafewwaywardstrandsofhairoutofhisface.“Let’shaveit.”
“Right.So.”Despitemypanicandthetickingclock,Idecideit’sbesttoeasehimingentlytothisconversation.“Theo,Miles,Andrew,andIwereplayingboardgameslastnightinthebasement,”Istart.
Alow“Mm-hm”rumblesoutofhim.“Astandardnight.”
“Clue,”Istall,tuggingmydarkhairovermyshoulder.
“Okay.”Benny,asever,isblissfullypatient.
“Milesfellasleeponthefloor,”Isay.Myyoungerbrotherisseventeenand,likemostteenagers,cansleeponapointyrock.“AndrewwentouttotheBoathouse.”
This“Mm-hm”isachucklebecauseBennystillfindsithilariousthatAndrewHollis—Theo’solderbrother—finallyputhisfootdownwithhisfatherandfoundawayoutoftheinfantilizingbunkbedsituation:hemovedintotheBoathouseforthedurationoftheChristmasholiday.TheBoathouseisasmall,draftyoldbuildingabouttwentyyardsfromthemaincabin.WhatcracksmeupisthattheBoathouseisn’tanywherenearabodyofwater.It’smostfrequentlyusedasanextensionofthebackyardinthesummerandmostassuredlynotsetupforovernightgueststotheRockyMountainsinDecember.
AndasmuchasIhatednotseeingAndrewHollisinthetopbunkacrosstheroom,Ihonestlycan’tblamehim.
Noonesleepinginthebasementisactuallyakidanymore.It’sbeenwellestablishedthatTheocan(ahem)sleepanywhere,mybrother,Miles,idolizesTheoandwillgowhereverTheois,andIputupwithitbecausemymotherwouldmurdermebarehandedifIevercomplainedabouttheHollisfamily’sabundanthospitality.ButAndrew,nearlythirtyyearsold,wasapparentlydoneplacatingtheparents,andtookacampingcotandsleepingbagandstrolledhiswayoutofthecabinourfirstnighthere.
“We’dallhadacoupledrinksbythen,”Isay,thenamend,“Well,notMiles,obviously,buttherestofus.”
Benny’sbrowslift.
“Two.”Igrimace.“Eggnog.”
IwonderifBennyknowswherethisisgoing.IamanotoriouslywussydrinkerandTheoisanotoriouslyhornyone.Though,tobefair,Theoisjustnotoriouslyhorny.
“TheoandIwentupstairstograbsomewater.”Ilickmylipsandswallow,suddenlyparched.“Um,andthenwewerelike,‘Let’sdrunkenlygoforawalkinthesnow!’butinstead…”Iholdmybreath,stranglingmywords.“Wemadeoutinthemudroom.”
Bennygoesstill,andthenturnshissuddenly-wide-awakehazeleyesonme.“You’retalkingaboutAndrew,right?YouandAndrew?”
Andthereitis.Withthatgentlequestion,Bennyhashitthenailonthehead.“No,”Isayfinally.“NotAndrew.Theo.”That’sme:harlot.
Withthebenefitofsobrietyandthejarringclarityofthemorningafter,lastnight’sbrief,franticscramblefeelslikeablur.DidIinitiatethings,ordidTheo?AllIknowisthatitwassurprisinglyclumsy.Notatallseductive:teethclashing,somefeverishmoansandkisses.Hishandbasicallylatchedontomychestinamovethatfeltmorebreast-examthanpassionate-embrace.That’swhenIpushedhimaway,and,withaflailingapology,duckedunderhisarmandrandowntothebasement.
IwanttosmothermyselfwithBenny’spillow.ThisiswhatIgetforfinallysayingyestoRickyHollis’sboozyeggnog.
“Holdon.”Bending,Bennypullsabackpackupfromthefloornearthesideofthebedandretrievesalong,thinone-hitter.
“Seriously,Benedict?It’snotevenlightout.”
“Listen,Mayhem,you’retellingmeyoumadeoutwithTheoHollislastnight.Youdon’tgettogivemeshitfortakingahitbeforeIheartherestofthis.”
Fairenough.Isigh,closingmyeyesandtiltingmyfacetotheceiling,sendingasilentwishtotheuniversetoobliteratelastnightfromexistence.Unfortunately,whenIopenthemagain,I’mstillhereintheatticwithBenny—who’stakingadeepinhaleofweedbeforesunrise—andabucketfulofregretsettlinginmygut.
Bennyexhalesaskunkyplumeandsetsthepipebackinthebag.“Okay,”hesays,squintingoveratme.“YouandTheo.”
Iblowmybangsoutofmyface.“Pleasedon’tsayitlikethat.”
Heraiseshiseyebrowslike,Well?“YouknowyourmomandLisahavebeenjokingalltheseyears…right?”
“Yeah.Iknow.”
“Imean,you’reapeople-pleaser,”hesays,studyingme,“butthisgoesaboveandbeyond.”
“Ididn’tdoittomakeanyonehappy!”Ipause,considering.“Idon’tthink.”
It’salong-standingjokethat,sincewewerekids,ourparentshopedTheoandIwouldsomedayenduptogether.Thenwe’dofficiallybefamily.AndIsuppose,onpaper,wemakesense.Wewerebornexactlytwoweeksapart.Wewerebaptizedonthesameday.WeslepttogetherinthebottombunkuntilTheowasbigenoughtobetrustednottojumpoffthetop.Hecutmyhairwithkitchenscissorswhenwewerefour.IcoveredhisfaceandarmswithBand-AidseachtimewewereleftalonetogetheruntilourparentsgotsmartandstartedhidingtheBand-Aids.Sothatwecouldbeexcusedfromthetable,Iusedtoeathisgreenbeansandhe’deatmycookedcarrots.
Butallofthatiskidstuff,andwearen’tkidsanymore.Theoisaniceguy,andIlovehimbecausewe’repracticallyfamilyandIsortofhaveto,butwe’vegrownintosuchdifferentpeoplethatsometimesitseemsliketheonlythingswehaveincommonhappenedmorethanadecadeago.
Moreimportantly(read:pathetically),I’veneverbeenintoTheo,primarilybecauseI’vehadacrazy,silent,soul-crushingcrushonhisolderbrotherforwhatfeelslikemywholelife.Andrewiskind,warm,gorgeous,andhilarious.Heisplayful,flirty,creative,andaffectionate.Heisalsodeeplyprincipledandprivate,andI’mprettysurethere’snothingthatwouldturnhimoffawomanfasterthanknowingshemadeoutwithhisyounger,womanizingbrotherwhileundertheinfluenceofeggnog.
Benny,theonlyotherpersoninthishousewhoknowsaboutmyfeelingsforAndrew,watchesmeexpectantly.“So,whathappened?”
“Weweretipsy.Weendedupinthemudroom,thethreeofus:meandTheoandhistongue.”Ishovethetipofmythumbintomymouth,bitingit.“Tellmewhatyou’rethinking.”
“I’mtryingtounderstandhowthishappened—thisisn’tlikeyouatall,Noodle.”
Defensivenessflaresbrieflybutisalmostimmediatelyextinguishedbyself-loathing.Benny’smyJiminyCricket,andhe’sright:thatisn’tlikeme.“Maybeitwasasubconsciousshove:IneedtogetoverthisstupidAndrewthing.”
“Yousureaboutthat?”Bennyasksgently.
Nope.“…Yes?”I’mtwenty-six.Andrewistwenty-nine.EvenIhavetoadmitthatifanythingwasevergoingtohappenbetweenus,itwouldhavehappenedbynow.
“Soyoufigured,whynotTheo?”Bennyasks,readingmythoughts.
“Itwasn’tthatcalculated,okay?Imean,he’snotexactlyhardtolookat.”
“Areyouattractedtohim,though?”Bennyscratcheshisstubblychin.“Thatfeelslikeanimportantquestion.”
“Imean,lotsofwomenseemtobe?”
Helaughs.“Thatisn’twhatIasked.”
“IguessImusthavebeenlastnight,right?”
“And?”heasks,grimacinglikeheisn’tsurehewantstoknow.
“And…”Iwrinklemynose.
“Yourexpressionistellingmeitwasterrible.”
Iexhale,deflating.“Sobad.”Ipause.“Helickedmyface.Like,myentireface.”Benny’swincedeepens,andIpointafingerathim.“Youaresworntosecrecy.”
Heholdsupahand.“WhowouldItell?Hisparents?Yours?”
“HaveIruinedeverything?”
Bennygivesmeanamusedsmile.“Youarenotthefirsttwopeopleinhistorytohavedrunkenlymadeout.Butmaybethiswasacatalystinaway.Theuniverseistellingyoutomoveon,onewayoranother,whereAndrewisconcerned.”
Ilaughbecausethisfeelsgenuinelyimpossible.Howdoesonemoveonfromamansokindofheartandfineofass?It’snotlikeIhaven’ttriedtogetoverAndrewfor,oh,thepastthirteenyears.“Anyideahow?”
“Idon’tknow,Noodle.”
“DoIpretendlikenothinghappened?DoItalkaboutitwithTheo?”
“Definitelydon’tignoreit,”Bennysays,andasmuchasIwashopingtogetpermissiontoputmyheadinthesand,Iknowhe’sright.AvoidingconfrontationistheJonesfamily’sbiggestvice.Myparentscouldprobablycountononehandthenumberoftimesthey’vematurelydiscussedtheirfeelingswitheachother—whichisprobablywhattheirdivorcelawyerwouldtellyou.“Gowakehimupbeforethedaygetsrolling.Cleartheair.”
Heglancesoutthewindow,attheskythatisreluctantlybrightening,andthenbacktome.Panicmustbebleedingintomyexpression,becauseheputsacalminghandonmine.“Iknowit’syournaturetosmoothoutproblemsbyavoidingconfrontation,butit’sourlastdayhere.Youdon’twanttoleavewiththatlingeringbetweenyou.ImaginecomingbacktothatnextChristmas.”
“You’rethemostemotionallyintuitivelocksmithalive,youknow.”
Helaughs.“You’redeflecting.”
Inod,tuckingmyhandsbetweenmykneesandstaringdownatthewornwoodfloor.“Onemorequestion.”
“Mm-hm?”Hishumtellsmeheknowsexactlywhat’scoming.
“DoItellAndrew?”
Hereboundsaquestionrightback:“WhywouldAndrewneedtoknow?”
Iblinkuptohisfaceandcatchthegentlesympathythere.Oof.He’sright.Andrewdoesn’tneedtoknow,becausehewouldn’tcareonewayoranother.chaptertwo
I’mprayingthateveryoneisstillasleepwhenIsneakbackoutofBenny’sroom,andforthemostpart,thehouseissilentandstill.Myplan:WakeupTheo,askhimtocometalktomeinthekitchen—no,notthekitchen,tooclosetothemudroom—beforeanyoneelseisup.Cleartheair.Makesureweknowitwasafluke,nothingtobeweirdabout.Itwastheeggnogkissing!Definitelynothinganyoneelseneedstoknowabout.
AmIbeingtooparanoidaboutasloppykissandaboobgrope?Withoutadoubt.ButTheoislikefamily,andthesethingstendtogetmessy.Letmenotbetheproverbialstickofdynamiteinthiscomfortablechosen-familydynamic.
Lookbackonahundredothermorningshere,andI’musuallyawakeinthekitchen,quietlycheatingatsolitairewhileRicky,AndrewandTheo’sdad,munchesoncookiesandzombie-sipshiscoffee,slowlycomingtolife.MaelynJones,youandmearetwopeasinapod,he’llsayoncehe’sverbal.Webothwakeupwiththesun.Butthisparticularmorning,Rickyisn’tupyet.InhisplaceisTheo,bentoveragiantbowlofLuckyCharms.
It’sstilldisorientingtoseehimwithshorthair.ForaslongasIcanrememberTheohaddark,wavysurferhairhe’dsometimespullintoashortponytail,butit’sgone,cutoffonlydaysbeforeweallarrivedatthecabin.NowIstandinthedoorway,surroundedbystrandsofmetallicgarlandandtissuepaperhollythetwinsandAndrewhungupyesterdaymorning,staringatthetopofTheo’sshort-hairedheadandthinkinghelookslikeastranger.
IknowheknowsI’mhere,buthedoesn’tacknowledgeme;he’sfeigningadeepfascinationwiththenutritionalinformationonthecerealboxinfrontofhim.Milkdripsfromhischin,andheswipesitawaywiththebackofhishand.
Mystomachturnstostone.“Hey,”Isay,foldingastraydishtowel.
Hestilldoesn’tlookup.“Hey.”
“Yousleepokay?”
“Sure.”
IcrossmyarmsinfrontofmeandamremindedthatI’mbraless,inpajamas.Thelinoleumfloorisfreezingbeneathmybarefeet.“You’reupearly.”
Onebulkyshoulderliftsanddrops.“Yeah.”
WhenIblink,Isuddenlyseewhat’shappeningwithcleareyes.I’mnotdealingwithLifelongFriendTheorightnow.ThisisNextMorningTheo.ThisistheTheomostgirlssee.MymistakewasinassumingthatI’mnotmostgirls
Imovetothecoffeepot,stuffingafilterin,fillingitwithdarkroast,settingittobrew.Thedeepheadinessofcoffeefillsmyhead,and,foronlyabreath,itdistractsmefrommyangst
IglanceattheemptyAdventcalendaronthecounter—emptynotbecauseyesterdaywasChristmasbutbecauseAndrewloveschocolateandfinisheditfivedaysago.HisandTheo’smom,Lisa,madesomesortofcookiebarsonthefirstdayofvacation,butthey’vebarelybeentouchedbecausenobodyiswillingtoriskatoothafterwatchingDadcrackoneofhis.
Iknoweverydishinthiskitchen,knoweachpotholder,towel,andplacemat.Thisplaceismoreprecioustomethanevenmyownchildhoodhome,andIdon’twanttotarnishitwithstupid,eggnog-soakeddecisions.
Itakeadeepbreathandthinkofwhywecomehere:Tospendqualitytimewithourchosenfamily.Tocelebratetogetherness.Wedriveeachothercrazysometimes,butIlovethisplace;Ilookforwardtocominghereallyear.
Theodropshisspoonontothetable,clatteringmebackintothistense,loadedroom.Heshakesthecerealboxoverhisbowl,refillingit.
Itrytoengageagain:“Hungry?”
Hegrunts.“Yeah.”
Igivehimthebenefitofthedoubt.Maybehe’sembarrassed.LordknowsIam.MaybeIshouldapologize,makesurewe’reonthesamepage.“Listen,Theo.Aboutlastnight…”
Helaughsintoabiteofcereal.“Lastnightwasnothing,Mae.Ishouldhaveknownyou’dmakeahugedealoutofit.”
Iblink.Ahugedeal?
Briefly,Iimaginehurlingtheclosestobjectwithinreachathishead.“Whatthehellisthat—”Ibegin,butfootstepsstopmytiradeandsaveTheofromgettingbrainedbyacast-irontrivet.
Rickycomesintotheroom,lettingoutagravelly“Mornin’.”
Hegrabsamug,andIgrabthepot,fillinghiscupwhenhereachesoutexpectantly,andweshuffletowardthetable:ourfamiliarlittledance.ButthenRickyfalters,unsurewheretositwithanunexpectedTheoinhischair,andhepullsoutanotherone,sittingwitharelievedgroan,inhalinghiscoffee.
IwaitforRickytosayit.Waitforit.MaelynJones,youandmearetwopeasinapod.Butthewordsdon’tcome.Theo’screatedapocketofcoldsilenceintheordinarilywarmspace,andatinyflickerofpanicsparksbeneathmyribs.RickyistheKingofTradition,andIamtheobviousheirtohisthrone.ThisistheoneplaceintheworldwhereI’veneverquestionedwhatI’mdoingorwhoIam,butlastnightTheoandIwentoff-script,andnoweverythingisweird.
Iglareacrossthetableathim,buthedoesn’tlookup.HetucksintohisLuckyCharmslikeahungoverfratboy.
Theoisadick.
Iamsuddenlyblindinglyfurious.Howcanhenotevenhavetheballstolookatmethismorning?AfewdrunkenkissesshouldbenothingtoTheoHollis,ascratchthat’seasilypolished.Instead,itfeelslikehe’sdeliberatelygougingdeeper.
Rickyslowlyturnstolookatme,andhisquestioningexpressionpenetratesmyperipheralvision.MaybeTheoisright.MaybeIammakingtoobigadealoutofthis.Witheffort,Iblinkandpushbackfromthetabletostand.
“ThinkI’lltakemycoffeeoutsideandenjoythelastmorninghere.”
There.IfTheohashalfabrain—whichispresentlyupfordebate—he’lltakethehintandfollowmeoutsidetotalk.
ButonceI’msittingontheporchswing,bundledupinadowncoat,thicksocks,boots,andablanket,I’mcoldfromtheinsideout.Idon’twanttoshakethefoundationofthisspecialplace,whichiswhyI’veneverbeentemptedbyTheo’sflirtation,oradmittedtoanyonebutBennythatIhaverealandtenderfeelingsforAndrew.Ourparents’bedrockfriendshipisfarolderthananyofuskids.
LisaandMomwereroommatesincollege.Dad,Aaron,Ricky,andBennyalllivedtogetherinaramshacklerentaloffcampus;theygavetheoldVictoriantheincrediblycreativenameofInternationalHouseofBeer,andfromphotositlookedlikesomethingoutofAnimalHouse.Aftergraduation,AaronmovedtoManhattan,wherehemetandmarriedKyleLiangandtheyeventuallyadoptedtwins.RickyandLisastayedinUtah,BennyroamedtheWestCoastbeforesettlinginPortland.MyparentsputdownrootsinCalifornia,whereIwasbornand,eventually,Miles—theSurpriseBaby—whenIwasnine.Theydivorcedthreeyearsago,andMomishappilyremarried.Dad…notsomuch.
Aaronhasoftensaidthatthesefriendshipssavedhislifewhenhismomandbrotherdiedunexpectedlyinacaraccidentduringjunioryear,andthegroupralliedaroundhimtocelebratetheholidaystogether.Evenwithalltheseupsanddownsinlife,thetraditionstuck:everyDecembertwentiethwegiveourselvesovertoRicky’shighlyspecificanddetailedChristmasitinerary.Wehaven’tmissedasingleyearaslongasI’vebeenalive,eventheyearmyparentsdivorced.Thatyearwasn’tcomfortable—strainedisanunderstatement—butsomehowspendingtimewithournon-bloodfamilyhelpedsoftenthedislocationwithinourbloodfamily.
Thevacationhasalwaysbeenthecelebratoryredcircleonmycalendarcountdown.ThecabinismyoasisnotonlybecauseAndrewHollisishere,butalsobecauseit’stheperfectwintercabin,theperfectamountofsnow,theperfectpeople,andtheperfectlevelofcomfort.TheperfectChristmas,andIdon’twanttochangeathing.
SodidIjustcompletelyruineverything?
Ileanforwardandhugmyknees.Iamamess
“You’renotamess.”
Istartle,lookinguptofindAndrewstandingoverme,grinningandholdingasteamingmugofcoffee.Withaviewofhisfaceinthebrightmorninglight—mischievousgreeneyes,theshadowyhintofstubble,andpillowcreasesonhisleftcheek—mybodyreactspredictably:hearttakesaflyingleapoffacliffandstomachsinkswarmandlowinmybelly.HeisbothexactlywhoIwantedtoseerightnowandthelastpersonIwanttoknowwhat’sbotheringme.
Tryingtorememberwhatmyhairlookslike,Ipulltheblanketuptomychin,wishingI’dtakenthetimetoputonabra.“WasItalkingtomyself?”
“Yousurewere.”Hesmiles,andLord,ifthesundoesn’tcomeoutfrombehindtheclouds.DimplessodeepIcouldloseallmyhopesanddreamsinsidethem.Iswearhisteethsparkle.Asifoncue,aperfectbrowncurlfallsoverhisforehead.Youhavegottobekiddingme.
AndohmyGod,Imadeoutwithhisbrother.Guiltandregretmixsourlyinthebackofmythroat.
“DidIrevealmyplanstooverthrowthegovernmentandinstallBeyoncéinherrightfulplaceasourfearlessleader?”Iask,deflecting.
“Imusthavecomeinafterthatpart.”Andrewgazesatmewithamusement.“Ijustheardyousaythatyou’reamess.”Something’sinhisexpression,someplayfultwinkleIcan’tquitetranslate.Dreadgivesmeaswiftkicktothesolarplexus.
Ipointtohisface.“What’shappeninghere?”
“Oh,nothing.”Hesitsdownbesideme,putshisarmaroundmyshoulders,andplantsakissonthetopofmyhead.Thekissisdistractingenoughforthedreadtodissolve,andIworktonotgrabforhimashepullsaway.IfIcouldeverbeonthereceivingendofalong,tightAndrewHollishug,itwouldbetheaffectionequivalentofchuggingdownatallglassofwateronascorchingday.IknowI’veneverdeservedhim—he’stoogoodforanymortal—butitneverstoppedmefromwantinghimanyway.
Afilmofuneasesettlesbackovermewhenhelaughsoutmynameagainstmyhair.
“You’reawfullychipperthismorning,”Isay.
“Andyouarenot,”heremarks,leaningforwardtoplayfullystudymyface.Theheadphonesaroundhisneckfallforwardslightly,andIcantellheneverbotheredtoturnoffthemusic;“SheSellsSanctuary”bytheCultfilterstinnilythroughthem.“What’sgoingon,Maisie?”
Thisiswhatwedotogether;webecomeourold-personcharactersMandrewandMaisie.Wemakeourvoicesshakyandhigh-pitched—toplay,toconfide,totease—butI’mtoofreakedouttoplayalong.“Nothing.”Ishrug.“Didn’tsleepwell.”Theliefeelsoilyonmytongue.
“Roughnight?”
“Um…”Myinternalorgansdisintegrate“Sortof?”
“Soyouandmybrother,huh?”
Everythinginmyheadisincinerated.Brainashblowsoutontothesnow.“OhmyGod.”
Andrew’sshouldersliftwhenhelaughs.“Youtwokids!Sneakingaround!”
“Andrew—it’snotathing—Idon’t—”
“No,no.It’sokay.Imean,nooneissurprised,right?”Hepullsbacktogetalookatmyexpression.“Hey,relax,you’rebothadults.”
Igroan,buryingmyfaceinmyarms.Hedoesn’tgetit,andworse—hereallydoesn’tcare.
Histonesoftens,instantlyapologetic.“Ididn’trealizeyou’dbesofreakedout.Iwasjustmessingwithyou.Imean,tobehonestIfigureditwasjustamatteroftimebeforeyouandTheo—”
“Andrew,no.”Ilookaround,desperatenow.Asurpriseescapehatchwouldbeagreatdiscovery.Instead,aglintofsilvercatchesmyeye—thesleeveofAndrew’shilariouslyawfulholidaysweaterhangingovertheedgeofthetrashcan.Miso,theHollises’corgi,gotaholdofitonChristmasEveandLisamust’vedecideditwasbeyondsaving.Iwouldn’tmindjoiningitinthetrashrightnow.“It’snotlikethatbetweenus.”
“Hey.It’sfine,Maisie.”Icantellhe’ssurprisedatthedegreeofmyalarm,andheputsareassuringhandonmyarm,misinterpretingmymeltdown:“Iwon’ttellanyoneelse.”
Mortificationandguiltsurgeinmythroat.“I—Ican’tbelievehetoldyou.”
“Hedidn’t,”Andrewsays.“IcamebacktothehouselastnightbecauseIleftmyphoneinthekitchen,andsawyoutwo.”
Andrewsawus?Please,letmediehere.
“Comeon,don’tmakesuchabigdealaboutalittlekissing.You’retalkingtotheguywhosemommovesthemistletoearoundthehouseeveryday.Halfthisgrouphaskissedeachotheratsomepoint.”Hegivesmeanoogieand,ifpossible,mymortificationdeepens.“Dadsentmeoutheretocallyouinforbreakfast.”Heplayfullyjabsmyshoulder,likeapal.“Ijustwantedtogiveyousomeshit.”
Withalittlewink,Andrewturnsandheadsbackintothehouse,andIamlefttryingtofindmysanity.
???
Inside,holidaymusicstilltinklessilverythroughtheair.ThelivingroomisnowhometotheremnantsofChristmas:astackofbroken-downboxes,trashbagsstuffedwithwrappingpaper,andstoragebinsfulloffoldedribbonstoreusenextyear.Suitcaseshavebeenlinedupnearthefrontdoor.WhileIwasfreakingoutontheporch,thekitchenfilled,andI’veapparentlyjustmissedthehilarityofDadandAarongettingcaughtonthelandingtogetherunderLisa’slocation-hoppingmistletoe.
Breakfastisalreadyinfullswing:Momhasaddedthelastbitofhamtoeggsandpotatoesandwhateverelsewasstillinthefridgeforacasserole.LisapullssomeDanishsigtebr?doutofthepantry,andRickypilesplateswithpancakesandbacon.We’reasluggishbunch,fullofthemonths’worthofcaloriesweeachingestedinthepasttwodays,butIknow,too,thatwe’reshufflingaroundmoroselybecauseit’sourlastmorningtogether.I’mnottheonlypersoninthisroomdreadingreturningtothehumdrumofanine-to-fivelife.
InafewhoursMom,Dad,Miles,andIwillloadupanddrivetotheairport.We’llflybacktoOaklandtogether,andthenseparateatarrivals.Mom’snewhusband,Victor,willbebackfromhisannualtripwithhistwogrowndaughtersandwillhaveflowersandkissesforMom.DadwilldrivealonebacktohiscondonearUCSF.Weprobablywon’tseehimforweeks.
AndonMonday,I’llreturntoajobIdon’thavethegutstoquit.ThelifeIwanttoenjoy.Ijustdon’t.Inatwistofstellartiming,myphonechimesbrightlywitharemindertoemailaprofit-and-lossspreadsheettomybossbytomorrowmorning.Ihaven’tevenopenedmylaptopsincewearrived.GuessIknowwhatI’llbedoingonthedrivetotheairport.EverycellinmybodyfeelsdroopywhenIthinkaboutit.
Weallfindourseatsaroundsteamingplattersoffood.
Phonesaresupposedtobeoff-limitsduringmeals,butMilesandhisenormousbrowneyesalwaysmanagetogetawaywithmurder,andnobodywantsthehassleofarguingwithTheo,whoisnownose-deepinInstagram,likingphotoafterphotoofmodels,musclecars,andgoldenretrievers.Hestillwon’tlookatme.Won’ttalktome.Asfarashe’sconcerned,I’mnotevenhere.
IcanfeelBennywatchingmewiththatgentle,perceptivewayofhis,andImeethiseyesbriefly.Ihopehereadstheskywritingthere:ANDREWSAWMEANDTHEOMAKINGOUTANDIWOULDVERYMUCHLIKETODISSOLVETHROUGHTHEFLOORBOARDSNOW.
Kylehumswhilehepoursamugofcoffee.HemusthaveaHangoverJesussomewhere,sufferingforhissins,becauseevenafterthecocktailpaloozalastnight,KylestilllookslikehecouldglideontoanyBroadwaystageanddancehiswayintonextweek.Bycontrast,hishusband,Aaron,didn’tdrinkadropbutlookshaggardanyway:He’sbeengoingthroughabitofamidlifecrisis.
ApparentlyitstartedwhenoneoftheirfriendscommentedthatAaron’shairwasmostlygraybutlooksgoodforaguyhisage.Kyleswearsitwassaidwiththebestofintentions,butAarondidn’tcare;hishairisnowdyedsoblackitlookslikeaholeinwhateverroomhe’sin.He’sspentmostofthistripworkingoutlikeamadmanandfrowningintomirrors.Aaron’snotsufferingfromahangover;hecanbarelyliftacuptohismouthbecausehedidsomanypush-upsyesterday.
NowKyleturnsandsurveystheroom.“What’swiththeweirdvibe?”heasks,takinghisusualseat.
“Well,I’vegotanidea,”Andrewsayswithawidegrinathisbrother,andIalmostchokeonmycoffee.Bennyflickshisear.
Finally,Theo’seyesswingtomineandthenguiltilyaway.
That’sright,jackass,I’mrighthere
RickyclearshisthroatbeforetakingLisa’shand.OhmyGod.Dotheyknow,too?IfLisatellsmyparents,mymomwillbenaminghergrandchildrenbeforewe’reevenoutofthedriveway.
“Maybeit’sus,”Rickysaysslowly.“LisaandIhavesomenews.”
It’sthesmall,nervousquiverinhisvoicethatcatchesmyfrayedpulseandsendsithammeringinadifferentdirection.IsLisa’smelanomaback?
Suddenly,abadmudroomhookupfeelslikeverysmallpotatoes.
Rickypicksuptheplatterofbaconandgetsitmovingaroundthetable.Lisadoesthesamewiththecasserole.Butnoonetakesanything.Instead,weallvacantlypassthedishesaround,unwillingtocommittoeatinguntilweknowwhatlevelofdevastationwe’refacing.
“Businessisfine,”Rickyreassuresus,lookingateachofourfaces.“Andnooneissick.Soitisn’tthat,don’tworry.”
Weexhalecollectively,butthenIseeDadinstinctivelyplacehishandoverMom’s,andthat’swhenIknow.There’sonlyonethingwevalueasmuchaswevalueeachother’shealth.
“Butthiscabin,see,it’sold,”Rickysays.“It’soldandseemstoneedsomethingneweachmonth.”
Ahottangleformsinmychest.
“Wewantedtoletyouknowthatwesuredohopewecancontinuespendingtheholidaystogether,justlikewehaveforthelastthirtyyearsorso.”Hetakesthefullbaconplatterasitcomesbacktohimandgentlysetsitdown,untouched.Weallremainstill,evenAaronandKyle’sfive-year-oldtwins—Kennedywithherlegstuckedtoherchest,adirtyCareBearsBand-Aidstillclingingvaliantlytoherscabbedknee,andZacharyclutchinghissister’sarm—dreadingwhatweallknowiscomingnext:“Butwe’llhavetofigureoutanewplan.LisaandIhavedecidedthatwe’resellingthecabin.”chapterthree
Cuethemostdepressingmusicever.I’dpreferthat,actually,tothemorbidsilenceintherentalcarasMom,Dad,Miles,andImakeourwaydownthesnow-dustedgraveldrivewaytothemainroad
Momcriesquietlyinthepassengerseat.Dad’shandsfidgetonthesteeringwheellikehe’snotsurewheretoputthem.Ithinkhewantstocomforther,buthelookslikehecouldusesomecomfortofhisown.Ifitfeelslikethecabinmeanseverythingtome,it’snothingcomparedtothememoriestheymusthave.Theycamehereasnewlyweds,broughtmeandMilesasbabies.
“Mom.”Ileanforward,puttingmyhandonhershoulder.“It’sgoingtobeokay.We’llstillseeeveryonenextyear.”
Herquietsobsturnintoawail,andDadgrindsthesteeringwheelinhisgrip.Theydivorcedafternearlyaquartercenturyofmarriage;thecabinistheonlyplacetheygetalonganymore.It’stheonlyplacethey’veevergottenalong,really.LisaisMom’sclosestfriend;Ricky,Aaron,andBennyareDad’sonlyfriendsoutsideofthehospital.Dadwaswillingtoforfeitthehouse,primarycustodyofMiles,andachunkofhisincomeeverymonth,buthewasunwillingtogiveupChristmasatthecabin.Momheldherground,too.Victor’sdaughterswerethrilledtobeabletokeeptheirtimewiththeirdad,andwe’vesomehowmanagedtomaintainafragilepeace.Isthatgoingtolastifwehavetogosomewherenew,withoutanyhappymemoriesornostalgicanchors?
Iglanceatmybrotherandwonderwhatitmustbeliketofloatthroughlifesohappilyoblivious.He’sgothisheadphonesonandismildlyboppingalongtosomethingperkyandoptimistic.
“Ididn’twanttofallapartinfrontofLisa,”Momhiccups,digginginherpurseforaKleenex.“Shewassodevastated,couldn’tyouseeit,Dan?”
“I—well,yes,”hehedges,“butshewasprobablyalsorelievedtohavemadetheharddecision.”
“No,no.Thisisawful.”Momblowshernose.“Oh,mypoorfriend.”
IreachoverandflickMiles’sear.
Heflinchesawayfromme.“Whatthehell?”
Itiltmyheadtowardourmother,asin,Givehersomesupport,youidiot
“Hey,Mom.It’sokay.”Heblandlypatshershoulderoncebutdoesn’teventurndownhismusic.Hebarelylooksupfromhisphonescreentogivemealookinreturnthatsays,Happynow?
Iturnbacktothewindowandletoutacontrolledbreath,workingtokeepitfrombeingaudible.
Beforeweleft,Lisatookwhatwillprobablybeourlastgroupphotoontheporch—somehowmanagingtocutthetopsoffthebackrowofheads—andthenthereweretearsandhugs,promisesthatnothingwouldchange.Butweallknowthat’salie.Eventhoughwe’vepledgedtostillspendtheholidaytogether,wherewillwego?ToAaronandKyle’stwo-bedroomManhattanapartment?ToAndrew’sDenvercondo?ToMomandVictor’shouse,whichusedtobeMomandDad’shouse?Awkward!Ormaybewe’llallsqueezeintoBenny’scamperinPortland?
Mybraintakesoffonahystericaltear.
Sowe’llrentahousesomewhere,andwe’llallarrivewithsuitcasesandsmilesbuteverythingwillfeeldifferent.Therewon’tbeenoughsnow,ortheyardwon’tbebigenough,ortherewon’tevenbeayard.Willwedecorateatree?Willwegosledding?Willweevenallsleepinthesamehouse?Iimaginedmychildhoodwouldendgradually,notwiththisfullsprintintoabrickwallstarklylabeledEndofanEra
Momsucksinabreathandquicklyswivelstofaceus,interruptingmymentalspiral.SheplacesahandonMiles’sleg,giveshimanaffectionatepat.“Thankyou,baby.”Andthenmine.Hernailsarepaintedfuchsia;herweddingringglintsinthemidmorninglight.“Mae,I’msorry.I’mfine.Youdon’thavetotakecareofme.”
Iknowshe’stryingtobemoreconsciousofhowmuchofheremotionalburdenItendtotakeon,buthervulnerabilitylancesmychest.“Iknow,Mom,butit’sokaytobesad.”
“Iknowyou’resad,too.”
“I’msadaswell,”Dadmumbles,“incaseanyonewaswondering.”
Thesilencethatfollowsthisstatementisthesizeofacrateronthemoon
Mom’seyesspringfreshtears.“Somanyyearswespentthere.”
Dadechoeshollowly,“Somanyyears.”
“Tothinkwe’llneverbeback.”Mompressesahandtoherheartandlooksoverhershoulderatme.“Whateverhappens,happens.”Shereachesformyhand,andIfeellikeatraitortoDadifItakeit,andatraitortoMomifIdon’t.SoItakeit,butbrieflymeethiseyesintherearviewmirror.“Mae,Iseethewheelsturningupthere,andIwantyoutoknowit’snotyourjobtomakesurethatweareallhappynextyearandthetransitionissmooth.”
Iknowshebelievesthat,butit’seasiersaidthandone.I’velivedmyentirelifetryingtokeepeverytenuouspeacewecanfind.
Isqueezeherhandandreleaseitsoshecanturnbackaround.
“Lifeisgood,”Momreassuresherselfaloud.“Victoriswell,hisgirlsaregrown,withkidsoftheirown.Lookatourfriends.”Shespreadsherhands.“Thriving.Mytwochildren—thriving.”IsthatwhatI’mdoing?Thriving?Wow,amother’slovereallyisblind.“Andyou’redoingfine,right,Dan?”
Dadshrugs,butsheisn’tlookingathim.
Besideme,Milesnodsintimetothemusic.
“Maybeit’stimetotrysomethingnew,”Dadsayscarefully.Imeethiseyesintherearviewmirroragain.“Changecanbegood.”
What?Changeisnevergood.ChangeisDadswitchingmedicalpracticeswhenIwasfiveandneverbeinghomeagainduringdaylight.Changeismybestfriendmovingawayineighthgrade.Changeisaterriblyadvisedpixiecutsophomoreyear.ChangeisrelocatingtoLA,realizingIcouldn’taffordit,andhavingtomovebackhome.ChangeiskissingoneofmyoldestfriendswhenIwasdrunk.
“It’sallaboutperspective,right?”hesays.“Yes,theholidaysmaylookdifferent,buttheimportantpartswillstaythesame.”
Thecabinistheimportantpart,Ithink,andthentakeadeepbreath.
Perspective.Right.Wehaveourhealth.Wehaveeachother.Wearecomfortablefinancially.Perspectiveisagoodthing.
Butperspectiveisslipperyandwigglesoutofmygrip.Thecabin!It’sbeingsold!ImadeoutwithTheobutIwantAndrew!Ihatemyjob!I’mtwenty-sixandhadtomovehome!Milesappliedtoschoolsalloverthecountry,andwillprobablybeahomeownerbeforeI’vemovedoutofmychildhoodbedroom!
IfIdiedtoday,whatwouldbewrittenaboutme?ThatI’manobsessivepeacekeeper?ThatIputtogetheraserviceablespreadsheet?ThatIalsolovedart?ThatIcouldn’teverfigureoutwhatitwasthatItrulywanted?
TuningoutthesoundsofJudyGarlandontheradio,Iclosemyeyesandmakeasilentplea:Universe.WhatamIdoingwithmylife?Please.Iwant…
I’mnotevensurehowtofinishthesentence.Iwanttobehappy,andI’mpetrifiedthatthepathI’monnowisgoingtoleavemeboredandalone.
SoIasktheuniverse,simply:Canyoushowmewhatwillmakemehappy?
Ileanmyheadagainstthewindow,mybreathfogginguptheglass.WhenIreachuptoclearitawaywithmysleeve,I’mstartledtoseeagrimyChristmaswreathdecoratedwithanequallygrimybow.Ablaringhorn,ablurofshaggygreenhurtlingtowardourcar.
“Dad!”Ishriek.
It’stoolate.Myseatbeltlocks,andwe’rehitfromtheside.Metalscreamsandglassshattersinasickeningcrunch.Whateverwaslooseinthecarisairborne,andIsomehowwatchthecontentsofmypurseescapeandfloatwithsurrealslownessasweroll.Theradioisstillplaying:Throughtheyears,weallwillbetogether,ifthefatesallow…
Everythinggoesblack.chapterfour
Shootinganarmouttothesidetobraceagainsttheimpactofthecollision,Icometowithagasp.Butthere’snocardoorthere,nowindow;Ismackmybrotherdirectlyintheface.
Heletsoutaroughoofandcatchesmyarm.“Dude.Whatthehell,Mae?”
Iboltuprightagainstalapbelt,clutchingmyheadandexpectingtofindblood.It’sdry.Isuckinanotherdeep,jaggedbreath.Myheartfeelslikeit’sgoingtojackhammeritswayupmythroatandoutofmybody.
Wait.Milesisonmyright.Hewasonmyleftinthecar.Ireachforhim,holdinghisfaceinmyhands,andjerkhimcloser.
“Whatareyoudoing?”hemumblesintomyshoulder.
Idon’tevenmindhisheavy-handedAxebodysprayrightnow,Iamsointenselyrelievedthathe’snotdead.ThatI’mnotdead.Thatwe’reall…
“Notinthecar,”Isay,releasinghimabruptly.
Iwhipmyheadlefttoright,wildlysearching.Confusionisastartling,brightlight.It’sthewhitenoiseofanengine,ofaventoverhead.It’sthedry,overheatedrecycledair.It’srowsandrowsofheadsinfrontofme,someofthemturningtolookatthecommotionbehindthem.
I’mthecommotionbehindthem.
Wearen’tinthecar,we’reonanairplane.I’minthemiddleseat,Milesintheaisle,andthestrangerinthewindowseatistryingtopretendlikeIdidn’tjustwakeupandflipout.
Disorientationmakesmytemplesthrob.
“Wherearewe?”IturntoMiles.Ihaveneverinmylifebeensooff-kilter.“Wewerejustinthecar.Therewasawreck.HaveIbeenunconscious?WasIinacoma?”
AndifIwas,whoputmehere?I’mtryingtopicturemyparentscartingme,unconscious,throughtheairportandloadingmeintothisseat.Ijustcannotimagineit.Mydad,themeticulousphysician;mymom,theoverprotectiveworrier.
Mileslooksatmeandslowlypullshisheadphonesoffoneear.“What?”
Withagrowl,IgiveuponhimandleantowardwhereDadisunfasteninghisseatbeltacrosstheaisle.“Dad,whathappened?”
HestandsandcrouchesnexttoMiles’sseat.“Whathappenedwhen?”
“Thecaraccident?”
Heglancesatmybrother,andthenbackatme.Hishairandbeardarewhite,buthisbrowsarestilldark,andtheyslowlyriseonhisforehead.Helooksfine,notascratchanywhere.“Whatcaraccident,Noodle?”
Whatcaraccident?
Ileanbackandclosemyeyes,takingadeepbreath.Whatisgoingon?
Tryingagain,IpullMiles’sheadphonesallthewayoff.“Miles.Don’tyourememberthecaraccident?Whenweleftthecabin?”
Herearsback,givingmybarelyrestrainedhysteriaasemidisgustedlook.“We’reonaplane,onourwaytoSaltLake.Whatdoyoumean‘whenweleftthecabin’?Wehaven’tgoneyet.”HeturnstoDad,handsup.“Iswearshe’sonlyhadgingerale.”
We’reonourwaytoSaltLake?
“Therewasatruck,”Isay,strainingtoremember.“Ithinkthebackwasfilledwith…Christmastrees.”
“Probablyjustaweirddream,”DadsaystoMiles,likeI’mnotsittingrighthere,andreturnstohisseat.
???
Adream.Inod,likethatmakessense,eventhoughitdoesn’t.Itdoesnot.Ididnotdreamanentirevacation.ButMilesisn’tgoingtobeafontofinformationevenundernormalcircumstances,andDadhasgonebacktohiscrosswordpuzzle.MomisasleepintheaisleseatinfrontofDad,andfromwhereI’msittingIcanseethathermouthissoftlyopen,herneckatanoddangle.
WhathadIbeenthinkingaboutjustbeforethecrash?ItwasaboutChristmas,Ithink.Ormyjob?Iwaslookingoutthecarwindow.
Thecar.
Whichweapparentlyaren’tinanymore.
Orweren’tinever,maybe?
Idiginmybagundertheseatinfrontofme,pullingoutmyphoneandwakingupthescreen.
ThedisplaysaysthattodayisDecember20.ButthismorningwasDecember26.
“Wow.”Ileanback,lookingaround.Panicpressesinattheedgesofmyvision,turningtheworldblackandfuzzy.
Breathe,Mae
Youhavealevelhead.You’vedealtwithcrisesbefore.Youmanagethefinancesforastrugglingnonprofit,forcryingoutloud.CrisisISyourjob.THINK.Whataresomepossibleexplanationsforthis?
One:Idied,andthisispurgatory.Apossibilitylightsupinmymind:Maybewe’realllikethecharactersonLost,ashowDadandBennydrunkenlycomplainedaboutforatleasttwohoursafewyearsago.Ifthisplaneneverlands,thenIguessI’llknowwhy.Orifitlandsonanisland,Iguessthat’salsoananswer.Orifitexplodesmidair.
Nothelpingcalmmedown.Nexttheory.
Two,Dadisright,andI’vehadsomemonsternapandsomehowdreamedupeverythingthathappenedlastweekatthecabin.Upside:IneverkissedTheo.Downside:…Isthereadownside?NothavingtoreturntoworkonMonday,gettingtorepeatmyfavoriteweekofvacation,minusthemistakes?AndmaybetheHollisesaren’tsellingthecabin!Butthethingis,itdoesn’tfeellikeadream.Dreamsarefuzzyandoblong,andthefacesaren’tquiteright,orthedetailsdon’ttrackinanylinearway.Thisfeelslikesixdaysofactualmemories,crammedwithcompleteclarityintomyhead.Andbesides,ifIweregoingtodream-make-outwithanyone,wouldn’titbeAndrew?IguessnotevenDreamMaeisthatlucky.
MileslooksoverwhenIsnortoutalaugh,andhisfrowndeepens.“What’swithyou?”
“Ihavenoideahowtoanswerthat.”
Helooksbackathisphone,alreadyoverit.
“Justtoconfirm,”Isay,“we’reheadedtoSaltLake,right?”
Mybrotheroffersupaskepticalsmile.“Youaresoweird.”
“I’mserious.We’reheadedtoSaltLakeCity?”
Hefrowns.“Yeah.”
“AndthentoParkCity?”
“Yes.”
“ForChristmas?”
Henodsslowly,asifinteractingwithaveryimpairedcreature.“Yes.ForChristmas.Wastheresomethinginthatcupbesidesgingerale?”
“Wow,”Isayagain,andlaugh.“Maybe?”chapterfive
IlagbehindmyfamilyfromtheJetwaytobaggageclaim.Itearnsmemorethanoneimpatientlook,buteverythingseemstograbmyattention.Acryingbabyattheadjacentgate.Amiddle-agedbusinessmanspeakingtooloudlyonhisphone.Acouplebickeringinlineforcoffee.Ayoungboywrestlingtogetoutofhisheavybluecoat.
Ican’tshakethefeelingofdéjàvu,likeI’vebeenherebefore.Notjusthereintheairport,buthere—inthisexactsamemoment.Atthebaseoftheescalatortobaggageclaim,amandropshissodainfrontofme,andIstopjustintime,almostlikeIknewitwasgoingtohappen.AfamilywithaWELCOMEHOMEbannerpassesby,andIturntowatchthemforseveralpaces.
“IswearI’veseenthatbefore,”IsaytoMiles.“Thefamilybacktherewiththesign?”
Hisattentionmovespastmebrieflyanddisinterestedlybackahead.“ThisisUtah.Everyfamilydownherehasa‘WelcomeHome’sign.Missionaries,remember?”
“Right,”Isaytohisretreatingform.Right.
BecauseI’vebeensoslowonourtrekfromthearrivalgatetobaggageclaim,oursuitcasesaretheonlyonesleft,patientlycirclingaroundandaroundthecarousel.Dadcollectsthem,stackingthemontoacartwhileMomcupsmyface.
Herdarkhairiscurledintowavesandpulledbackononeside.Hereyesaretightwithworry.“What’swithyou,honey?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youhungry?”Shesearchesmyeyes.“NeedanAdvil?”
Idon’tknowwhattotellher.I’mnothungry.I’mnotanything.IhalffeellikeI’mfloatingthroughtheterminal,staringatthingsIsweararealreadymemoriesinsidemyhead.
???
MystomachdropswhenIseeeveryonealreadyontheporchatthecabin,wavingusdownthedriveway.I’msureIsawthissameviewonlysixdaysago,onDecember20.Irememberbeingthelasttoarrive.Flightscheduleshadbeentricky,soKyle,Aaron,andtheirtwinscameinonFridaynight.TheoandAndrew,Iremember,droveupearlierthanusual,too.
OurtirescometoacrunchingstopbesideTheo’sgiantorangetruck,andweclamberoutofthesameToyotaRAV4thatwasmostcertainlytotaledintheCarCrashThatDidn’tHappen.Weareimmediatelyengulfedbyhugsfromallsides.KyleandAaronmakeasandwichoutofme.Theirtwins,KennedyandZachary,gentlywindthemselvesaroundmylegs.Lisafindsawindowofspaceandwigglesinclose.Inthedistance,Bennywaitspatientlyforhishug,andIsendhimanonverbalcryforhelp.
Mybraincan’tseemtoprocesswhat’sgoingon.HaveIlostayearsomehow?Honestly,whataretheoddsthatI’mactuallydead?Myversionofheavenwouldbeatthecabin,sohowwouldIknow?IfIwasinacoma,wouldIfeelthefrigidwinteraironmybareface?
IpeekpastLisaintothetrees,searchingforahiddencameracrew.Surprise!they’llshoutinunison.Everyonewilllaughattheelaborateprank.Wetotallyhadyoufooled,didn’twe,Mae?
AllthismentalfracasmeansthatI’vebarelyconsideredwhatitwillbeliketoseeTheobeforeI’mliftedoffmyfeetinabearhug.IexperiencethislikeI’mwatchingfromafewpacesaway.
“Smile!”BrightlightmomentarilyblindsmeasLisasnapsapicture.“Ohshoot,”shemutters,frowningdownattheimageonthetinyscreen.I’msureonlyhalfofmyfaceendedupinthephoto,butsheseemstothinkit’sgoodenoughbecauseshetucksherphonebackinherpocket.
WhenTheoputsmedown,hisgrinslowlystraightens.Didthemudroommake-outevenhappen?Andwhatismyexpressiondoingrightnow?Iwanttoreachupandfeelmyfacejusttoknow.
“What’sup,weirdo?”hesays,laughing.“Youlooklikeyouforgotmyname.”
Finally,asmallsmilebreaksfree.“Ha.Hi,Theo.”
“She’sprobablyinshockaboutyourhair.”MyattentionispulledoverTheo’sshouldertowhereAndrewstands,waitingpatientlyforhisownhug.Ohyes.Thisisdefinitelymyversionofheaven.
ButthenAndrew’swordssinkin,andIrealizeeveryoneelseisseeingTheo’shaircutforthefirsttime.Isawitnearlyaweekago.
“Yeah,wow,”Istammer,“lookatyou.Whendidyoucutit?”
Absently,IpullAndrewintomyarms,squeezing.MyheadisspinningsohardthatatfirstIdon’tregistertheblissofhavinghisbodypressedagainstmine.Andrewisalllonglimbsandhard,sinewymuscle.Historsoisaflat,firmplane,butitmoldstomeashesqueezescloser,givingmeahitofeucalyptusandlaundrysoap.
“Hey.”Helaughsquietlyintomyhair.“Youokay?”
Ishakemyhead,holdingonlongerthanisstrictlynecessaryforagreeting,buthedoesn’tseemtofightit,andIcan’tlocatethecorrectbrain-to-musclecommandtoloosenmygrip.
Ineedthiswarm,physicalanchor.
Slowly,mychestrelaxes,mypulsesteadies,andIreleasehim,narrowingmyeyesinsurprisewhenhestepsbackandIseesplotchesofpinkonhischeeks.
“Lastweek.”Theorunsapalmoverthetopofhishead,grinninghiswide,big-toothedsmile.
“Lastweekwhat?”IdragmygazeawayfromAndrew’sblush.
“Myhair,”Theosays,laughingatme.“Icutitlastweek.Youlike?”
Andthere’szerotraceofweirdnessinhisvoice.Zeroawarenessinhisexpressionthatwe,youknow,hadourtonguesdowneachother’sthroats.“Yeah,yeah,it’sgreat.”Iamdoingaterriblejobbeingconvincinghere.“Totallygreat.”
Theofrowns.Herunsonpraise.
IglanceupatBenny,whoisdrawingsomethingwithZacharyinthesnowwithabranch.Myvoicewobbles:“Hey,BennyBoo.”
Hegrins,joggingovertomeandsweepingmeupinhisarms.“There’smyNoodle.”
Yes.Benny.ThisiswhoIneed.Igriphimlikehe’sadeeplyrootedvineandIamdanglingoveracliff,whisperingurgentlyintohisear,“Ineedtotalktoyou.”
“Now?”Hishairbrushesmycheek,andit’ssoftandsmellsliketheherbyhippieshampoohe’susedmyentirelife.
“Yeah,now.”
Bennyputsmedownanddisorientationspinsattheedgesofmyvision,makingmedizzy.Idon’trealizeI’mleaningtothesideuntilhecatchesme.“Hey,hey.Youallright?”
Momrushesover,pressingapalmtomyforehead.“You’renothot.”Shegentlytouchesbeneathmyjaw,searchingforswollenglands.“Haveyouhadanywatertoday?”
Lisamovescloserandtheysharealookofconcern.“She’slostallhercolor.”
Mybrotherglancesupfromhisphone.“Shewasbeingweirdontheplane,too.”
“Shehadanightmareontheplane,”Dadcorrects,admonishing.“Let’sgetherinside.”Hecomesupbehindmeandwrapsanarmaroundmywaist.
“CanyoustoptalkingaboutmelikeI’mnotstandingrighthere?”
Aswemakeourwayupthebroadfrontsteps,IlookbackovermyshoulderatAndrew.Oureyessnagandhegivesmeahalf-playful,half-worriedgrin.He’swearingthatterriblesilversparklysweaterhelovessomuch,theonehewearsonthefirstdayoftheholidayseveryyear.
TheoneMisoruinedonlyacoupleofdaysago.
JustasIhavethethought,Misoracesforward.Inaflashofdéjàvu,Ishout,“Watchout,Kennedy!”ButI’mtoolate:thedogbarrelsbetweenherfeet,knockingheroverthethresholdandintotheentryway.Kennedyburstsintotears.
Istarenumblydown,watchingAaronandKylecheckherchin,herelbow.Thishappenedbefore.Myearsring.Justthismorning,IstaredatKennedyatthekitchentablewithawell-wornCareBearsBand-Aidcoveringhercutknee.
“Herknee.”Iamfreakingthehelloutrightnow.“Shescrapedher…”
Kylerollsonepantlegupandthenglancesoverhisshoulderatme,impressed.Thebloodhadn’tsoakedthroughthefabricyet,butthecuteruptswithbrightreddrops.“How’dyouevenknowthat?”
Thelaughthatrollsoutofmeisborderingonhysterical.“Ihavenoidea!”
Wewalkintothehouse.KyletakesKennedytothebathroomtocleanherup,andI’mledtoaseatatthekitchentable.
“Gethersomewater,”LisawhisperstoAndrew,whobringsmeaglassandsetsitdownlikethetablemightshatter.Staringdown,Inoticeheputextraiceinit,justlikeIwould’veifI’ddoneitmyself.
Iliftit,handshaking,icetinkling,andtakeasip.“Okay,youguys,stopstaringatme.”
Noonemoves.Momcomescloserandstartsmassagingmyfreehand.
“Seriously,you’refreakingmeout.”Wheneveryonetriestofindsomethingelsetodointhesmallkitchen,IcatchBenny’seye,andthenwidenmyown:Weneedtotalk
Likeaheat-seekingmissile,myattentionshiftstoAndrewwhenhecrossestheroomandsneakschocolatefromtheAdventcalendar.Helooksoveratmejustashepopsapieceintohismouthandoffersafaux-guiltyshrug.Nearby,Dadleansagainstthecounter,watchingmewithWorriedParenteyesuntilhisgazeiscaughtbytheplatefullofbeautifulcookiebarsbesidehim.
Mystomachdrops.He’sgoingtogetone,andhe’sgoingtobiteit,and—
Asickeningcrackechoesthroughtheroom.
“OhmyGod,”hesays,stickingafingerinhismouth.“Icrackedmymolar.”
OHMYGOD.
Lisagoesashen.“Dan!No.Ohno.Wasit—?”
EveryonerushestoreassureherthatOfcourseitwasn’tthecookiethatbrokehistoothandOh,they’realittlehard,butthey’redelicious.Andrewgrabsanotherpieceofchocolate.AndIusethecommotiontosneakoutofthekitchentocatchagiantgulpoffreshairoutside.chaptersix
Outside,Icanbreathe.
Inhale,exhale.
Deepinhale,slowexhale.
Itwasn’tadream.
Itraveledthroughtime,backwardsixdays.
I’veseenthingslikethisinbooksandmovies:Someonehasanaccidentandcomesoutofitwithsuperpowers.Flight,superstrength,super-vision.
Man,IwishI’dpaidattentiontolottonumberslastweek.
Thethoughtmakesmelaughoutloud,andmybreathpuffsinthecoldair.Mae,youarelosingit
Staringatthetreelineandtheglitteringsnowisnature’sperfectshockabsorber.Itreallyisgorgeousuphere,intheoutskirtsofParkCityatChristmastime.Ishouldpulloutmynotebookandsketchit;maybethatwouldcalmthesefrazzlednervesofmine.
Theneighbors’houseismorehiddenbyfoliagethanitwaswhenIwasyounger,andgivestheHolliscabinalovelyfeelofwintryisolation.Asplitrailfencerunsdownbothsidesofthepropertyline,andthethicketofpinesthatwereonceastallasDadnowtoweroverthedriveway.Theodaredmetopeeinthereonce,thengotsomadwhenImanagedtodoit—standingup,Imightadd—thathestolemypantsandranintothehouse.Thatsamewinter,AndrewandIbuiltanigloointhesideyardandsworeweweregoingtosleepinside,butonlymadeittenminutesbeforegivingup.
TheviewhelpsslowmypulseandclearthefogofmybrainuntilIcantakeafinaldeepbreath,counttoten,andthenexhaleinalong,warmpuffoffog.
“Whattheactualfuck,”Iwhispertomyself,andthenburstoutlaughingagain.
“Iwasjustgoingtosaythesamething.”
Istartlesoviolentlythatwhenmyleftarmswingstotheside,ImanagetolaunchAndrew’smugofhottoddyoutofhishand,overthesideoftheporch.Webothtrackitasitarcsandlandsinasnowbank;thewarmliquidmeltsthefluffypowderinapuffofsteam,causingthewhiteunicornmugImadehimwhenIwasfifteen—hisgo-tomugatthecabin—tosinkoutofsight.LittledoesheknowIpaintedthewordsMae+Andrewonthebottomofthemuginwhitebeforecoatingtheentirebottomwithabubblegumpink.
“Wow.Okay.”Heturnsaround,leaningbackagainsttheporchrailingtolookatme.“Iwascomingoutheretoaskwhyyouwereactingsoweird,butIseeIneedtokeepthingspresenttense.”
Ihavesomanyquestionsaboutwhatthehellisgoingonthatmythoughtstreamhasjustturnedintostaticwhitenoise.
“You’restaringatmelikeyoudon’tknowwhereyouare.”Andrewtakesastepforward.“Iwasgoingtogiveyousomeshit,butI’mgenuinelyworriedthatyou’resufferingsomesortofheadinjuryandnottellingus.”
“I’mjustalittlefoggytoday.”
Hegrins,andhismatchingsetofdimplesmakeadelightfulentrance.Pressinghissteepledfingerstohischest,hesays,“I’mAndrewPolleyHollis,whichwastheworstcombinationofmiddleandlastnamesforaseventhgrader.Youcallme‘Mandrew.’IfiddlewithsoundequipmentatRedRocksforaliving.Mylittlebrotheriskindofanasshole.Iamtheonemanalivewholikesneitherscotchnorbeer.YouandIusedtoplayvampireswhenwewerekidsanddidn’trealizethemarkswewereleavingoneachother’sneckswerehickeys.”Hegesturestohisbody.“Sixtwo.Aboutoneeighty.Aries.This”—hepointstohisheadofcurls—“isnatural,andaconstantmess.”
“Thehairhasamindofitsown?”Igrin.Areweflirting?Thisfeelslikeflirting
Shutup,brain.
“Insideyou’llfindyourfather,DanielJones,obstetrician,ownerofanewlybrokentooth.Heisnotoriouslyuptightabouthishands,andtellsalotofverydisturbingstoriesaboutchildbirth.Yourmother,theonewhokeepsfeelingyourforehead,isElise—youlookalotlikeher,Imightadd.Sheisaworrier,butactuallyprettyfunny,andsomedayherpaintingsaregoingtosellformorethanthisplaceisworth,markmywords.”
Inod,impressedalongsidehimthatMom’scareerisflourishing.Hewaitsformetosaysomething,butIgestureforhimtocontinuebecauseAndrew’svoiceishypnotic.Ithasahoneyeddepthwithjustthebarestscratcharoundtheedges.Honestly,I’dgladlylistentohimreadmethedictionary.
“Myparents,RickyandLisa,arealsoinside.”Hegrinswolfishlyatme.“Dadistheguytakingyourfathertothedentist.ThemostimportantthingtorememberisthatnoneofusshouldeatanythingMombakes.Mymom,Scandinavianinheritageandtemperament,isabrilliantwriter.ButunlikeElise,whoisacookinggoddess,Lisaisnot,aswesay,skilledinthekitchen.”
Igrin.“Orwithacamera.”
Andrewlaughsatthis.“KyleandAaronAmir-Liangarethetwoperfectlygroomedgentlemenwiththegeniusfive-year-olds.I’mnotexactlysurewhat’shappeningwithAaron’shairthisyear—itseemstohavedisappearedandbeenreplacedbyapermanentblackspaceabovehishead.”Hepauses,loweringhisvoice.“Andwashewearingleggings?”
Aburstinglaughescapesme.“Ithinkhewas.Iguesswecanbegladhe’smovedoutofthedesignersweatpantsphase?Thatwas…alotofinformationaboutUncleAaronthatteenageMaedidnotneed.”
Andrewsnaps.“It’sagoodsignyourememberthat,though.Now,Idon’tneedtotellyouthatKyleisanaward-winningBroadwayperformerandusedtobeabackupdancerforJanetJackson,becausehe’llundoubtedlymentionithimselfsometimetonight.”
Ilaughagain,bitingmylip.I’msureI’mexhibitingthewild-eyedblissofacontestantonagameshowwho’sjustwonamilliondollars.MymemorynevergetsAndrewright.Mybraindoesn’tknowhowtomakethatgreenofhiseyes,doesn’tbelievecheekbonescanbesosculpted,dimplessodeepandplayful.Andrew,intheflesh,isalwayssuchashocktothesystem.
“LastyearZacharylearnedaboutdeathwhenhisgoldfishkickedthebucket.Hewalkedaroundlikeatinygrimreapertellinguswe’reallgoingtodiesomeday.Kennedyknowsthecapitalofeverystateorcountryintheworld,”hesaysconfidentially.“Shesayssomeofthesmartestthingstoevercomeoutofthisgroup,andwedon’tletanyonegivethatlittlegirlanycrap.She’sgoingtobethefirstpresidentonthespectrum,markmywords.Buthopefullynotthefirstwoman.”
“Ithinkyou’reright.”
“Let’ssee…yourbrother,Miles,though…”Hewincesplayfully.“He’ssmart,butI’mnotsurehe’slookedupfromhisphoneinthepasttwoyears.Ifyouwanttohaveaconversationwithhim,youmightwanttoconsiderstrappinghisphonetoyourforehead.”Leaningin,Andrewsearchesmyeyes,andmyheartdropsthroughtheporch.“Doesanyofthisringabell?”
Ireachtosmackhim.“Stopit.Ireallyamfine.I’msureit’sjustthealtitudemessingwithme.”
Andrewlookslikehehadn’tconsideredthis,andtobefairIhadn’t,either,beforethewordscameout,soImentallyhigh-fivethehandfulofremainingneuronsthatappeartobedoingtheirjobupthere.Footstepsrumblebehindus,andBenny’sshaggyheadpokesoutontotheporch.Hestepsouttojoinus,shiveringinonlyathinbikeshopT-shirt.
“Hey,Noodle,”hesays,browsupexpectantly.“Sorrytointerrupt.CanIgrabyouforasecond?”
???
IguessIcan’tfaultBennyforpullingmeasidewhenI’vegivenhimatleasttenpleadingSOSlookssinceourarrival.Weheadinside,andImeltinpleasureattheheatoftheentrywayrelativetothebrilliantchillofthewintertwilight.Withthevoicesofeveryonefilteringdownthehall,andAndrew’sproximityfading,realitydescends:somehow,IthinkI’mhereagain.
Mybrainscreams,Thisisn’tnormal!
IntentongettingusasfarawayfromeveryoneelseasIcan,Iheadforthestairsleadingtotheupperfloorofthehouse.TurningtoBenny,Iputmyindexfingerovermylips,urginghimtobequietaswetiptoeupstairs.Insilence,weroundthebanister,shuffledownthehall,andclimbthesteep,narrowstepstohisatticroom.WhenIwaslittle,Iwasafraidtocomeupherealone.Thestairscreaked,andthelandingwasdark.ButBennyexplainedthatifthestairsleadinguptotheatticwereasprettyastherestofthehouse,everyonewouldfindthetreasureshiddenupthere.
Withmyheartpoundingoutathunderstorminmythroat,Ijerkhiminsideandclosethedoor.
Histurquoisebraceletsrattletogetherwhenhecomestoastumblingstop,browsraised.“Youallright?”heasks,genuineconcernmakinghisaccentbleedthewordstogether.
Forthesecondtimetoday—Howlongistoday?—Iwonderwhatmyfacelookslike.
“No,Idon’tthinkso.”Ilistenforafewseconds,makingsurenoonehasfollowedusuphere.WhenI’msatisfiedwe’realone,Iwhisper,“Listen.Somecrazystuffisgoingon.”
Hegivesmeaknowingwink.“I’llsay.YouandAndrewseemedprettyflirtyoutthere.Isthatwhatyouwantedtotalkabout?Hassomethinghappened?”
“What?No.Iwish.”Ipointtothechairinthefarcornerbythewindowsandflapmyhanduntilhetakesthehintandsitsdown.
Heleansforward,elbowsonhisknees,andfixeshisattentiononmyface.ThecalmassuranceofBenny’sfocusislikeanumbingsalvetomyfrazzlednerves.
“Okay,”Ibegin,pullingupanotherfoldingchairandsittingacrossfromhim,kneetoknee.“HaveIevergivenyoutheimpressionthatIam—howshouldIputthis?Mentallyimpaired?”
“Beforetoday?”hejokes.“No.”
“Emotionallyunbalanced?”
“Afewmomentswhenyouwerethirteentofifteen,butsincethen?No.”
“Okay,thenpleasebelievethatwhenIsaywhatI’mabouttosay,Iambeingtotallyserious.”
Hetakesadeepbreath,bracinghimself.“Okay.Hitme.”
“Ithinkit’spossibleI’minthepast,repeatingthesameholiday,andI’mtheonlyonewhoknowsit.”
ItsoundsevencrazieronceIsayitaloud.Hisbushybrowspushtogether,andheshoveshistoo-longhairoutofhiseyes.“Youmeanthenightmareyourdadmentioned?”
“No,Imeanforreal.”Ilookaroundtheroom,wishingtherewassomethingherethatcouldhelpme.Lisa’soldOuijaboard?Toocreepy.Theo’soldMagic8Ball?Toodesperate.“Thingsthathappenedsixdaysagoarehappeningoveragain.”
Hereachesintohispocket,pullsoutamint,andpopsitinhismouth.“Startfromthebeginning.”
Irunahanddownmyface.“Okay.So,earliertodayformewasDecembertwenty-sixth.Dad,Mom,Miles,andIwereinacarheadedtotheairport—fromhere.Thistruckranaredlight—”Ipause,piecingthefragmentstogether.“AtruckcarryingChristmastrees,Ithink.Everyonewasdistracted,andithitus.Iwokeupontheplane.”Ilookup,makingsurehe’sfollowing.“Aplanebackhere,today.Decembertwentieth.”
Heletsoutaquiet“Whoa.”Andthen,“Idon’tgetit.”
Ileancloser,tryingtosortmywordsintoorder.“MaybeI’mnotactuallytalkingtoyourightnow.MaybeI’minacomainthehospital,ormaybeIreallyamdreamingthis.AllIknowisthatIalreadylivedthroughthisChristmas,managedtomessitallup,gotcreamedbyaChristmastreetruck,andnowI’mback,andit’sthebeginningoftheholidayalloveragain.”
“Yousureaboutthis?”
“Notevenalittlebit.”
Henodsslowly.“Cool.Okay.Keepgoing.”
“Beforeweleft,RickyandLisatoldusthattheyweregoingtosellthecabin.”
Benny’shazeleyesgowide.“Theywhat?”
“Right?”Inodemphatically.“Soobviouslywewereallreallyupsetwhenweleft.PlusmypanicaboutmakingoutwithTheo,andgettingbustedbyAndrew—”
Bennycutsmeoff.“Uh,backup.”
“Youknewaboutit,don’tworry.”Itrytocasuallywavethisdetailtotheside.“WhatI—”
Heholdsupahand.“IcanassureyouIdidnotknowthatyoumadeoutwithTheobecausethisconversationwouldhavestartedthere.”
“Well,Itoldyouthismorning,butlikeeverythingelse—everyoneelse—you’veforgotten.”Itakeadeep,calmingbreath.“Fortherecord,youweremuchmorehelpfullasttime.”
Heconsidersthis.“WasIalsohigh?”
“Actually,yes.”
Heholdshishandspalms-upasiftosayThereyougo.“Startthere,thentellmeeverything.”
Igroaninrenewedmortification.“Lastnighttherewaseggnog.”
Heletsoutalittle“Ah”ofunderstanding.Bennyloveshisweed,but,likeme,heiseasilyknockedoverbyacupofRicky’seggnog.Thatstuffshouldcomewithanoctanerating.
“Itwasbriefandawkward,”Itellhim.“Youtoldmetogotalktohimthenextmorning,buthetotallyignoredme.ThenIfoundoutthatAndrewsawuskissing.ThenwefoundoutthattheHollisesaresellingthecabin,andweleft.Boom—caraccident.Boom—backonplane.Boom—hereweare.”
Bennywhistles.“I’mgoingtohavesomewordswithTheo.”
“Seriously,Benny?That’swhatyou’retakingawayfromthis?TheprimaryredeemingthingaboutstartingthisholidayalloveragainisnothavingtoprocessanyofthiswithTheo!”
Bennyseemstothinkonthis.“IfeellikeI’mfollowingyoudownthisroadprettyeasily,friend.Areyousureyou’renothavingsomesortofaltitude-poisoningthing?”
Isnapmyfingerswithamemory.“Dad’stooth?Iknewthatwasgoingtohappen.”
“Ifyouknew,whydidn’tyouwarnhim?”
“Iwasfreakingout!”Iyell,andthenwince,hopingnoonedownstairsheardme.Loweringmyvoice,Icontinue,“Andwhatwouldhehavesaid?‘Noway,thiscookiebarlooksdelicious’?I’dalreadyseenTheo’shaircut,whichiswhyIactedlikearobot.AndrememberhowIknewKennedy’skneewasbleeding?”Ipointtothedoor,likeBennycanseethekitchenfromhere.
“Youdidn’t,bychance,getintomylittlebluebag,didyou?”heasks.
“No,ofcoursenot!”
“Okay,good.BecauseIhadthisfriendwhogrowsmushroomsinhiscloset,andhegaveme—”
“Benny,I’mnothigh,I’mnotdrunk,I’mnotonmushrooms!I’mbeingserious.Thisisfreakingmeout!”
“Iknowitis,Mae.Okay,I’mthinking.”
Downstairs,Ihearthefaintsoundsofeveryonemakingtheirwaytothelivingroomforwelcomecocktails.Iscrewmyeyesshut,tryingtopullforwardallthetinydetailsthatIneverexpectedtobeimportant,butwhicharethedifferencenowbetweenBennybelievingmeornot.Kyle’sround,theatricalvoicecarriesupstairs,followedbyRicky’sdeep,boominglaugh.
“Oh.Oh.”Isnap,pointingatthedoor.“KylejustshowedRickyhisnewtattoo.”
Bennystretches,listening.“Didyouhearthatallthewayuphere?Wow.”
“No,”Isay.“Irememberedit.”
Icantellhedoesn’ttotallybuythat.
Zachary’selatedlaughterreachesus,andIcan’thelpit—despiteallthechaosinmyhead,I’msmiling.“Okay.MisoislickingZacky’stoes.Listentohimlaughing.”
“Aprettysafeguess,”Bennyhedges.“Thatdoglovesthetwins.”
Isigh.“Comeon.Believeme.”
“Iwantto,butyouknowhowthissounds.”
Theproblemis,Ido.
“Let’ssayyou’reright,”hewhispers,“andwhatyou’retellingmeisreallyhappening.It’ssortoflikeBacktotheFuture,exceptthepast.Wait.”Heshakeshishead.“Hewenttothepastinthatone,didn’the?”
Inod,andthenkeepnoddingbecauseexhaustiondragsthroughmesoheavilythatIcouldhonestlypassoutrightnow.
“DoesthatmakemeDoc?”heasks.
Ilaugh.“Sure.”Butmyamusementquicklyfades.“ButwhatdoIdo?IsthishappeningsoIdon’tkissTheoagain?Thisseemslikeaprettylameflex,Universe.”
“ButwithoutkissingTheoyouwouldn’tbehere,”hereasons.
“No.KissingTheoiswhereImessedthingsup…right?”
“No.It’slikeinAvengers,wheretheywanttogobackandkilltheguywiththestones,butiftheyhadkilledhimthentheywouldn’tbehavingtheconversationtobeginwith.”Hepauses.“Holyshit,timetravelisconfusing.”
Irubmytemples.“Benny.”
Hegazesatme,andIstickthetipofmythumbinmymouth,chewing.“IthinkyoushouldgotalktoDan,”hefinallysays.
“Dad?He’sthemostliteralandscientificpersonI’veevermet.HewouldnotforasecondbelievethatI’meitheratimetraveler,asuperhero,orclairvoyant.”
Bennylaughs.“Imeanbecausehe’sadoctor.”
“Yes,adoctorwhoknowsbirthcanalsandumbilicalcords.”
Hisvoiceisgentlernow,becauseI’mclearlynotfollowingalong.“I’msureheremembersthebasicsenoughtocheckyourpupilsandreflexes.”
Oh
“Likeforaheadinjury?That’sreallywhatyouthinkthisis?”
Bennysquareshishandsonmyshoulders.“Ibelievethatsomething’sgoingonwithyou.Butthat’sallI’mqualifiedtodo—believeyou.I’mnotsureI’mqualifiedtohelp.Yourdadcantellyouifeverythingseemstobeworkingthewayitshould.”
Maybethat’stheidealsituation—somethingneurologicalhappening.Imean,otherwisethisisimpossible,right?
“Okay.”IkissBenny’scheekandstepback,nodding.“PlanA:assumeI’minjuredorcrazy.”
Benny’ssweetsmilecrashes.“Ididnotsaythat.”
“I’mkidding.I’llgotalktoDad.”
Withalittlewave,IturntotheatticstepsbutImissthefirstone.Mylegcomesoutfromundermeandinsteadoffallingbackward,Ipitchforward,slip,and—chapterseven
“AHHHHHHHH!”Iwakeupshoutingloudly,startlingfromthesensationoffallingdownasteepflightofstairs.Myarmshootsouttothesidetocatchthebanister.Butthere’snobanisterthere,nostairs.Ismackmybrotherdirectlyinthefaceagain.
Heletsoutaroughoofandcatchesmyarm.“Dude.Whatthehell,Mae?”
Boltingupright,I’malreadysweating.Ireachformyneck.DoIlooklikeacorkscrew?Ismyheadontherightway?CanIseemyownbutt?IslumpwithreliefuntilInoticethesamewhite-noisehumofanengine,thesamedry,recirculatedair.Thesameeverything
“No,”Iwhisper,heartpounding.Notagainchaptereight
Bennystaresatme.Heblinksslowly,andIsilentlywatchhimtrytoprocessallofthis.Again.
“IfeellikeI’mfollowingyoudownthisroadprettyeasily,friend.”Hefrowns,worried.“Areyousureyou’renothavingsomesortofaltitude-poisoningthing?”
Takingadeepbreath,Irubmytemplesandremindmyselftobepatient;Bennydoesn’tknowhe’sbeenthroughthisbefore.Hedoesn’tknowhejustaskedmethissamequestion.WhatevertimeloopI’vetrippedintoisn’thisfault.
“ThisisthethirdtimeI’velivedthisday,”Isay.“It’sthesecondtimeI’vehadthisconversationwithyou.”
“Soyousawyourdadcrackatooth,”hesaysslowly.“Threetimes?”
“Yeah.”
“Andyoudidn’tthinktowarnhim?”
Islumpdown,coveringmyface,andletoutagroan.Theairportwasexactlythesame.Thedrivewasidentical.Onlythistime,myarrivalatthecabinwasevenmoredisorientingthanbefore.PanickeptmythroattightandfragileasIrealizedthatyes,Ihaddonethisbefore—whetheritwasonlyinmyheadorwasactuallyhappening,I’mlivingthisdayagain.Ijustdon’tknowhoworwhy.
TheonlythingthatcalmedmedownoncewearrivedwasmytimewithAndrewontheporchagain.MaybebecauseIlookedevenpalerandmorevulnerable,heseemedtoputmoreeffortintohisridiculousintroductions.
WegatherhereinDecembertobuildsnowcreatures,sleddownhugemountains,makepilesofcookies,andwatchourparentsgetday-drunk..
Weusedtopretendtobeinarockbandandyou’dbeDavidBowieandI’dbeJanisJoplin..
Youtalkinyoursleepbutunfortunatelyneversayanythingscandalousorinteresting,it’smostlyaboutfoodandspreadsheets..
“Whatelsehappenstonight?”Bennyasksnow,bringingmyattentionbacktothepresent.Hereachesformyhandstogentlyprythemawayfrommyface.“Whataresomethingsyourememberthat…”
Ipickupwherehetrailsoff.“Thatmighthelpyoubelieveme?”
SweetBennygivesanapologeticwinceandashrug,butIdon’tblamehim.Ihaven’tcaughtmyreflectionanywhere,butI’msureIlooklikeacompletemaniac.I’mclammy,breathless,feelingfrayedattheedges.Oddlystiff,Istretchmyneckfromonesidetotheother,andaloudcrackreverberatesthroughtheroom.Huh.Better.
Voicesmovefromthekitchendownthehalltothelivingroom.
Abruptly,IstandandpullBennyafterme.“Oh.Oh.Kyleisabouttoshoweveryonehisnewtattoo.”
Wemoveacrosstheroomtothedoor.IswearBennymoveswiththisweirdtiptoestepthatmakeshimlooklikeShaggyfromScooby-Dooaswecarefullymakeourwaydowntheatticstepsandpeeraroundthecorner.Ricky’svoicecarriesthroughthehousefromthelivingroom.“Guys,comehere!”Rickycalls.“Kylegotacoolnewtattoo!”
Whenthewordsreachus,BennygripsmyarmsohardIcanfeeleachoneofhisfingertips.
Iclosemyeyes,listeningcarefully.“Ricky’sgonnagivehimselfahardtimeforforgettingtogetHendrick’sforAaron.MisoisgoingtolickZachary’stoes,andhe’lllaughhysterically.LisaisgoingtoputonaBobDylanChristmasalbumthatislegitimatelyterrible,andTheoisgoingtohaveasipofbeergodownthewrongpipeandwillstartcoughingfor,like,tenminutesstraight.”IlookatBennyandnod,resolute.“Justwait.”
Weturnourquietattentionbacktothelivingroom,outofsightbutwithinearshot.
“Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtothinkifyou’reright,”Bennywhispers
“Yeah.Same.”
???
Twentyminuteslater,we’rebackintheatticandBennyispacingthelengthofthefloor,backandforth.Hisbraceletsjinglewitheverystep.I’monthebed,staringupattheceiling.He’sfreakingoutbecauseeverythingIsaidwouldhappenhappened.Finally,hestopsnearmeandletsoutareverentlywhispered“Whoa.I’mnotevenhighrightnow.”
IknowIshouldfeelvindicated,butgiventhatit’snosurprisetomethatIwasright,Ihavetowonder:Isthismylifenow?AmIdoomedtolivethisdayoverandover?ShouldItrytoleavetheatticagain,orwillIfalldownthestairs?
Andthebiggestquestionofall:DoesitevenmatterwhatIdo,oristime—forme—just…broken?
Well,worst-casescenario,Iguess,isIrelivethisdayoverandoverandkeepflirtingwithAndrewontheporch.
Ipushupontoanelbow.“Okay.So:WhatdoIdo?”
“Ithinkyoushouldtalktoyourdad,”Bennysayswithfirmresolve.
“Nope.”Irollontomybackagain.“Yousaidthatlasttime.IPeterPan’ditdownthestairsandwokeupontheplane.”
“Ouch,”hewhispers,rubbinghisneckguiltily.“I’msorry,Noodle.”
Histonemakesmyheartache,andIsitup,pullinghimtositnexttomesoIcansmoochhischeek.“Wasn’tyourfault.”
“Maybejust…”Heholdshishandsup,unsure.“Justtrytomakeitthroughtonight?Maybetomorrowitwillbecomeclearwhatyou’resupposedtodo.Maybeit’saboutTheo.Maybeit’saboutthecabin.Ibetyou’llfigureitout.Mymottois‘Gowiththeflow,’soIthinkthat’swhatyouneedtodohere.”Hepatsmyknee.“She’llberight,mate.”
Gowiththeflow.Ofcoursethat’sBenny’smotto.
It’snotlikethere’saguidebooktotimejumping,orsomeobviousportalintheatticwall—atleastinNarniatheyknewtogetbacktothewardrobe.SoIguessouronlyclearoptionistogodownstairsandrejointhefestivities—gowiththeflowitis.
IstandupandBennytakesmyarmprotectively.“Besidesallthat,”hesays,“everythingelseokay?Work?Sociallife?Romanceupdates?”
Ipausewithmyhandonthedoor.“Work?”Afistofdreadsqueezesmylungs.“Meh.Sociallifeisfine.Mira—remembermycollegeroommate?ShemovedbacktoBerkeley,soit’sbasicallyjustthetwoofusscrollingYelpfornewrestaurantswherewecangoeatourfeelings.”
Bennylaughs,andthengoessilent,waitingformetoanswerthelastloomingquestion.Finally,heprompts:“And?”
“Whatisromanceagain?”Iaskrhetorically.“I’vehadthreedatesinayear.Ontwoofthemitwasimmediatelyobviouswewerenotagoodfit,andIusedtheveryoldandverytired‘Myfriendhasanemergencyandneedsme’excuse.”
“Oof.”
“Thethirdguywasgood-looking,gainfullyemployed,easytotalkto—”
“Nice.”
“—butondatetwoadmittedthatalthoughheandhiswifestilllivetogether,heswearsthey’reseparatedandtotallyplanstomoveoutsoon.”
Bennygroans.“No.”
“Eh,there’snotmuchgametobehadwhenyou’restilllivingwithyourmommy.”Iwavemyhand,saying,“Soyeah.Romanceisonhold.”
Hekissesmytemple.“Lifeain’teasy.”
“Youcansaythatagain.”IgrinovermyshoulderathimasIturn.“Imean,youprobablywillsaythatagain,youjustwon’tknowit.”
Bennylaughs,insistingonwalkingaheadofmedownthestairs,andItakethemasslowlyandpainstakinglyasIcan.WhenImakeittothebottom,hegivesmeagenuinehighfive—whichIgladlytake.Wearenowcelebratingthesmallvictories.chapternine
Myeyesopentothedark,andtheviewofblanknothingnessissofamiliaritsendsaspikeofreliefthroughme.IknowexactlywhereIam:bottombunk,basementroom,thecabin.WhatIdon’tknowiswhen
WhenIfumbleformyphone,Idon’thonestlyknowwhatI’mhopingfor—whetherIwanttogobacktothepresentorstayhereinthepast.It’smootanyway:onelookatmyhomescreenandIseeit’sDecember21.Imadeittothenextmorning,butwhoknowsifI’llmakeitthroughtherestoftheday?Still,Igivemyselfamentalhighfive.Remember?Smallvictories.
Irollontomybacktoletitsinkin.Iwanttounderstandnotonlywhatisgoingon,butwhy.DidImakethishappensomehow?Ifso,how?Whatwashappeningrightbeforethecrash?
Momwascryingoverthesaleofthecabin.
Dadwasadvocatingforsomechangeinourlives.
Mileswasinhisownlittleworld,sotheusual.AndI…well,Iwasfallingdownamentalrabbitholeofdread,panickingaboutlosingtheonethinginmylifethatalwaysmadesensebefore—
Istop,boltinguprightinthedarkness,remembering.Universe,I’dasked.WhatamIdoingwithmylife?Please.Canyoushowmewhatwillmakemehappy?
Isitevenpossible?Itakeadeepbreathandmakemyselfanswerthequestionanyway:Whatmakesmehappy?
Thiscabin,ofcourse.AndmyfamilyandourchosenfamilyherewithuseveryDecember.Butalso…Andrew’slaugh.Aquietafternoonspentdrawinginmybackyard.WatchingMilestrytobreakdance.Buildingsnowcreaturesatthecabin.Mymother’scooking.Sledding.Aaron’scheeseblintzes.Thefeelingofdriftingofftosleepwithawindowopeninthespringtime.
ButIwassentbackhere,specifically.Notaheadtothespringorsummer.Nothometothebackyardwithasketchbook.Here.AndIneedtoknowwhy.
Eyesclosed,Iletaflurryofimagestakeoveruntilonehitsthebrakes,comingintofocusinmymind.
TheoandIwerethirteen,Andrewwassixteen,anditwasthefirsttimethatIregisteredthathewasobjectivelygorgeous.Beforethen,theHollisboyswerefirmlyrootedinthefamilycategoryandInoticedtheminthewaythatInoticedmyownreflection:bothdispassionatelyandobliviously.Butthatwinter,Rickywashavingabunchofelectricalissuesatthecabin,andhekeptsendingAndrewdowntothefuseboxtoresetthebreakers.Whenhewasn’thelpinghisdad,AndrewwasplayingWarwithmeandKyle,anditwasgettingprettyintense.IthoughtAndrewwaspullinghighcardsfromthebottomofhisdeck.Hecalmlyinsistedhewasn’t.Ifollowedhimdowntothebasement,yellingatthesideofhisfacewhileheaimedaflashlightonthefuseboxandcalmlytoldmeto“bequietfortwoseconds,Mae”andthenthelightswentbackonandhisprofilewasilluminatedanditfeltlikeaboulderrolledoverinsideme.
Forthefirsttime,Ireallynoticedhim—thesofthairathistemples,theincreasinglymasculineshapeofhisneck,theperfectlineofhisnose,howbighishandssuddenlyseemed.Fromthatmomentonitfeltlikemyadolescencewassplitintotwohalves:beforeIfellforAndrew,andafter.
Wewentbackupstairs,butIdidn’twanttoplayanymore.NotbecauseIwouldbemadifIlost,butbecauseIwantedhimtowin.IwantedhimtowinbecauseIwantedhimtobehappy.Andrewwouldn’teverbejustafamilyfriendagain;hewouldalwaysbealittlebitmore,alittlebitmine,evenifhedidn’tknowit.
Butthefeelingwasunsettling:Ididn’tlikethatsensationofbeingalightweightscreendoorinaheavywind.
Therestoftheholidaywasatorment.Andrewinhispajamapants,noshirt,obliviouslyscratchinghisstomachashehelpedafour-year-oldMileshangorigamicranes.Andrewsittingnexttomeatthetable,watchingmedrawandswearing,withlovingwonder,thathethoughtIhadagiftforart,justlikemymom.Andrewinjeansandathickwoolsweater,helpingDadandBennybringinfirewood.AndrewearnestlyplayingsongaftersongonhisguitarformeandTheo,tryingtointroduceustothewonderofTomPetty.Andrewhalf-asleeponthesofainfrontofthefire,withMilesasleeponhim.WhenweallplayedSardines,andIhid,IwouldpraythatAndrewwouldfindmefirst,thatwewould
Andrewwasenthusiasticallymusical,reluctantlyathletic,quiet,andunattainable.Generouswithtimeandcompliments,selflesswithfamily.Adorablymessyhair,shysmile,andthekindofteenagemonsterwhoneverneededbraces.Imaginesleepinginabunkbedacrosstheroomfromthateverynight,withthenewawarenessthatAndrewmighthaveagirlfriend,thathehadbodypartsIhadn’teverconsideredbefore,thathewasprobablyalreadyhavingS-E-X.
Althoughitwouldmakesenseforthegrown-upstoeventuallyworrythatsomethingscandalouswouldhappenbetweenmeandoneoftheHollisboysdowninthesecludedbasement,noonebattedalash.Mymotherwasnormallyincrediblystrictaboutboundaries,butwewerefamily,afterall.MaybeAndrewwassoobviouslyuninterestedinme,andIwassoobviouslyuninterestedinTheo,thatitneverpingedtheirparentalradar,evenwhenwewereoldenoughtodrinkalcoholandmaketerribledecisions.
IgrewupgoingtochurcheverySundaybutdecidedalongtimeagothatCatholicismwasn’tforme.Now,inthedarkness,I’mstartingtobelievethatsomethinghasgivenmeatruedo-over.Abulletdodgedatthemostwonderfultimeoftheyear.Butinthisworldfullofpeoplewhoneedmuchbiggerthingsthantohaveavoidedastupid,drunkenkiss,IwishIunderstoodwhyme.
???
Iclimboutofbed,carefulnottowakeTheoorMiles.Cautiouslyenteringthekitchen,I’mnotsurewhatI’llfind
Buteverythingseemsnormal.Asidefromthemissinghollygarlandthatthetwinshaven’tyetputupinthekitchen,everythinglooksexactlylikeitdidwhenweleftonlyfivedaysfromnow.Orisittwodaysago?Whothehellknows.
RickyshufflesinjustafterIdo.Hissalt-and-pepperhairistidyupfrontbutaholymessintheback.Hiseyesarestillsquinty,buthebeamssobrightlyatmeitcausesanactualacheinmychest.IgivemyselfasecondtocelebratethatI’mreallyhere,inthiskitchen.IthoughtI’dlostthis.
“MaelynJones,”hesayshoarsely,“youandmearetwopeasinapod.”
Inside,Iamglowing,waiting.
Hesitsdownwithagroan.“Webothwakeupwiththesun.”
Ahhhhh.Thereitis.
“Youknowtheworstthingintheworldwouldbeneverhearingyousaythatagain?”Ikissthetopofhisheadandthenpourhimacupofcoffeeinhisfavoritereindeermug.
“Whywouldyouevenworryaboutthat?”
Idon’tanswer.Hardtoexplain,Ricky
Butthethoughtlandsagain,heaviernow,likeastoneinariver:IthoughtI’dlostthis.IthoughtIwouldneverhavethismomentagainwithRicky,inthiskitchen,andhereIam.Doeshehaveanyideawhatagiftthisplaceistoallofus?Thecabinmakesmemorethanhappy,itmakesmefeelgrounded.AmIgettingachancetokeepthemfromselling?
Hetakesalongsipandsetshismugdown.“How’reyoufeelingthismorning,Noodle?”
Me?HowI’mfeelingissuddenlytheleastofmyworries.WithclarityaboutapossiblepurposecomesanexhilarationsoprofounditcanonlymeanthatI’montherighttrack.Afterall,theceilingdidn’tfallandthefloordidn’topenuptosendmebacktotheplane.
“I’mfine.”Ileanbackagainstthecounter.I’msmilingatRickyovermycoffee,butmythoughtsareacycloneofrecollecting,planmaking,playingitcool.“Betterthanever,actually.”
Iturntothesoundoffeetonthestairstoseeasleep-rumpledBennypeekingaroundthecorner.Heholdsafingeruptohismouthandmotionsformetocometowardhim.AglanceovermyshouldershowsRickyhappilysippinghiscoffeeandalreadyatleastthreecookiesdeepintotheshortbreadtin,soIpushoffthecounterandquietlymakemywayintothehall.
Withahandoneachshoulder,Bennybendsattheknees,peeringintomyeyes.
Iwaitforanexplanation.Nonecomes.“Yes?”
“Justlooking.”
“For?”
“Notsure.Tryingtorememberthesignsofaconcussion.”
Irollmyeyesandpullhimup.Hiscardiganisshockinglysoft.“Isthiscashmere?”
Hestaresdownatitlikehedoesn’trememberputtingiton.“Maybe?”Helooksbackupatme.“Focus,Mae.”
Blinkingmyeyes,Irememberwhywe’rehere.“Doyourememberourconversationlastnight?”
“Yes?”
Iexhale,relieved.“Okay,”Isay,mentallyworkingthisout.“We’redoingthisoveragain,butI’mtheonlyonewhorealizesit.Ihaven’tbeensentback,soImustbedoingsomethingright?”
“Isthereanotherexplanation?”
Ichewonmylip.“ThatI’mcrazy?Thatthisisallrandom?ThatI’mactuallyinacomainahospitalinSaltLake?”
“Idon’tlikeanyofthoseoptions,”headmits.
“Uh,yeah,”Iscoff,grinningwryly.“I’mnotwildaboutthem,either.”
“I’mhere,”hereasons.“Imean—I’mreal.I’minthiswithyou,andsoitcan’tjustbehappeningtoyou,right?”
Athoughtoccurstome:“Quick.TellmesomethingIwouldn’tpossiblyknowaboutyou—otherthanyourstashofmushrooms,tooobvious.JustincaseIrebootalloveragain.”
“Youknowaboutthemushrooms?”
“Benny.”
Hefrownsashethinks.Andthenheleansinandwhispersarushedstringofwords.
Whenhepullsback,Istareathim.“Benny.”
Helaughs,shakinghishead.“Iknow.”
Ishudder.“Imeantsomethinglike,‘Myfirstdog’snamewasLady.’Notlike,‘IlivedastrangedoublelifeasanudewaiterinArizona.’”
Heshrugs.“It’sthefirstthingthatcametomind.”
Closingmyeyes,Ishakemyheadtocleartheimage.
“Dowetelltheothers?”Bennyasks.“Imean,thiswholesituationisprettywild.Maybeoneofthemhasexperiencedthisbeforeandmanagedtogettotheothersideofit?Maybeyou’reright,andthisplacereallyismagic.”
“Ilikeyourthinking,butImighthaveabetteridea.Imean,RickyandLisadecidingtosellthecabinwasthecatalystformywholewishinthefirstplace.Doyouthinkit’spossiblewe’resupposedtoconvincethemtokeepit?Maybeifweallpitchinandshowthemwhatitmeanstous?”
HelookspastmetowhereRickyiscuddlinghiscoffee.“Neverhurtstotry,Isuppose.”
“Everyoneisalwayscomplainingaboutallthetraditions,”Iwhisper,“butRickyreallydoessomuchforus.Whatifwe’realljustverygung-hoaboutthings?Whatifweoffertohelpwiththeupkeep?Repairs?”
“Youthinkyoucangeteveryoneonboard?”heasks.
Ilookoutthewindowandgrimace.Today’straditionwasonceaboutbuildingsnowmen,butthenyoungerMaeapparentlyaskedwhywecouldn’tbuildsnowgirls,andthentinyMilescamealongandaskedwhyhecouldn’tbuildasnowmonkey.Now,December21isSnowCreatureDay,andthatseemstoworkforeveryone.
Thatis,unlessit’sterribleoutside.Rickydoesn’tadjusttheitineraryforinclementweather,andwe’veallgrownsocompetitiveaboutthisactivitythatwe’reusuallyoutthereforagoodtwoorthreehoursbeforewe’vepickedawinner.Aglanceoutthewindowrevealsanintimidatinggray-bluesky.Thick,daggerlikeicicleshangmenacinglyfromtheeaves.There’snowaywe’llgetacomplaint-freegroupouttheretoday.
IgulpasIlookbackathim.“I’lltry.”
Bennysucksinabreathbetweenhisteeth.“Man,changingthefuture,though.Like,haveyoueverheardofthebutterflyeffect?Whatifyouchangeonetinythingandsomethingterriblehappens?”
“Listen,”Isay,“iftheuniversewantstodropacursedringinmylapthatI’msupposedtothrowintoalava-filledmountain,I’mallforit.ButrightnowthisisallI’vegot.”
???
IfollowBennyintothekitchenjustasthebackdooropens.Andrewstepsinsideandbringswithhimasharpstreakofice-coldair,aswellasashotofadrenalinestraightintomyheart.
Ishoutoutabright“Hey!”
Inmyhead,I’vesaiditwitheasycomposure,JamesDeanleaningagainstthedoorframe.Inreality,I’vehollereditwithoddaggression,andeveryoneelseflinches.
Bennyputsacalminghandonmyback
Andrewpullsoutanearbudandgrinsatme,unfazedbecauseheisamagicalcreature.“Heyyourself.”
He’sshivering,wearingadownjacket,scarf,gloves,andablanketasashawl.Thishumantangleofhot+adorableisusuallyhiddenintheaudiotechboothduringshowsatRedRocksbutshouldabsolutelybeonstageforeveryonetoenjoy.
“So,theBoathousewastoastywarm?”Iask,atnormalvolumenow.
Hepushesamessofbrowncurlsoutofhiseyes.“Evenfreezingoutthereisbetterthansleepinginthebunkbeddownstairs.”
Whatanadorableliar.Thebunkbedsmightbeinabasement,butit’satleastinsulateddownthere,andthebedsthemselvesarecozyandwarmandcoveredinfluffydowncomforters.TheBoathouseisatwelve-by-twelveboxwithoneentirewallofwindowsthatoverlookthebacksideofthemountain,andnotevenawood-burningstovetokeepitheated.It’sgorgeousbutbarelyastepabovesnowcamping.Andrewwilldieinthisbattleofwillswithhisdad.
Smugnow,Rickystudieshisshiveringoldestsonovertherimofhiscoffeemug.“Yousureaboutthat?”
Behindus,Bennysnorts.
Amemorybubblepopsinmybrain.“Whynotusethosebigsleepingbagsinthebasementstoragearea?”
ThreepairsofeyesswingtomeandIrealizeI’vejustmessedup.
Andrew’sinterestisdefinitelypiqued.“Sleepingbags?”
“Howonearthdidyouknowaboutthose?”Rickyaskswithanastonishedsmile.“Ididn’tevenrememberwehadthem.Wehaven’tused’eminyears.”
“Yes,Mae.Howdidyouknowaboutthose?”Bennysays,andthengivesmeacovertthumbs-up.
IknowaboutthembecauseonChristmasmorning,Rickyrememberedthattheywerethere.HeairedthemoutandgavethemtoAndrewafterhecameinshiveringforthefifthdayinarow.They’retheseenormousarmy-greencanvasbagsthateachweighaboutfortypounds.Theinsidesareathickredflannelwithaweirddeer-huntingmotifthathonestlymakesthebagslooklikebloodycarcasseswhenthey’reunzipped,butwhoamItojudgeifAndrew’swarm?Irememberhebundledhimselfinoneandsaiditwasthebestnight’ssleephe’dhadallyear.Ijustgothimanextrafournightsofblissfulslumber.
Ilookskyward.Bonuspoints,Universe?
Bonuspointsornot,rememberingthesleepingbagsishowIendupoutsideinthefreezingcold,wearinganenormousparka,holdingabaseballbatateightinthemorningandbeatinganunzippedbagwhereithangsoveraclothesline.Isteerclearoftheicicles.
Fartherdowntheline,Andrewswingshistennisracketattheothergreen-and-redcanvas-and-flannelcarcass.Hegivesitagoodwhackandsendsplumesofdustflyingeverywhere.“Oh,Maisie,thiswasaclutchidea.”
“Youshouldknowbynowwheretocomeforthebigbrain.”
Andrewsquintsatmeinthecoldmorningair.“Ihaven’tseentheseinatleastadecade.”
Theimpliedquestion—thesameoneBennyandRickyaskedaloudonlyminutesago—isplainlyexpressedinhiseyes.“IwaslookingforaroastingpanforMom,”Ilie.“Theywerebackthereinthestoragearea.”Blinkingdowntothegarishredinterior,Imumble,“They’resogory.It’salmostdisturbing.”
“Iremembercampingintheseasakid,”hetellsme,“andpretendingIwasLukeSkywalkersleepinginatauntaun.”
“A-plusnerdreference.”
“‘SnugasaLukeinatauntaun’isn’tasayingyet,butwecouldmakeithappen.”
“Youknow,”Isay,takingaswing,“youcouldgointotownandbuyaspaceheater.”
Andrewsmackshissleepingbagseveraltimes,clearinganimpressiveamountofdirt.“Thatwouldbeadmittingdefeat.”
“Ah.Definitelyworthdyingtoavoid.”
“Wheremydadisconcerned,thatiscorrect.Butthankyouforbeingsosmart.”Hissmilecrinkleshiseyesandatiny,mightyvoicescreamsinmycranium:LOOKHOWHAPPYTHATSMILEMAKESYOU.“Speakingofdefeat,”hesays,“youreadyfortoday?”
Freezingasitis,snowhasalsofallenandthereisagorgeouslayeroffresh,fluffypowderforournextadventure.“Oh,hellyes.”chapterten
ItsurprisesnoonewhoknowstheHollisfamilythattheytaketheirsnow-creaturebuildingveryseriously.Setoutforuswhenweallemergeontothefrontporchafterbreakfastareimplementsrangingfromlargeshovelstotinygardenspades,rakestosqueegees.Atthebaseofthestairs,atableiscoveredincups,plates,buckets,knives,spoons,icecreamscoops,andevenhandheldtorchestohelpusshape,mold,andcarveouttheperfectfeaturesofourcreations.Besidethetableareawoodboxandalargewickerbasket;theboxholdsfreshcarrots,turnips,potatoes,andavarietyofsquashfornosesandlimbs.Thebaskethasmittens,wigs,hats,andscarves.
Asistradition,weteamup,worktobuildthebestsculpture,andthenvoteonwhichshouldwin.Thestakesarehigh:forourdinnertonight,Rickyintentionallypicksawiderangeofsteaks,fromhammeredchucktofiletmignon.Everyonedropstheiranonymouspapervoteforbestsculptureinabox—honorcodesaysyoucan’tvoteforyourself—andthewinningteamgetstopicktheirdinnerandeveryoneelse’s.OnSnowCreatureDay,I’venevereatenfiletmignon.
Onlyafewdaysago,AndrewandIbuiltasnowmonkeybutdidn’thappenuponbrillianceuntiltheveryend,whenwehadtorushtofinishandlosttoMomandRicky’sgrizzlybear.Theostartedtrashtalking;heandAndrewendedupwrestling.Thingsturnedcompetitive,Ihoppedintothemix,andTheotackledmeandthenseemedtotakeanawfullylongtimegettingup.
WasthatthestartofsomethingIdidn’tseecoming?Ishudder.
Iwillnotbelettingthathappenagain.
Thetwinsbounddownthestepsanddiveintothefreshpowder;ashasbeentrueeveryyearoftheirshortlives,theywillbeenthusiasticparticipantsforaboutfifteenminutes,thenwillloseinterest.
Aaronmadehisbubbe’sfamouscheeseblintzesthismorning,butdidn’teatasingleone,choosinginsteadtosiponaproteinshakeandinsisthewas“perfectlycontentwithoutallthatdairy”andhas“neverfeltbetter.”Nowhe’sontheporchinrippedskinnyjeans,afloralbomberjacket,andapairoftrendythick-soledsneakersthatlookbettersuitedtowalkingaroundinaspaceshipthaninsixinchesoffreshsnow.
“Thisis…different,”Andrewsays,lookinghimupanddown.
“Doesn’tPapalookcool?”Zacharysays,andtugsontheendofAaron’sBurberryscarf.“HehasthesameshoesasMr.Tyler.”
“WhoisMr.Tyler?”Iask.
Kylelooksonwiththelong-sufferingsmileofaspousewhohasenduredhishusband’sshenanigansformonthsandisalltoohappytosharethejoy.“That’sthetwins’twenty-four-year-oldInstagram-famoussoccercoach.”
Aaronjogsinplace.“They’resupercomfortable.”
Andrewisadelightfulsweetheart:“I’msuretheyare.”
Bythispointinourlives,weallknowtheroutine:Partnerssplitoffandgettostrategizing,thenbuilding.ItmightmakemoresenseformetopairupwithTheobecausewe’repracticallytwinsbut1)Mileswouldmurderanyonewhodaredstealqualitytimewithhisidol;2)AndrewandIarebotheasilydistractedaswellasonlymarginallyinvestedinwinning,sonobodyelsewantsusontheirteam,and3)IjustreallywanttobewithAndrew.Notthemostnoblereason,buthereweare.
Asfortherest,Bennyisonlyoccasionallyinterestedintheevent,andmostlyjustactsasajudgeand/orcheerleader.LisaworkswithKyle.AaronworkswithDad,who,toDad’scredit,takesalonglookatAaron’soutfitbutrefrainsfromcommenting.TheoandMilesteamup,obviously,andRickyandMomareateam.Ninetimesoutoften,theywin.Iguessthat’swhathappenswhenyoupairalandscapearchitectwithanartist.
WhenKennedyandZacharystartedkindergartenlastyear,weinstitutedaSwimsuitRule:Nothingcanbecarvedthatwouldbehiddenbyaswimsuit.Withouttheguideline,Theocannotbetrusted.TherewereanumberofyearsthereinourearlytwentieswhenevenTheo’ssnowlizardshadboobs.
Outofthecornerofmyeye,IcatchhimtheprecisemomenthespotsthethickcurvedbranchthatinspireshimandMilestomakethesnowelephant.Theadrenalineofthisdiscoverykickshisenergyintohighgearandthetwoguyshigh-fivelikefraternitypledgeswho’vejusttappedtheirfirstkeg.
Bennysidlesuptomeatthetable.“What’syourplan?”
IwatchasAndrewsiftsthroughtheboxofveggies,waitingforinspiration.Afewdaysago,we’dstartedmakingapandaandthenabortedthatoptionwhenwerealizeditreallyjustlookedlikeabear—whichMomandRickywerealreadydoingandbetter.Wepivotedtothemonkey,andIthinkitwouldhavebeenamazingifwe’dstartedonthatfromtheget-go.
“I’mgoingtousewhatIlearnedlasttimeandwin.”
Bennynodsforafewquietsecondsbeforemutteringdryly,“Thatseemsaltruistic.”
Iglarehalf-heartedlyathim.“Originally,RickyandMomwon—liketheyalwaysdo—andeveryonecomplained,”Iwhisper.“Wedon’twantpeoplecomplaining,wewantpeoplehavingfun!ProjectSavetheCabin,right?So,ifAndrewandIwin,wecanmakeabigdealthatit’sourfirststeak-pickever.Rah-rahtraditions!”
Bennystaresatme.“Everyoneknowsyoudon’tcareaboutthesteak.”
Istarebackathim.“MaybeI’mhungry.”
Heliftsabrow.
“OrmaybeI’mtiredoflosing.”
Bennysnortsintohiscoffee.“Thereitis.”
Andrewapproaches.Ibumpmyshoulderagainsthisandpretendtogivehimavote.“Whatareyouthinking?”
“Apandabear?”hesays,holdinghishandsouttoindicateabig,roundbelly.
Igivethisfivesecondsoffakeconsideration,tappingmychin.
“Ithinkyourdadandmymomarealreadymakingabear.”Itiltmyhead,subtlygesturing,beforerealizingthatofcoursethey’restillgatheringmaterialsandI’dhavenowayofknowingwhatthey’redoing;alltheyhaveisashapelessmoundofsnow.
Andrewfrownsatmequizzically,greeneyesnarrowing.
“IheardMomtalkingaboutitearlier,”Ilie.“Ibetit’llbeamazing.”
Hebuysthis—Thankyou,Universe—andIwalkovertothesideporchtolocatethetwoperfectpiecesofbarkthatwillbecomeourmonkey’sears.“Maybewedoamonkey?”Iholdthemtothesidesofmyhead,demonstrating.
Withasmile,hedigsintotheboxandbrandishesthetwoarm-shapedsquashthatwillfitourmonkeyperfectly.Wegrinwildlyateachother.Wearegeniuses!
“Becool,”hewhispersquickly,wranglinghissmileundercontrol.Weshareasubtlefist-bump.
Atfirst,we’reallworkinginourrespectiveareas,ignoringwhateveryoneelseisdoingbecauseittakesawhileforthelumpsofsnowtostartlookinglikeanythingspecific.Butastimegoeson—aroundwhenthetwinsgetboredandstartmakingsnowballsnearby—wegetmorecompetitive.Eachteamglancesovertheirshouldersmorefrequently.Weallstarttowhisperandpoint.Nooneiseagerforadinnerofsinewychuck,andwehavetoknowwhichteamwe’llneedtobeat.
Nearlyforty-fiveminutesin,themonkeyiscomingoutevenbetterthanIcouldhaveimagined—evenbetterthanshedidlasttime.Herearsarejustbigenoughtomakeherlookcartoonishandcuddly.Imanagedtosnagsomebeautifultortoiseshellbuttonsthatmakehereyeslookdarkandluminous.Andrewisgiftedwiththebutterknife,apparently,becausehe’salternatingbetweenheatingitupwithalighterandcarefullycarvingoutherfeatures.Hernoseandmouthareperfect.Lookwhatwecandowhenweactuallyputineffort!
Andmaybecheat.Justalittle.
“It’stoowet.”
IlookupatAndrewwhenhesaysthis.“What’stoowet?”
Swallowingaudibly,AndrewusesthebutterknifetopointtowhereI’mstrugglingtogetthemonkey’stailtocurlupandbackoveritself.ItcrumbleseverytimeIdigouttheextrasnow.“Youhaveamoistureproblem.”
Thewordsbouncebackandforthbetweenus,growingloudersomehowintheringingsilence.Hiseyestwinklewithrepressedlaughter,andfinally,unabletoholditinanymore,webothbreak.
“DidyoujusttellmeIhaveamoistureproblem?”
Hecan’tstoplaughing.“No—yes.”
“Areyoubroken,AndrewPolleyHollis?”
Hedoublesover.“IpromiseI’veneversaidthattoawomanbefore.”
Pressingmyhandtomychest,Isay,“Whatanabsolutehonortobethefirst.”Iwavehimover.“Comehelpmewiththis.”
“Withyourmoistureproblem?”
“Andrew.”
Hecrawlsover,eyesglimmeringastheymeetmine.Iwanttocapturethismoment.Iwanttoputitinasnowglobeandbeabletoseeitjustlikethis,forever.
WedecidetonameourmonkeyThea,becausewewanttoreachpeaktrollinglevelswithTheowhenwewin.Imakesuretostandtothesideoften,lookinglikeI’mthinkingreallyhardaboutmynextstep.AndrewcatcheswhatI’mdoingandgivesmeanapprovingsmirk.
Ourbaitworksbeautifully.Rickymeandersover,eyesThea.“Whatisthat?”
Iseehistrashtalkandknockitdown,coylyrunningafingerbeneathherartisticallysculptedjaw.“Youknowexactlywhatitis.HernameisThea,butIliketothinkofherasfiletmignon.”
Hetiltshishead,walkinginawidecirclearoundher.Icantellhe’sshockedandimpressed;AndrewandIarebringingourA-game.
FinallyRickyspeaks,butitcomesoutwithajealousedge.“Idon’tknow,Mae.Haveyouseenourbear?”
Givingitabriefglance,Andrewsays,“Oh,thatbark-coveredlumpofsnowoverthere?”
“Hey,that’sgoingtobemymasterpiece!”Withalaugh,MomthrowsaloosesnowballinAndrew’sdirection.
Unfortunately,atthatexactmoment,Dadstandsupabouthalfwaybetweenthemandthesnowballhitshimwithathud,squarelyonthesideofhisneck.Theiceslidesunderhiscollar,andIseeabigpuffofitdisappearbeneathhissweater.
Mystomachdrops.Momislightheartedandfun-loving.Dadis…well,heisnot.Heiskindbutsensitive,andnevergoodatbeingthebuttofajoke.
Please,Ithink.Don’tfight.Don’tderailthisday
Momplayfullysingsongs,“Oops!DidIhityou,Dan?”
Thegroupholdsitscollectivebreath.Mom,unfazed,doesasaucylittledance.Thiswomanisplayingwithfire.
Holdingeyecontact,Dadbendstocollectandformaperfect—andterrifyinglycompact—snowball.IdeflateinreliefwhenhestandsandIseethathe’sgrinning.Whenhetossesthesnowballather,Iswearitwhistlesominouslythroughtheair,missingherbyonlyinches.
Momscreechesindelight.Dadlaughs,bendingtomakeanotherone,callingout,“Oh,you’reinforitnow.”
Thisisnew.
Butmynervesaregrowingfrayedagain;AndrewandIaredoingsowellwithThea,andforafewblissfulseconds,IactuallyforgotthatI’velivedthisdaybeforeandjustletmyselfenjoyit.Butbeinginsnowwiththiscrowdisabitlikewalkingaroundinapoolofgasolinewithalitmatch.Snowballfightsarealwaysapossibility.
Thetwins,whohavebeenstockpilingamonsternumberofsnowballsthemselves,takeDad’sactasasignthattheyaregoodtolaunch,andbeforeIrealizewhat’shappening,theentiresceneisdevolvingintoahugewar.Matchtogasoline:ZacharypeltshisdadAaroninthebackoftheleg,whoblowsoutthecrotchofhisdesignerjeansasheattemptstotuckandrollforcover.Standingagain,hepeltsKyleinthestomach,whopeltsDadonthearm.DadaimsforKylebuthitsLisaintheshoulder,andsheretaliateswithavicioussnowbulletthathitshimsquarelybetweentheshoulderblades.Apparentlyheraimwithasnowballismuchbetterthanheraimwithacamera.
“Guys,stop!”Iholdmyarmsout,butnooneispayingattention.NotevenRickyseemsfazedatthisbreachoftradition;he’sbeamingsnowballsathissonswithalaughthatseemstoechooffthecabin,thetrees,themountains
Peoplearerunning,diving,dodgingbehindsnowcreationsand—tomyimmenseshock—knockingthemover.WithaflashofAaron’shot-pinkbriefs,heandDadcharge,andMomandRicky’ssnowbeargoesdowninapowderycrumble.Withthetwins’enthusiasm,TheoandMiles’selephantisreducedtoasad,lumpymound,andinretaliation,theytakeoutLisaandKyle’sgiraffe—alreadyanoverlyambitiousproject.BythetimeTheostands,thegiraffehaslostitsheadandnowlookslikeawhiteboulder.Onlyanhourago,thelawnwasaperfect,thicksheetoffluffy,wetsnow.Nowpatchesofdirtpeekthrough.Bladesofgrassaremixedwithbroken,muddysnowballs.Itisunbridled,wintrychaos.
“Whatishappening?”IshouttoAndrewthroughthecommotion.
“Atlast,traditioniscrumbling!”HewearsamaniacalgrinasherunstotakeabracingstanceinfrontofThea,armswide,addinggallantly,“Theycantakethisday,buttheycannottakeourmonkey!”
Panicclimbslikeavineinmythroat.Sure,snowballfightsareablast,butthisisn’thowtodayissupposedtogo.Wecanhaveasnowballfighttomorrow,orevenChristmasEve.Imean,ifwe’rewillingtothrowthistraditionaway,whathappenslatertonightwhenDadandRickygotopickouttheChristmastree?Willtheyignorethetraditionofhuntingforthebestone,andinsteadbringhomethefirstonetheysee?Arewegoingtodisregardeverythingthatmakesthisvacationperfect?
Throwingmyarmsoutwide,IprotectTheaaslongasIcan,throughwhatfeelslikeaninsaneflurryofflyingsnowballs.Butoutofthecornerofmyeye,justasAndrewnailsMileswithaperfectshotrighttothegroin,IseeTheomakingaswandiveinourdirection.
Andrewtackleshisbrother,butit’stoolate.Thea,thefinalanimal,goesdowninanexplosionofsnowandwrestlinglimbsjustasBennystepsoutside
Thechaosclears,andtheviewbeforemeisreducedtoagatheringofpanting,snow-dustedidiots.
Bennystopsatthebottomofthestairsandlooksaround,confused.“Iwasgonefor,like,twominutes,youguys.”
Witheverythingdestroyed,theyfinallytakeafewmomentstosurveythedestructiononthefrontlawn.Iexpectdevastationandremorse.IexpectRickytoletoutawailing,heartbrokenWhathavewedone?!
…Butitnevercomes.Instead,he’sgrinningatwhatamessweallare,andthenthrowshisheadbackandletsoutadelighted,boominglaugh.
“Whatiswrongwithyou?”Icryout.“Don’tyougetit?Thisisspecial!Whatabouttradition?Wewon’tbeabletokeepdoingthistogetherifwedon’trespectwhatwe’veallbuilt!”
Andrewputsagentlinghandonmyarm.“Mae,”hesays,butwe’realldistractedbyagroaningcrackoverhead.Ilookupjustintimetoseealargesnow-coveredbranchbucklebeneaththeweightandplummet,almostinslowmotion.Straightforme.chaptereleven
ThistimeIwakeupscreaminginbetrayal,clutchingmyfaceandmyhead,searchingforbloodorbrains,orGodknowswhat.But,ofcourse,there’snothing.
Idon’thavetolooktoknowexactlywhereIam,andIhonestlyhavenomoreshitstogive.
“IDONOTUNDERSTANDWHATISGOINGON,”Ishouttotheplanearoundme.Sure,219otherpeoplehavetodealwithacrazywomanyellinginanenclosedspacewiththem,buthopefullytheuniversehearsme,too,becauseIhavehadit.
Ididn’taskmydadifIhadaheadinjury.
Imadeapledgetosavethecabin.
IwasabsolutelyontracktoneverkissTheoHollisagain.
WhatthehellelseamIsupposedtobedoing?
Ahushfallsovertheentireplane,andIfeelthepressofmyfamily’sstunnedattentiononthesideofmyface.EvenMomwokeupforthis.
AflightattendantleansoverMilestowhispertome.Tinysilverbellspinnedtohersweaterjingleinthedeafeningsilence.“Ma’am,iseverythingokay?”
“I’mfine,”Isay,irritablyandclearlynotfineatall.Butwhocares?Nobody!They’renotgoingtorememberthisanyway!“Justbeenlivingthesamefreakingdayoverandoveragain,butwhatever.Let’sjustlandandgetonwithit.”
“CanIgetyouabeverage?”sheasks,sottovoce.
“Isthatcodefor‘You’rescaringotherpassengers;canIgiveyousomewine?’”
Shejustsmiles.
“I’mgood.Thanks.”Leaningforward,Icatchmyfather’seye.“Dad,whenwegettothecabin,don’teatthegoddamncookie.”
???
Weclimboutofthecar,andit’slovelyandeveryoneisexcitedandyes,thisisnormallymyfavoritemomentoftheyearwithmyfavoritepeople,butLord,Ican’tdoitagain.Iamsotired.
IgiveadviceasIquicklydeliverhugs.“Kennedy,watchoutforMisoonyourwayinside.Dad,onceagain,don’teatthecookies.Everyone?Kylehasanewtattoo.It’sonhisarm—amusicnote—andit’sverycoolbutdon’ttouchit,it’shealing.Ricky,”Icontinue,“don’tworryabouttheHendrick’s,everyoneisfinewithBombay—andAaronisn’tdrinkinganywaybecausehe’smiddle-agedandstressedaboutgettingold.Speakingofhair,Theo,yourhaircutisgreat,butyourhairwasn’tevertheproblem.AndLisa?”Isay,andatwingeofguiltwormsthroughmebecausethey’reallstaringatmewithwide,worriedeyes.“Iloveyou—somuch—butmaybeletAaronpickthemusictonight.”Ipause.“AndletMomtakethephotos.”
Ifitweren’tsocoldout,we’dbeabletohearcricketschirpingintheconfusedsilence.
“Ireallydon’tmeantosoundlikeanasshole,”Isay,adding,“Oops,earmuffs,kids!I’vejusthadaday.”Thismakesmelaugh—aday!—andittakesmeafewawkwardsecondstogetthecacklingundercontrol.“It’swellestablishedthatI’materribledrinker,butifanyoneismixingdrinks,I’dlovesomethingfruitywithvodka.Noeggnog.”
Andrewsnapshisfingers,andIlookoverathim.Hiseyesarewide,buthismouthissmiling.Myeternallyunflappablehero.“Comingrightup,CrazyMaisie.”
DoIwanttofollowhiminside?DoIwanttoflirtwithhimontheporch?Yes.Butitwon’tmatter;itwillonlygetmyhopesup.
Istareattheskyandletoutalong,exhaustedgroan.“Whatiseventhepoooooint?”
Ahandcomesaroundmyupperarm.“Maelyn?”It’sDad.“Honey,what’sgoingon?”
“I’dsayit’salongstory,butit’sactuallynot.I’mstuckhere.Intime.”Iletoutanunhingedcackle.“DoIwanttovisitthiscabineveryyear?Yes.ButdoIreallywanttokeeprelivingDecembertwentiethforeverinordertodoit?No.No,Idonot.”
HeandMomshareaworriedlook.“Maybeweshouldtakehertoadoctor,”Momsays.
Dadturnstolookatherincredulously.“Iamadoctor.”
Shesighs.“YouknowwhatImean.”
“Idon’t,actually.”
Thetideofguiltriseshigherinme—they’realreadybickering,andI’mthereason—butIcan’tfixthatrightnow.They’llhavetofigurethisoutontheirown.
TurningmypleadingeyesonBenny,Isay,“Weneedtotalk.”
IlookbacktoMom,sendingherasilentJustgivemeaminute,beforeBennyandIheaduptotheporch.Ilovemymother,butrightnowIneedBenny’seventemper.
Itrytoundomyturbulentarrivalwithsomequick,gentlekissestothetopsofKennedyandZachary’sheads,buttheygostillandnervousundermytouch.
AtleastKennedypaysattentiontowherethedogiswhenshewalksinside.
AndDaddoesn’teatacookie.
Butnooneisgoingtorememberthisanyway.
???
Bennysitsnexttomeontheporchswing,andwerockbackandforthinawaresilence.Icanbarelymakeouttheshapeofthehousenextdoorthroughthetreesbutcanseethesmokecurlingfromthechimney,theglowoftheiroutdoorChristmaslightsthroughthebranches.
Thebranches
Ilookupwarily.Acrosstheyard,IthinkIspotthesnow-coveredbranchthatcrackedmeonthehead,andIpointatit,growling,“Youwillnotgetmetomorrow,youfucker.”
Bennygoesstill.“Areyougonnatellmewhat’sgoingon?”
“Itwon’tmatter.”
Hestudiesme.“Whynot?”
“BecausethisisthefourthtimeI’vebeeninthisday,andnomatterwhatItrytododifferently,Ikeepcomingback.”
“LikeGroundhogDay?”
“Isthatamovie?”
Hescrubsahanddownhisface.“God,you’reyoung.Istillthinkit’soneoftheweirdesttraditions,believingspringisdeterminedbyagroundhog’sshadow.SpringstartsonthesamedayeveryyearwhereI’mfrom.”
Imustbestaringathiminbewilderment,becausehenods.“Yes,Maelyn,GroundhogDayisamovie.”
“Thenyes.NomatterwhatIdo,Ikeepgettingclobberedandwakingupontheplane.”
“Maybeyoushouldtalktoyour—”
“Mydad?”Isay,andshakemyhead.“Nope.Wetriedthattwogo-aroundsback,butIfelldowntheatticstairs,and—”Imakeasplatmotionandhewinces.Igestureforhimtofinishthesentence.
“Youstartedoveragain?”
“Bingo.Apparently,it’snotmyhead,”Isay,aimingmyvoicetothesky.“Andapparentlyit’snotaboutsavingthecabin?”
Noanswer.Theuniverseisprofoundlyunhelpful.
Bennyfrowns.“Savingthecabinfromwhat?”
Inhalingdeeply,Idecidetotellhimeverythingagain.EvenifIonlymakeittotomorrow,Ineedsomeoneherewithmewhoknows.Eggnog.Facelicking.TraitorTheo.AdorableAndrew.Regret,regret,regret.Cabin.Accident.Purgatory.Whatever.
“Oh,”Isay,“AndIaskedyoutotellmesomethingthatonlyyouknowsoyou’dbelievemeifthishappenedagain.”
“And?”
“AndyoutoldmeabouttheclubinSedona.”
Hiseyesgowide.“Idid?”
“Yup.”Ishiver.“SoIhavetolivewiththatinformationnow.”
Bennyletsoutaquiet“Whoa.”
“Ascrazyasitsounds,IthinkthisisallhappeningbecauseIaskedtheuniversetoshowmewhatwouldmakemehappyandit’sjustsendingmehereoverandoveragainwithnoinstructionbooklet,”Ishoutupward.“Like,yes,Iloveithere.Igetit.AndnowIshalllivehereforever.EternalChristmas.Becarefulwhatyouwishfor,amIright?”Ilaughalittlemaniacally.
Afteralongpause,Bennyfinallyasks,“Okay,butlet’ssaythatyouhavenolimitsonwhatyoucanwishfor,what—inthiswholeenormousworld—wouldmakeyoutrulyhappy?”
Asifoncue,footstepspadquietlyfromthefrontdooracrosstheporch.Andthere,walkingoutsideholdingasparklingtumblerfulloforangejuice,vodka,andextraice,isAndrew.“Screwdriver.Heavyonthejuice,”hesayswithasweetsmile.“Because,nooffense,you’realightweight,Maisie.”
Hesitsdownontheporchswing,sandwichingmebetweenhiswarmbodyandBenny’s.Myemotionsareonfire,andthelustofmylifelooksbackandforthbetweenmeandBenny.“So.Whatwerewetalkingabout?”
Don’ttrusttheuniverse.
WeweretalkingaboutwhatinthewholewideworldI’dwishfor,andyouappeared.Funny,right?
AglanceatBennytellsmehe’snotcomingtomyrescuehere.Damnhimforchoosingthismomenttomakemefacemyfeelings.
“Weweretalkingaboutmycrazyday,”Isay,“andBennyaskedwhatwouldmakemehappy,andyouwalkedoutwithadrink.”Itakeitfromhim,adding,“Sothankyou.Iamhappynow.”
Itakeadeepdrinkandwow,Andrewdoesnotmessaround—thisisnot“heavyonthejuice.”I’msurprisedthatflamesdon’tflickeroffmytonguewhenIexhale.Nextreboot,I’llhavetoaskhimtomakeonethattastesslightlylesslikefire.
“That’sstrong,”Igasp,handingittoBenny,whosetsitdownonthetabletohisright.
“Youareinrareformtoday,Maisie,”Andrewsays,laughing.
Icoughharshly,wincingthroughtheburn.“Justlivingmytruth.”
“I’mgettingthat.”IfeelhimlookatBennyoverthetopofmyhead.“Aslongasyou’renotupsetwithusforsomereason?”
Guiltpiercesthroughmyrecklessmood.Whetherthey’refigmentsofmyimaginationorpawnsintheuniverse’sgame,Ilovethesepeopledesperately.I’llhavetobekindernexttimeIlosemymind.“IhopeIdidn’thurtyourmom’sfeelings.”
Helaughs.“AccordingtoDad,she’sbeenplayingthatBobDylanChristmasalbumforthreeweeksnowandwe’vealltoldherit’sterrible.Maybehearingitfromsomeonewhoisn’thersonorhusbandwillmakeadifference.”Andrew’sdarkbrowspulltogether.“ButhowdidyouknowDadforgottheHendrick’s?”
“Weirdhunch,”Isay.
Andrewpushesouthisbottomlip,sweetlyconsideringthis,andthennodslikehe’stotallysatisfiedwithmynon-explanation.Herollswithweird,surrealstuffalmostaswellasBennydoes.“Thatmusthavebeenonehellofadreamyouhadontheplane.LastweekIhadadreamIworkedatacarnival,”hesaysconversationally.“For,like,aweekafterwardIkeptfeelinglikeIwasconstantlylatetoworkatthecottoncandybooth.Itwascrazystressful.”
Thismakesmelaugh,andthethreeofusfallsilent.ThewindwhistlingthroughthetreelineistheonlysounduntilIcan’thelpit:“Whythecottoncandybooth,though?”
“Areyoukidding?”Andrewlooksatme,incredulous.“Thatwouldbe,like,thebestcarnivaljob.”
“Thestickiestjob,”Icorrect.
Bennyhumsinagreement.“I’dworktheTilt-A-Whirl.”
Igrimacedeeply.“That’salotofpuketocleanup.”Andrewshiversinresponse,andIlookathim.“What?Youthinkpeoplewon’tbehurlingaroundthecottoncandybooth?”
Bennylaughsandcloseshiseyes,tiltinghisfacetothesky.“Whatareweeventalkingaboutanymore?”
Thesunhaslongsincedisappearedbehindthemountains,andI’msodeeplytiredthatitfeelslikegravity’spullingmoreheavilyonme.“Andrew,”Isay,“it’sgonnabereallycoldoutintheBoathouse.”
Besideme,hegoesstill.“How’dyoukn—”
“Anotherhunch.”
Hesitswiththisforasecond,thensays,“Stillbetterthanabunkbed.”
“Iguess,”Iconcede.“Butlet’sbeatoutthoseoldsleepingbagsinthebasementbeforeyouheadouttheretonight.Idon’twantyoutofreeze.Let’ssaveyouandtheprotrudingpartsofyourbody.”
“I…”Hestaresatme.“Sleepingbags?”Atmysilence,headdsquietly,“Anotherhunch?”
“Yup.”
Twodimplesdiveintohischeeks.“Youworriedaboutmeoutthere,Maisie?”
“I’malwaysworriedaboutyou,”Isay.
“Andmyprotrudingbodyparts?”
Nexttome,IsenseBennyisvaliantlytryingtodisappearintotheswing.
“Always,”Isay,addingwithunbridledhonesty:“Iloveyoumassively.Let’sgetyousetupoutthere,andthenIcantakeanap.”
WhenIlookoverathim,themomentelongates;heisn’tlaughing,teasing,orplaying.He’sjuststaringatme.Ourgazesdon’tbreak,andforjustabreath,Andrew’sattentiondipstomymouthandIseehislipsmakeasmall,surprisedpout.Likehe’sseeingsomethingnewonmyfacethatwasn’ttherebefore.
Ifonlythiswerehisfuseboxmoment,aboulderrollingover.Agirlcandream.
Still,thesensationofhisattentionisadrug,andwhenItrytostandup,Iweaveinplace,nearlyfalling.BothBennyandAndrewboltuptocatchme.ButAndrewhasmefirstandmoresecurely—hishandscomeuptomyforearms,steadyingmeasIcrowdintohisspace.
Ican’thelpit;mydefensesaredown.ThatAndrewhugI’vealwayswanted?It’shappeningnow.Istepforwardintohisarms.
Ionlyneeditforasecond.Ijustwanttobeheld,tobehuggedbyhiminamomentthatisn’taboutsayinghelloorgoodbye.Icantellhe’ssurprisedatfirst,butthenhisarmscomearoundmywaistasminecomearoundhisneck,andIpullhimcloser,sotight.
Icrackopenaneye,waitingtobejerkedbacktotheplane.Iknowit’scomingbecausehereIam,beinggreedyandmakingthisaboutmeinsteadofsomethingmuch,muchbigger.
Butmyfeetstayrootedontheporch
“I’mjustgonna—”Bennyquicklyfadesintothebackground,unobtrusivelymakinghiswaytothefrontdoor.Blessyou,Benny.
“Hey.Youokay?”Andrewasksagainstmyhair.
“Yeah.”Iclosemyeyesandturnmyfaceintohisneck.Withahitofthewarm,softsmellofhim,Itrytoswallowdowntheaffectionswellinginmythroat.Butitsticksthere,likeapillswallowedwithoutwater.
“Justneededahug?”There’sasmileinhisscratchyvoice,andInod.TheCure’s“JustLikeHeaven”filtersoutfromhisheadphones;thesoundismuffledbythepressofourbodies,butthemelodyisclearenoughtopushanacheofnostalgiabetweenmyribs.I’veheardAndrewsingthissongahundredtimes.MusicisentwinedwithhisDNA,itisthebedrockofhisgentlehappiness,andrightnowthishugfeelslikealullaby,likeacalmingmelodyhummedatbedtime.
Frankly,Icouldstaylikethisforever,butdeepinsideIknowthisisn’twhattheuniverseisaskingmetodo.Isqueezehimcloseronelasttime,andthenstepback.“Thatwasjustwhatthedoctorordered.Yougivegoodhug,Mandrew.”
“Well,thanks,ma’am.”Hishairfallslikewildbramblesoverhisforehead.EyessobrightandgreenI’vealwaysfoundthecolormesmerizing.Helickshislips,andIstareatamouththatisfullandflirtyandpointedatme.Hepusheshishairoffhisforehead,onlytohaveitfallforwardagain.
Myfilterismomentarilybroken.“Whatisupwithyou?”Iaskquietly.
Helaughs.“What’supwithme?What’supwithyou?WhoisthisdemandingnewMaewhoneedsdrinksandhugs?”
“Youwouldn’tbelievemeifItoldyou,”Isay.
“Well,whateveritis,Ilikeher,”hetellsme.“You’remakingmefeelalittledrunk,outoftheblue.Whichisn’tabadthing,bytheway.”
BeforeIcanthinktoomuchonwhathemeans,hismouthcurvesintoagrinandAndrewtugsmyknitcapovermyeyessoallIgetofhisretreatisalaugh.chaptertwelve
Eventhough,ifIdothemath,I’veeatenthissamebreakfasttwiceinforty-eighthours,Istillgototownthefollowingmorning.DoIusuallytrytoensurethatthere’senoughfoodtomakeitaroundthetable?Ofcourse.ButIalsoknowthatthere’stwiceasmanyblintzesinthewarmingoven,andthatweneverfinish,andwhatareweherefor,anyway?Toleaveperfectlygoodfoodonthetable?Noway.Notonmyunpredictablewatch.
Andrewtakesthesuddenly-much-lighterplatterfromme,laughing.“Iseethatwe’restillgettingrambunctiousMaethismorning.Iapprove.”
“Listen,”Isay.“There’senoughforacrowdoffifty.Let’sstoppretendingwedon’twanttoputourwholefacesinthisplateandpickuptheslack.”
Gameforthis,Andrewtakesaheapingpileofblintzes,andthenloadsuphisplatewithmorebaconandeggswhentheycomearound.“I’llregretthis.”
Istickabigbiteinmymouth,speakingaroundit.“Willyou,though?”
Hegivesmeasmilethatreads,You’reright,Iwon’t
“Ifyoubringthissameenergytobuildingsnowcreaturesthismorning,”Aaronsays,lettingthemeatplatterpasshimby,“itcouldbeeitherverygoodorverybadforyourchancesofwinning.”He’sstillinhispajamas,andIfeellikeIshouldwarnhimaboutthewardrobemalfunctionhe’llexperienceinafewhours,butI’mnotsurethere’sawaytosanelyexplainhowIknowthat.
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Iaskinstead.
“Ithinkwhathe’ssaying,”Kylesays,takingtheplatterfromhishusband,“isthatyourvibethisyearfeelsalittle…”
“Unpredictable,”Dadfinishes,carefully.
“Hemeans‘nuts,’”Milescorrects.
“ThatisnotwhatImeant,actually.”
Kennedysmashesherpancakeswithafork.“Whatkindofnuts?”
Mileslooksupfromhisphone.“Thecrazykind.”
Zacharystandsuponhischair.“Idon’tlikewalnuts.”
“Miles,”Momchides.
“What?”
“It’sChristmas.Benicetoyoursister,”shesays.
KylewrestlesZacharyintohisseat.“WhenIwasabackupdancerforJanetJackson,”hecontinues,“wecalledthissortofmood‘frizzly.’”
AndrewmeetsmyeyesasiftosayPleasenoteJanetJacksonbackupdancermention,numberone
“‘Frizzly’isagooddescriptionforhowI’mfeeling.”Idon’taddthateventhoughI’mtheonewhosevibeisunpredictable,everyonebutAaronhastakentwiceasmuchfoodastheyusuallydo,too.
KylehandstheemptyplattertoTheo,whocomplainsthathehastogorefillit.
“Mae.”IlookuptoseeTheostandingbackfromthetable,givingmetheboychinlifttoindicatethatIshouldcomewithhim.Tohelphimopentheoven?Toholdtheplatterwhilehefillsit?
Instead,IgesturehowbusyIam,thwackagiantdollopofjamonmyblintzes,mumble,“Whythehellnot?”andfollowwithanenormousspoonfulofapplesauce.
Butwiththismasterpieceinfrontofme,itiseasytoignorethegapingstaresaroundthetable.
“Honey,”Momsaysgently,“areyousureyouwanttoeatallthat?”
Ineverarguewithmymother,butsincenoneofthismattersanyway—
“Myeyessayyes,”Itellher.“Mystomachsaysprobablynot.ButthesearethebestblintzesI’llhaveallyear,andwhoknowswhenI’llgetthemagain?”IlookatBennyandwink.“Well,exceptme.ForsureI’llgetthemagain.”Inosedivemyfork,spearingabiteoffood.
Bennygivesmeagentlewarninglook.“Takeiteasy,kiddo.Whydon’tyoukeepthecondimentsmoving?”
Withafrown,IhandthemtoAndrew,whogamelysmothershisownbreakfast.
“Mae,”Kennedysaysfromthefarendofthetable,“ifyoueatallofthat,youwillthrowup.”
“IatefourchocolatechippancakesonceandthrewupinPapa’scar,”Zacharysays.
Kennedycloseshereyes.“Itsmelledbadforalongtime.”
“Likethesubway,”Zacharyaddsenthusiastically.
“Kennedy,Zachary,”Aaronbegins,“novomittalkatthetable.”
“That’sright,”Rickysays,helpfullyredirecting.“Let’stalkaboutbuilding.Everyoneknowwhatthey’remakingthisyear?”
Andrewleansin,whisperinginmyear.“Iwasthinkingwecoulddoapanda.”
Ishakemyheadandturnmyfacetohis.We’reonlyafewinchesapart.Hehasatinydotofapplesaucejustbelowhislip.Inmyhead,Ilickitoff,andavoiceinsidemepurrs,Justdoit.Hewon’trememberanyway
“We’regoingtobuildasnowmonkey,”Itellhim.“HernameisgoingtobeThea,andwe’regoingtowin.”
???
Andrewbends,carefullysculptingThea’sface.Allaroundus,everyoneworksinfocusedsilence.Notasnowballinsight.
“So,weneverreallytalkedaboutthisstuff,butyou’restillinBerkeley,right?NotbackinLA?”
Ilookoverathim,surprisedbythequestion.Imean,I’mnotsurprisedthatheaskedit—it’sanobviousthingtotalkaboutwithsomeoneyouonlyseeafewtimesayear.WhatsurprisesmeishowRealLifeMaefeelslikesomeonewhoexistedalong,longtimeago.IamnowCabinMae.TimeLoopUtahMae.ApparentlyshespendsallhertimewithCabinAndrew.ForallIknow,Imightnevergobackhomeagain.Ifthistimejumpkeepshappening,ImightneverleaveUtah,andtherealworldwillneverknowIeverleft.
Exhalingslowly,Isay,“Yeah,LAwasn’treallyworking.”Intruth,LAdidn’tworkbecauseIshouldn’thavetakenthejobtobeginwith.Iwasfreshoutofcollegeanditwasagraphicdesignerjobatatinystartupthatcouldbarelypaymealivingwageinoneofthemostexpensiveandleastaccessiblecitiesinthecountry.Theshameofmovingbackinwithmymother—andhernewhusband—wasimmediatelyoutweighedbythereliefofnothavingtouseacreditcardtopaymybills.Buttwoyearslater,Ifeellessmoney-smartandmorefailure-to-launch.
“Butlifeisgood?”
“Imean,”Isay,“Idon’thavetopayrent,andIgettohangoutwithMileswheneverhe’llhaveme.ButIalsosleepinmychildhoodtwinbedandknowwhatitsoundslikewhenmymotherandhernewhusbandhavesex,so…define‘good.’”
Hewincesdeeply,groaning,“Why?”
“Listen,ifIsuffer,yousuffer.”
“How’swork,then?”
IpackabitmoresnowontoThea’sabdomen.“It’sokay.”
“Easy,”hesays,andhisdeepvoicevibratesdownmyspine,“don’tgetoverexcitedonme.”
Thismakesmelaugh.“Sorry.It’sjustthatwhenItookthejob,IthoughtI’dbedoingmoreofthefunstuffandlessofthesoul-suckingcomputerstuff.”
“Ithoughtyouweredoingsomethingwithkids?”
Ishrug,oddlydetached.“Theprogramdidn’tturnoutexactlyhowIexpected.”
AnunderstatementifI’veevermadeone.WhenImovedhome,IappliedforajobataBerkeley-basednonprofitwhosegoalistobringfree,innovativeprogramstodisadvantagedandlow-incomekids.Havingdoublemajoredingraphicarts(Momtoldmetochasemydreams)andfinance(Dadtoldmetobepractical),IproposedbuildingfreeafternoonprogramsindowntownBerkeleywherekidscouldlearngraphicartanddesign.Inaperfectworld,I’dteachtheclasses,andthekidswouldbuildtheirrésumésandearnmoneyforcollegebyofferinglow-costgraphicdesignservicestolocalbusinesses.
“Yourbossdidn’tgoforyourplan?”heasks,anduseshisthumbtocarefullyswipeawayalineofloosesnow.
“Oh,shelovedtheidea,”Itellhim.“Wespentoverayearmappingouthowitcouldwork,determiningwhatfundswouldneedtoberaisedandhowtoraisethem,workingoutthelicensing,anddebatinghowtostaffthesite.”
“Right,okay,Irememberthatbit.”
“Andshedid.Staffthesite,thatis.Thispastsummershehiredafriendofherstoteachthecourse.”
Heletsoutalow,sympatheticgroan.“Wait,soafterallthatsetup,you’renotevenrunningit?”
Ishakemyhead.“Neda—myboss—figuredwithmyaccountingdegree,itwouldbebetterfor‘theteam’ifImanagedthebooks.”
“You’redoingtheaccounting?”
“Idosomeofthewebsitestuff,too,butyeah.Theaccountingtakesupmostofmytime.”IcrouchnearThea’slegsandpackinabitmoresnowatherhaunches.“I’veneverevenmetoneofthestudents,becausethewaywe—orIshouldsayI—carefullywordedthelicensing,weprotectthekidsbynothavingadultsintheclassroomwhoaren’tpartofthecurriculum.Ilovewhatwedo,Ijustdon’tlovemypartinit.”
“Thismaybeoverstepping,butwhatifyouquit?Thegreatthingaboutbeingathomeisyouhaveasafetynetifyouneedit.”
Heisn’tthefirstpersontosuggestit.Myclosestfriendfromcollege,Mira,hasbeentryingtoconvincemetoleavethisjobformonthsnow.I’mnotoriouslyterribleatjumpingwithoutaparachute,soIfacetheinterminablechicken-and-eggproblem:ifIfoundanotherjob,Icouldquit,butfindinganotherjobmeansadmittingthatI’mgoingtoquit.Theentireloopisparalyzing
“Eh,”Isay,eloquently.
Andrewfrownssympathetically.“Thatsucks,Maisie.I’msorry.”
Itdoes,butmyattentionissuddenlydrawntowhat’shappeningelsewhere.Or,rather,towhat’snothappening.Everyoneisstillsofocused,sosilent.AndrewandIaretheonlytwopeopletalking.I’mnotseeinganyoftheopen-mouthedlaughsorhearinganyoftheexcitedscreamsofthesnowballfight.Icantellhowhardwe’reallworkingonourprojects,butwe’redoingitbecausethat’swhatwedo.That’stheroutine.Butnoone—notevenRicky—isrelishingit.
Thesnowballfightwasspontaneous,itwashilarious.Itmadeeveryonelaughandfeelconnected.Ishouldn’thaveevertriedtostopit.
“Thisisn’tright,”Isay.
Andrewlooksatme,andthenoutatourfamilies.“Whatisn’tright?”
“They’reallmovinglikecyborgs.Whatareweevendoingthisfor?”
“Becauseit’stradition,”Andrewsays,likeit’sobvious—anditis—buthowmanyofusreallycareanymore?Hefollowsmyattentiontotheothergroups,workingwithgrimdetermination.
Istand,grinningoverathim,beforebendingtoscoopupabigballofsnow.Packingittightinmypalms,Iscanmyeyesacrossthepotentialvictims.“Thequestioniswhodeservesthis.”
Withouthesitation,Andrewbends,packinghisownsnowball.“Theo.”
“MaybeMiles.”
“Maybeyourdad.”
“Definitelymydad,”Iagree.
“Mymomchosethathorriblemusiceventhoughyoutoldhernotto,”hecounters.
“Kylenevergetshungover.It’sunfair,”Isay.
Andrewhums.“DoyouthinkthesnowballwoulddisappearintotheblackholeofAaron’sdyejob?”
“Worthtesting,”Iagree.“Sciencedependsonus.”
“Butthenthere’sBenny,”hesays.“He’sbeenchillingonthefrontstepswithawarmcupofcoffeethiswholetime.”
“Becausehe’ssmart.”
“Damnhimandhisgooddecisions.”Andrewtossesthesnowballbackandforthbetweenhishands.
“Benny,then.Onthecountofthree,”Isay.“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
WelaunchoursnowballsdirectlyatanunsuspectingBenny.Minehitshimintheshoulder.Andrew’shitshimsquarelyinthechest.Atfirst,helooksatuswithdeepandimmediatebetrayal.ButsomethingshiftsinhisexpressionwhenheseesmeandAndrewstandingheretogether,bendingtopackfreshsnowballs.Maybeheseesthedynamiteinmygaze,ormaybehecantellhowmuchAndrewneedsthischangeintheroutine—maybeheevenseeshowmuchIneedthistohappen—buthepicksupaclumpofsnowhimself,packsit,andhurlsitdirectlyatRicky.
Withinonlyahandfulofseconds,Ilosetrackofwho’shitme,who’shitAndrew,whenTheagetscrushed,andwhat’sevenhappeningamidtheflurryofflyingsnow.AllIknowisthatthesoundofmylovedones’laughterbouncingoffthehillsideisthebestsoundI’veeverheard.
Anothersmallvictory.chapterthirteen
TheParkCityNurseryisatraditionalnurserymostoftheyear,butinthewinterit’stransformedintoatwinkling,sparklingwonderland.Thelittlegreenbuildingthatusuallyhousesgardeningtoolsiscoveredinaselectionoffreshwreathsandfilledwithholidaydecorationsandgifts.Strandsoflightsstretchoverhead,andinsteadofpotsofbrightlycoloredsummerblossoms,therearehollygarlands,poinsettias,andtinyfirtreeseverywhere.There’sevenagiantfirepitringedwithseating,andemployeeshandingoutspicedcider.
UsuallyDadandRickybravethemasses,buttonightIneededtogetoutofthehouse.SincejustdoingwhatIwanthasn’tfailedmeyet,ItoldAndrewheshouldcomewithme.Happytoavoidnavigatingthismess,thedadsdroppedusatthecurb,headedtoacoffeeshop,andtoldustocallthemwhenwehadatreereadytoloadup.
IcanfeelAndrewwatchingmeaswemaneuverthroughthecrowd,andithastheoddeffectofmakingmefeelbothoverheatedandshivery.“Ishouldhaveaskedyouaboutwork,”Isay,steppingaroundacouplecrouchingtocheckthepriceofatree.
“Youweretoobusystartingasnowballwar.”
Ilaugh.“HowarethingsinDenver?”
“I’minthatstrangeposition,”hesays,“ofhavingtheutterlyperfectjob,butabsolutelynoopportunityforadvancement.Theonlyotherpositionabovemineisleadsoundengineer,andtheguyinthatjobisonlyfiveyearsolderthanmeandisnevergoingtoleaveRedRocks.”
Andrewhasalwaysbeenwhatweaffectionatelyrefertoasasoundgeek.Hetookeverymusicclasshecouldfindinschoolandwenttoeveryshowthatcamethroughtown.Ienvyhisloveforwhathedoes;he’dprobablydotheworkforfree.
“Haveyoueverthoughtaboutgettingintomusicproduction?”
Heshakeshishead.“Idon’thavethementalintensityforthatlife.”
“Wantmetoknockthiscoworkeroff?MaybemycareerproblemisthatIhaven’tfoundmytruecallingasanassassin.”
Andrewgrins.“Iwantedtosay,youwillfigurethingsout,Mae.You’resotalented.Theartisticappledoesn’tfallfarfromtheartistictree.”
Hisperennialconfidenceinmeisbolstering.“Thanks,Mandrew.”
“Thisisrandom,buthaveyoueverhadyourtarotcardsread?”heasks.
“Isthataseriousquestion?”
Helaughs.“Yes?”
“Ihaven’t,”Iadmit,“partlybecauseIneverwanttohearbadnews.”
“Ihadminedone,”hesays,andimmediatelyholdsuphishands.“Iknow,itsoundscrazy—believeme,Ithoughtitwasajoke—butawomanwasreadingthemataparty.Shesaysonlyassholesdotragicreadings.”
“YouthinkIshouldhavemytarotcardsreadtofindoutmytruecareerpath?”ThelastthingIneed,Ithink,istoplaywithmorecosmicenergy.
“I’mjustsayingmaybeit’llshakesomethinginyou.”Heshrugssweetly.“Ifeellikeitshooksomethinginme.”
Awomanelbowsmeaccidentallyasshepasses,sloshingmyhotcideroffthelipofmycupanddownmyhand.Ihissatthemildburn.
“Isitalwayslikethis?Idon’tthinkIrealizedeveryoneelseinParkCityprocrastinatesasmuchaswedo.”Ibend,lickingthesweetdrinkfrommyfinger.Imightbeimaginingit,butIswearAndrewdoesadoubletake.
“Ibetmostofthesepeopledon’tlivehereandarealsovacationersgettingtheirownlast-minutetrees.”Hepusheshishandsintohispockets.“Dadalwayscomplainsthatit’samadhouse.”
“Parkingmustbeanightmare.Whydon’twehavethemdropusoffeveryyear?”
Andrewgivesmethatlook,theonethattellsmeit’sasillyquestion.Wedoitbecausethat’showwe’vealwaysdoneit,hiseyessay.Tradition,duh.Howmanythingslikethisdowedowithoutthinking,justbecauseit’sthewaywe’vealwaysdoneit?Thesamefoodateverymeal;thesamegameseverynight,withthesameteams.Thesamesongs.I’mtheworstofallofus—I’mneverwillingtogiveupasinglething.
Beinghitwiththerealizationislikehavingalightturnedoninmybrain
HolidaymusicplaysoverheadandAndrewbopscontentedlyalongbesideme.Withtheseneweyes,Iwonderifhe’sbeensuffocatingunderthepredictabilityoftheholidays—ifweallhave.
“Doyouhatethetraditions?”Iask.“Snowcreaturesandsleddingandallthegames?”
Hegiveshisanswerasecondofquietconsideration.“Ilovethesleddinganddon’thatetherest.But,yeah,sometimesIwanttomixitupalittle.We’vebeendoingthesamethingforourentirelives.”HepointsasweapproachabeautifullysymmetricalDouglasfir.“Howaboutthatone?”
Iscrunchmynose,shakingmyhead.
“IknowMomandDadlovehostinghere,”hesays,movingon,“butdon’tyoueverjustwanttogetonaplaneanddosomethingtotallywild?GotoGreeceorspendNewYear’sinLondon?”BeforeIcananswer,hepointstoanothertree.“Thatone?”
“No…”
“Notothetree,ortodoingsomethingtotallywild?”
Ismileoverathim.“Both?AndNewYear’sinLondon.Hmm.Wouldweallbetogetherinthisimaginaryscenario?”
Hiseyessparkle,andsensationzipsupmyspine.Iswearhe’sneverlookedatmelikethis,likehe’sseeingmeforthefirsttime.“Ofcourse.”
“Okay,thenyes,thatsoundsamazing.Eventhoughthecabinismyfavoriteplaceonearth,I’mstartingtothinkthatitwouldn’tbesoterribletomixthingsup.Maybeweshoulddothingsbecausewelovethem,notbecausewe’vealwaysdonethemthatway.”Ipause,carefullywordingthenextquestioninmymind.“Andrew?”
Heturnshisfaceuptothesky,admiringatoweringtree.Tinysnowflakeshavestartedtodriftdown,spinningfromtheclouds.“Mm?”
“Thecabinneedsalotofwork,doesn’tit?”
Hissmilefadesandhelooksbackatme.“Afairbit,yeah.”
“Likewhat?”
“Gottarefinishthefloors,”hesays.“Painttheinteriorandexterior.MostoftheappliancesareasoldasIam.Newroof.”
“Howmuchisanewroof?”Aballofdreadwormsitswaythroughmygut.
“Theconservativeestimatewastwelvethousanddollars,”hesays.Sothey’velookedintoit.“Ifwegowithcedarshinglesliketheoriginal,we’relookingatdoublethat.Nottomentionthere’sprobablysomedeckinguptherethatwillneedtobereplacedoncewestarttearingeverythingoff.”
Holycrap.
Ijustcomerightoutandaskit.“Yourparentswanttosell,don’tthey?”
Andrewdoesn’tevenseemsurprisedbythis.“Ithinkso.”
“DoyouandTheowanttosellit?”
Hecarefullymaneuverspasttwokidsplayingtagaroundatree.“Idon’t,butI’minDenver.Idon’treallyfeellikeIcanurgethemtokeepitwhenI’mnotheretohelpout.TheojustboughtthatlanddowninOgden.He’llbebuildingsoonandwon’tbearoundasmuch.MomandDadaren’tasflexibleandenergeticastheyusedtobe.It’salotforthemtotakeonbythemselves.”
“Butwhyshouldtheywhenwe’reallhere?”
Andrewstopsinthepathandlooksdownatme.“You’reinCalifornia,andKyleandAaronareinNewYork.”
“Imean,wecouldcomeoutandhelpthroughouttheyear.”
Hishairpushesoutrebelliouslyfromunderhisknitcap,andwhenhisgazefixesonme,I’mdizzywithinfatuation.“Dadisproud,”hesays,glancingbrieflyovermyshoulder,Ipresume,tomakesurethathisdadis,infact,notapproaching.“Hedoesn’tlikeaskingforhelp,andhe’sterribleaboutacceptinghelpoffered.Especiallyfromuskids.”
Iknowthisistrue;IcanevenremembertimeswhenIwasyoungerandRickywouldinsistthatMomdidn’thavetocookwhenshewasatthecabin,likehecouldeverstopher.ButIdon’tjustmeanhelpfromotherparents.There’sabeastinmethat’spushingagainstmyskinfromtheinside,clawingitswayout.Idon’twanttobeachildanymore.
“Wearen’tkids,though.”
Hisgazesinkslower,andIdon’tmissthewayitpausesatmymouth.“Wehaven’tbeenkidsforalongtime.”
Theeffectofhisrumblingwordsisnotunliketakingamusclerelaxant.“Andyourparentslikehosting,Iknow.Theylovebeingparents,lovetakingcareofallofus.Butit’stimeweallsteppedup.”
Heturnstostartwalkingagain.“Yousaythatasifyourparentsdon’tlikebeingparents.”
Instinctively,andeventhoughit’sAndrewasking,Itreadcarefullyhere.“YouknowMomisamazing,andfiercelyprotective.Buttheirrelationshiphasalwaysbeensomessy,it’shardtopushtothefrontsometimes.”
“We’venevertalkedaboutthefactthatyourparentsaredivorcedandstillcomehereeveryyear.”
“Mom’shusband,Victor—”
“ThehusbandwhodoesnotspendChristmaswithhiswife?”Andrewsays,grinningslylyatme.
“That’stheone.Hehastwodaughters,andtheyhavefamiliesoftheirown.They’rebothontheEastCoast,soeventhoughhelivesformymother,he’shappytogettimewithhisgirlsovertheholidayswithoutthecomplicationofstepfamilies.Iknowthissoundssilly,becauseI’msupposedtobeanadultandshouldn’tneedmymommyanddaddytobetogetheratChristmas,butthisistheoneweekoftheyearthatweactlikeafamilyagain.”
“Idon’tthinkthat’ssilly,”hesays.“Iusedtofeelsobadforyou.”
I’malittlestartledbythetrackchange.“Forme?”Henods.“Why?”
Andrewlooksatmelikethisshouldbeobvious.
“No,seriously,”Isay.“Why?”
“BecauseforafewyearsIsawhowmuchyoustruggledwithyourparentsbeingtogetheratthecabin,butitwasobvioustheyweren’ttogether.Youwereallherephysically,butthereweretimesyoulookedso…sad,”hesays.“Andthentheyeartheyannouncedtheirdivorce,itwaslikeyoucouldbreatheagain.”
Istareathim,stunned.Hesawallthatinme?
“I’msorry,”hesaysquickly,“I’mspeakingoutmyass,Idon’t—”
“Don’t,”Icutin.“Don’tapologize.I’mjustsurprised,Iguess.Thatyousawthat.”
“I’veknownyouyourwholelife,Mae.HowcouldInot?”Hegrinsatmeagain.“Andhereyouarethisyear,impulsiveandtakingupspaceandflippingallexpectations.You’realltake-chargeandbossy.”
“I’mjustseeingthingswithfresheyes,Iguess.It’stimetogrowup.”
Andrewbatsatsomefluffysnowonabranch.“Comingintothisholidaylikeawreckingball.”
Arebelliousstreakracesthroughme.“It’smorelike,Iseemylifestretchingoutaheadofmeandfigure,whynotgoforwhatIwant?”
“Jamandapplesauceonyourblintzes,”hejokes.“Cocktailsontheporch.Snowballfights.”
Thewordrocketsfromme:“You.”
Hissmilefreezes,andthenslowlyslipsaway.“Me?”Anawkwardlaughescapes.“Well,you’vegotme.”Hegrinsandspreadshisarmswide,gesturingaroundustothetreesandsnow,thetwinklinglightsoverhead.
“It’smorethanwantingyourcompanyatthetreefarm,andIthinkyouknowit.”Myheartisracing.“Butwecanpretendthat’swhatImeant,soitdoesn’tgetweird.”
Andrewstaresatme,andI’mbothproudandhorrifiedtorealizeI’vemadehimspeechless.“Youmean…like…?”Hisbrowsrisemeaningfully.
Adrenalinespikesmyblood.“Yeah.Likethat.”
“IsortofassumedyouandTheo—”
“No.”
“Buthe—”
“Hemayhave,butIhaven’t.”Guiltflashescoollythroughme,andIclarify,“I’veneverfeltthatwayabouthim,Imean.”
“Oh.”Eveninthelowlight,Icantellhe’sblushinghotly.HaveIruinedwhatwasburblingbetweenus?Maybe.Butallofthisisinstructive,Irealize.AtleastthenexttimeIreboot,I’llknowwhatnottosay.
“Comeon.”Itugonhissleeve.“Let’sfindatree.”
Wemoveforward,butthesilencehangsheavily.Thecrunchofsnowbetweenourboots,theaudiblegulpofAndrewswallowingasipofcider.Iscrapearoundinmybrainforawaytochangethesubject,butIcan’tfindanything.
Finallyhemanages,“Doyou,um,haveanygoalsfortheNewYear?”
God,thisispainful.AndalloftheanswersthatimmediatelypoptomindarethingsIcan’tsay—I’dliketofigureoutwhyIkeeptimetraveling—ormostlikelyimpossible:I’dliketokissyouonthemouth.I’dliketoquitmyjob..
Istopinthepath.“Yeah.Ido,actually.”
Onanimpulsethatfeelslikeadamnrevelation,Ipulloutmyphoneandstartanewemailtomyboss.
Neda,pleaseconsiderthismy30-daynotice.Iappreciatealloftheopportunitiesyou’vegivenme,butIamreadytoexplorenewadventures.Happytotalkmoreaftertheholidays.
Allmybest,Maelyn
BeforeIcanquestionmyself,Ihitsend.Deepbreathin,andanotheroneout.Nedaappreciatesfrankandstraight-to-the-point.It’sfine.
OhmyGod.Ireallydidthat.Relieffallsovermelikeaweightedblanket.“Wow,thatfeltgood.”
“What’sthat?”Andrewasks.
Igrinoverathim.“Iquitmyjob.”
“You—?Justnow?”Hiseyebrowsdisappearbeneathhiswildcurls.“Wow.Okay.Youarefiguringthingsout,aren’tyou?”
“I’mtrying.”Iclosemyeyesandtakeanotherlong,slowbreath.“Itwastime.Ihopeitchangesthings.”
“Howcoulditnot?That’sahugedecision.”
Ilookupathim.“It’sjusthardtoknowwhichchoiceisrightuntilit’sallover,Iguess.”
“Isn’tthatthetruth?”Andrewstopsinfrontofanothertree,spreadinghisarmsoutlikehemighthugit.“Thisone.”
Butthistreeisn’tright,either.Mybiggestfearinthecarbeforetheaccidentwastheprospectofthingschanging.Butisn’tthatwhatIwantedwhenIthrewthatwishouttotheuniverse?Foreverythingtochange?
“Idon’tlikeanyofthese,”Iadmit.
“Theseareliterallyperfecttrees,”Andrewsays.
“Ithinkthat’swhy.”
Changecanbegood
Ipushthrougharowtowardtheback,wheretheyhidethetreesthatareflatononeside,sparseinobviousplaces.Tooshort,tooskinny,toocrooked.
Andthere,attheendoftherow,isatreethatisallofthosethings.“Thatone.”
Andrewlaughs.“Dadwillhaveastrokeifwebringthatouttothetruck.”
“Actually,no.”Istareatit,grinning,andfeelAndrew’sstancematchmyown.“Idon’tthinkhewill.”chapterfourteen
WhileRickyandDadunloadthetreefromthecarandgetitintothestand,andthetwinsandLisadiveintotheboxesofornamentstofindtheirfavoriteonestohang,Ilingeratthebackoftheroom,sittinginthisweirdnewenergy.Everyotheryear—eventhisone—Iwasdowntherewiththekids,divingintothedecorations.ButifchangemeanstellingAndrewhowIfeelandfinallyquittingmyjob,italsomeanslooseningmystrangleholdontraditionandlettingKennedyandZacharytaketheleadondecoratingthetree.
Andsincewe’rebarrelingintothisgrown-upthing,changealsomeanshelpingmore,andnotleavingittoAaronorBennytocleanupthecocktail-hourdetritusstrewnaroundthelivingroom.
AsIgatherandcarrydishesintothekitchen,Itakethetimetoreallylookatthecabin.Inoticescratchesinthefloors,wearonthebanisterfromgenerationsofhandsslidingoverthesmoothwoodenflourishatthebottomofthestairs.Paintispeelingnearthecrownmolding,andfadedonthewallsnearthefrontdooranddownthehallway.Withoutthelensofnostalgia,Iseethatthishouseiswellloved,butworn.Thosearejustthecosmeticthings,too.Thecabinisold,spendingathirdoftheyearinsnowandanotherthirdinstiflingdryheat.It’sgoingtotakemorethanloveandappreciationtohelpRickyandLisakeepthisplace.
BennycomesupbehindmeasI’mloadingdirtydishesintothedishwasher.“Hey,Mayday.”
“Hey,Benihana.”
“Howwasthetreefarm?”Hissmilepushesthroughhisaccent,curlingaroundthewords.
Iturntofacehim,leaningbackagainstthesink.“Itwasawesome,actually.”
Benny’sintrigued.“‘Awesome’?Isawthathandfulofsticksandfiguredithadtobethelasttree.”
“Comeon,”Isay.“Youhavetoadmitit’shardnottorootfortheunderdog.Thatpoortreewasotherwisedestinedforthechipper.Wesavedit.”
Bennyconcedesthiswithalittleeyebrowquirk,andIlookoverhisshouldertomakesurewe’restillalone.“Butthatwasn’tentirelywhythetreefarmwasawesome.”Ipause,bitingthetipofmythumb.“ItoldAndrewaboutmyfeelings.”
Hiseyesgowide.“Youdid?”
“Imean,”Isay,“notlike,‘Iwantyou,Andrew,andifyouproposedrightnowIwouldsayyeswithouthesitation,’butwemadeajokeaboutmegoingafterwhatIwantthisweekandIsaidthatIwantedhim.”
“Wow.”Hesteepleshishandsandpressesthemtohislips.
“Oh,andIquitmyjob.”
Atthis,Bennytakesasurprisedstepcloser.“Youwhat?”
“Yup.IemailedNedaandgavehermythirtydays’.”
“Justlikethat?Just…now?Whileyouwereout?”
“Yes!Andit’ssofreeing!Whatarevelation.I’llhavetolookforanewjob—butsowhat?What’stheworstthatcouldhappen?”
Bennyflinches.“You’rereallysayingthat?”
Ipullmyshoulderstomyears,bracingasIlookaroundtheroomtomakesuretheceilingisn’tsaggingjustabovemyhead.“Oops.Okay,thatwasstupid.”
“But…whatdidAndrewsay?”Bennyasks.“Aboutyourfeelings?”
“Notmuch,actually.”Ifrown.“Itwasn’texactlyawkward,butitwasn’tlikeheblewoutabigrelievedbreathandtoldmehe’salwaysfeltthesame,either.”
MybrainseemstobecalmingincrementallythelongerI’mhereandnotboltingawakeontheplane.It’sarelieftoletthesethingsoutintheopen,butembarrassmentsendsashiverthroughme.“Ugh.Actually,nowthatIthinkaboutit,itwasalittleawkward.”
“Andrewisalaid-backdude,”Bennyremindsme.“Hardtorattle.”
True,but…“Hedidn’tsaymuch.”
“He’sanAmericanwithanAussiesoul,”hesays,laughing.“Hetendstochewonthings.Doesn’toverreactinthemoment.”
Ipulloutakitchenchairandsitdownatthetable.Bennydoesthesame.“Maybe,butevenifhenevermentionsitagain,it’sokay.”Igivehimaresolvednod.“IfI’mgoingtodothisvacationoverandover,Imightaswelljustputeverythingoutthereatleastonce.”
“Youdon’tnecessarilyknowthatyou’regoingtodothisoverandover,”Bennyreasons.
I’vebeenthinkingaboutthismyself.“I’vealmostmadeitthroughtwowholedays.”
Hereachesforahighfive,butIleavehimhanging,beforetappingasinglefingertothemiddleofhispalm.
“Oi,”heprotests.
Downthehallway,acommotioneruptswhenKyleandMomarecaughtunderthemistletoe,whichhasapparentlybeentransferredsomewhereinthelivingroom.BennyandItakeabeattogrinatthesoundofmymotherlaughinghystericallyasKyleplantsoneonher.
Butbacktobusiness:“TomorrowisDecembertwenty-second,”Isay.“Daythree.”
“Isn’tthatgood?”
“Well,I’mthinkingtheremightbeapatternhere.”Itickoffonmyfingers:“Thefirsttime,Iwassentbacktotheplaneonthefirstnight.Thesecondtime,Ionlymadeittothesecondmorning.There’sareallygoodchanceI’llmakeittothethirdday—tomorrow—butthenhavetostartalloveragain.”Seriously,couldanythingsoundmoreterrible?Havingtoliveinatimeloopoverandover,andeachtimeyouaddjustonenewdayattheend?
Torture.
“I’mnotsurethat’stheonlypossibility,”Bennysays,andtakesmyhandsinhis.“Youalwaysholdbacksomuch.Maybeit’snotaboutmakingtherightchoicesexactly,butmakingtherightchoicesbecauseyou’refinallybeingyou.Maybethat’swhatyouneeded.”
“Ormaybeithasnothingtodowithme?Idon’tknow,”Itellhimhonestly.“I’mjusttiredofbeingsocarefulallthetime.”
Heleansbackwithabrightsmile,pointingatme.“Exactly.”
???
Withthesewordsechoinginmythoughts,IfollowBennybackintothelivingroom,wherethetwinsaredirectingthetreedecoration.Kyleismixingnewdrinksforwhoeverwantsthem,Aaronisonthecouchinafittedtracksuit,Dadisonhisstomachunderthetree,futzingwiththestand,andTheoapproaches,handingmeatumblerwithaclear,sparklingliquid—verylittleice—andasliceoflime.Hisexpressionistentativeandguilty,likehefeelsthewedgebetweenusbutobviouslyhasnoideawhat’scausingit.
Ihaven’tgivenmyselfasecondtomournthechangeinourrelationship,andhowIknowthatevenifeveryoneelsehastheluxuryofignorance,Idon’t.Ourmistake—andTheo’sreactionthenextday—wouldhavecreatedafractureinthisweird,wonderfulgroup.There’snoquestionaboutthatnow.
Friendsourwholelives,andTheocouldn’tputonabravefaceoverhisdeniedbonerforasinglemorning?Thisgroupsurvivedtheawkwardnessofmyparents’divorce,soItrustthatitcanhandlesomethinginfinitelylessdramaticthanthat,butIneverwanttotakethesefriendshipsforgranted.
Ibend,smellingthedrink.
“It’sjustsparklingwater,”hesays,mildlyoffended.
“Oh.Thanks.”
“Wannahanglater?”
Itakeasip.“Hangwhere?”
“Downstairs?MilesandIweretalkingaboutplayingsomegamesafterdinner.”
ThatsoundsdecidedlymorewholesomethanIwasexpecting.“Boardorvideo?”
Icantellhe’sgettingannoyed.“Whichevergetsyoutoplay.I’vebarelyseenyousinceyougothere.”
Arewereallyonlygroundedinsuchchildhoodhabits?Inordertospendtimetogether,dowehavetofindagametoplay?Itfeelssoobvious.
BeforeIcananswer,Aaronspeaksupfromwherehe’snowsqueezinginbetweenLisaandMomhangingornaments.“Interestingchoicehere.”He’sdefinitelybeenworkingoutbecausehewincesashetriestohanganornamentandfinallyjust…weaklytossesitinthedirectionofhistarget,hopingithooksonthelanding.“Weretheyalloutofnormaltrees?”
“It’stheoneMaewanted,”Andrewsaysfromoutofsightontheothersideofthepine.“Ilikeit.”
Mychestfillswithwarm,glowingembers.
Momcomesupbehindme,puttingherarmsaroundmywaistandherchinonmyshoulder.“IagreewithAndrew.”
Shehumshappily,andatthesoundofhervoice,mystomachdropstomyfeetwithadaughter’sinstinctiveuneasiness:somehow,inthepasthour,ImanagedtokeepfromponderinghowI’lltellmymotherthatIquitmyjob,thatIdiditimpulsively,andthatIhavenoideawhatI’mdoingnext.
Itdoesn’tmatter,Iremindmyself.Noneofthisisgoingtostick
Shekissesme,saying,“Loveyou,Noodle,”againstmycheek.
I’lltellherlater.IfandwhenIhaveto.
Despitethejokesaboutthiswacky,knobbytree,Icantellfromtheirexpressionsthateveryonesortofdigsit.NationalLampoon’sChristmasVacationplaysontheTVinthebackground,andwhilewewatchClarkGriswoldattempttobringhismammothtreeinside,wedoourbesttofillthistinyonewithlights,andornaments,andthepopcorngarlandthetwinsandMomspenttheeveningmaking.Bythetimewe’redonedecorating,theroomisburstingwithjoy.It’snearlyimpossibletoseeanybitofactualtreeunderneathalltheeverything,butitis,oddly,perfect.
However,ittakesalmostahalfhourtogetareasonablyacceptablegroupphotoinfrontofit.Withthismanypeople,ofcourseit’sexpectedtherewillbeafewclosedeyes,orahandfulofawkwardexpressions.Ifonlywewerethatlucky.Lisasetsupatripodbutcan’tgetthetimerright.IntwophotosZacharyispickinghisnose,inonehe’stryingtofeedthetreasuretoMiso.WecatchMilesmidsneeze;Momcan’tgetherRudolphearringstoflashinsyncwiththecamera.Theoislookingathisphoneinone,andcheckingtoseeifhiszipperisdowninthenext.(Itwas.)Forthenext,Misojumpsinfrontofthecamera.ThenMisojumpsonKennedyandittakesalittlewhiletocalmherdown.Ricky’skissingLisainoneandcan’tmanageacasualsmileintheothers.Themorewepointitout,theworseitgets.
Iremindmyselfthatchangeisalsonotcryingout“But—tradition!”whenTheoimpatientlystepsinforLisaandresetsthetripodwithhisphone.
Goodnews:nowwe’reallinframe.Badnews:Kyle’shighlighterissoonpointandinfocusthathelookslikeadiscoball.
“Fuckit,”hesaysjustastheoventimergoesofffordinner.“Goodenough.”
???
Afterwe’vestuffedourselves,wescatteraroundthelivingroom,fallingintoacomfortablequiet.
Thelivingroomisamajesticplace—Imean,itismassive—withvaultedlogceilingsandoldwoodfloorscoveredinwidewovenrugs.Alongonelongwall,thefirecracklesandsnaps,heatingtheroomtojustbelowtoowarm.It’swoodfromtownandnothingsmellslikeit.Iwanttofindacandleofthis,incense,roomspray.IwanteverylivingroomineveryhouseIliveinfortherestoftimetosmellliketheHolliscabindoesonDecemberevenings.
Thehearthisexpansive;whenwewereaboutseven,andourchorewassweepingoutthefireplaceattheendoftheholiday,TheoandIcouldalmoststandupinsideit.Theflamesactuallyroartolife.Evenoncetheymellowintoarumbling,cracklingsimmer,theblazestillfeelslikealiving,breathingcreatureinherewithus.
Aplateofcookiessitsonthecoffeetable.MomandDadoccupyoppositesidesoftheloveseat,readingtheirrespectivebooks.Benny,Kyle,andAaronaredoingapuzzleonthefloorwithKennedywhileZacharysitsonBenny’sbackandpretendshe’samotorcycle.Christmasmusicplaysquietlyinthebackground,andLisafutzesaround,adjustingthelights,pokingthefire,fetchingthrowblanketsforus.Rickyisonacallinthekitchen,andTheoslumpsonthecouch,scrollingthroughhisphone.
Seeinghimsparksamemoryinme:thisnight,thefirsttimearound,IwassittingnexttohimandwespenttheeveninggoingdownvariousInstagramrabbitholestogether,totallyoblivioustootherpeoplearoundus.Whichwassuchateenage-ythingtodo,nowthatIthinkaboutit.Whydidn’twehangwiththeothers,andhowoftenwerewelikethat?IsthatwhyAndrewthoughtthatTheoandI…?
MaybeifIhadspentthiseveningjustenjoyingtheritualandthesheerblissthatcomesfrombeinginaroomfullofpeopleIadore,thingswouldn’thaveturnedoutthewaytheydid.
Ishuffleovertothetree,slidingbeneathitandlyingonmybacksoIcanlookupthroughthegnarledbranches.It’sakaleidoscopeofcolorandtexture:thesmoothlightbulbs,thepricklypineneedles.Ornamentsofglass,andsilk,andspikymetallicstars.AlittlewoodendrummerTheogaveRickynearlytwentyyearsago.Laminatedpaperornamentsofourhandprintsfrompreschool,handmadeceramicblobsthatweresupposedtobepigs,orcows,ordogs.Nothingmatches;there’snotheme.Butthereissomuchloveinthistree,somuchhistory.
Besideme,ashadowblockstheheatandlightofthefire,beforeslidingbeneaththetree.Iturnmyhead,comingeyetotwinklingeyewithAndrew.
Myhearttripsoveritself.Afterthetreefarm,Iwasn’tsurewhetherhe’dkeephisdistance.
“Thislookslikeagoodidea,”hesays,turninghisfaceuptothebranchesoverhead.Hisprofileisilluminatedwithbluesandyellows,redsandgreens.Afewlightsmakeflashingpatternsthroughtheornamentsandontohischeekbones.“Smellsgood,too.”
“It’spretty,isn’tit?”Ishiftalittle,scootingdeeperbeneaththebranches.Iwonderwhatwelooklikefromtheoutside:twosetsoflegs,stickingoutfromunderthetreeliketheWickedWitchoftheEasttrappedbeneathDorothy’shouse.“Agoodthinkingspot.”
“Andwhatwereyouthinkingabout?”heasks.
“IwasthinkingabouthowmuchIlikethistree.”
Hereachesover,eyesunfocusedashemoveshisthumbacrossmycheek.Anechoofelectricitylingersonmyskinoncehe’sliftedhishand,andittakesmeasecondtofocusonthethumbhe’sshowingme.“Dropofwater,”hesays.
“Oh.”
“Musthavedrippedfromthetree.”
Ilaugh.“AreyousayingIhaveamoistureproblemagain?”
Andrewblinksbeforeheburstsoutlaughing.“What?”
Oh,crap.Thatwasn’tthistimeline.Thatwasbefore.ThisAndrewisn’tinontheinsidejoke.“PretendIdidn’tsaythat.”
Hiseyesgleamindelight.“Didyouactuallyjustsayyouhaveamoistureproblem?”
“No.”Imightdiefromthis.“Yes.”Ibitemylip,tryingnottolaugh.“Ignoreit.Let’smoveon.”
Icantellhe’sacatwho’dliketoplaywiththismouseabitlonger,buthegivesmealittleshrug,gamelysinging,“Okay.”Andrewturnshisattentiontothebranchesabovehim,usinghisold-manvoice.“Maisie?”
“Yes,Mandrew?”
“Youknowwhatjustoccurredtome?”
“Whatjustoccurredtoyou?”
“Webroughtthistreein,like,twohoursago.Whatifthere’sasquirrelstilllivinginthere?”
Westareateachother,wide-eyed,andshoutinunison:“Ahhh!”
I’vecompletelyforgottenthatmyphoneisinmypocketuntilitbuzzes,interruptingourlaughter.ThereisnooneintheworldIneedtotalktorightnowwhoisn’tinthisroomwithme,soIignoreit.Itimmediatelybuzzesagain.
“Yourbuttisvibrating,”Andrewsays.
“Ifit’smybossreplyingtomerightnow,I’mgoingtoneedsomethingstrongerthansparklingwater.”Ipullitoutandlook.Itisn’tNeda,thankfully;it’satextfromTheo.
Nopunctuation,nocontext.JustTheo,typinglikeateenager.
IrealizeAndrewisreadingovermyshoulderwhenheletsoutalittlelaughthroughhisnose.“See?”
Ifeelmyselfrecoil.“Seewhat?”
Heliftshischin,indicatingmyphone.“Youhaven’tspentanytimewithhim,andhe’sgrumpy.”
“Wewerejusttalkingearlier,”Icounter,notquitealie.
“Areyoumadathim?”heasks.
Iswallow,staringupatthelights.Ascatteredviewblinksinandoutoffocus.“Notexactly.”
“Whatdoes‘notexactly’mean?”
Iturnmyhead,andAndrewblinks,browspulledlow.
“It’shardtoexplain,”Iadmit.“I’mnotmadathim,I’mjustawarethatheandIareclosebecausewe’veknowneachotherforever,butnotbecausewe’reactuallycloseanymore.”Ishrug.“Justnormaldriftingthathappenswhenpeoplegrowup,Iguess.”
Hesmilesatthat.“Mae…”
Igrinbackathim.“Yes?”
Andrewclearshisthroat,asweetlypointedahem.“Aboutwhatyousaidearlier.”
Oh
“Yeah?”Theparadoxofahammeringheartanddissolvingstomachmakesmefeellight-headed.
“Iappreciateyourhonesty,”hesays.
Ugh.Theworstthinghecouldsayrightnow.
“Youdon’thavetoletmedowneasy,Andrew.”Ireachoverandplayfullysmackhimandthetreetremblesaboveus.
“Andrew,Mae,whatareyoudoinginthere?”Momcallsout.
“Nothing!”weanswerinunison.
“Well,don’tshakethetree,”shechides.
Again,weanswertogether:“Wewon’t!”
Heturnsbacktome,whispering,“AreyousureTheodoesn’tthinkyou’reintohim?”
“AreyousayingI’vegivenhimtheimpressionthatIam?”
“No,butifIassumed…maybeTheoassumed,too.”
Well,huh.IguessifTheothoughtIwasintohim,itmightexplainwhyhewassocoldthemorningafterIpushedhimaway.
Ishakemyhead,andAndrewturnshisfacebackuptothelightssoit’shardtoreadhisexpression.“IsitweirdthatIsortofworriedyou’d…”Hefloundersalittle.“Idon’tknow,gettogetherandthengethurt?”
Ican’tevenwrapmyheadaroundthis.AndrewworriedthatIwoulddateTheoandgetmyheartbroken?AmIintheUpsideDown?“Um,yes,itisveryweird.”
Andrewgivesahelplessshruginresponse.“He’saplayer.You’regood.”
Thisactuallymakesmelaugh.“I’mgood?”
“Idon’tmean—romantically,or,like,sexually,”hesays,chucklingwiththeslightestedgeofdiscomfort.“NotthatIwouldknowaboutthat.Imeantyoursoul.”
“Whatareyoueventalkingabout?”It’sagoodthingI’mlyingdown.
“Okay,badwordchoice.Imean,you’reagoodperson.”Heturnsandlooksrightatme.We’resoclose.“Youlovebeinghere,youloveeachofusforexactlywhoweare.You’re,like,themostgenerousandleastjudgmentalpersonI’veeverknown.”
“I’mnot—”
“Youmovedhomewhenyourparentssplit,”herollson.“Youlovedyourcrappyapartmentandgaveitupbecauseyourfamilyneededyou.YoutookcareofMiles,youwerethereforyourmom.”
Ibitemylip,glowingfromhiscompliments.
“Doyourememberwhenthedevelopersbuiltthosecondosbehindus?”heasks.“YouweresosadbecauseDadlikedtolookatthetreeswhilehedrankhiscoffeeinthemorning,andyouworriedthedeerwouldn’thaveanyplacetogo.Theowasjusthappyhe’dhavefewerleavestorakeup.”
Ilaughthroughthefogoffeelings.Thisisthemostextensiveletting-her-down-easyIcouldpossiblyimagine.Itisbothincrediblytenderandincrediblyawkward.“Well,it’sanon-issue.I’veneverbeenintoTheo.ButI’msorryifwhatIsaidmadethingsweird.”
Hereachesup,scratcheshischeek,andI’mhavingahardtimelookingaway.Inevergettobethisclosetohim.Hehaslightstubble,butitlookssoft.Icanmakeoutatleastfourdifferentshadesofgreeninhiseyes.Whenhelickshislips,itdoessomethingelectrictomypulse.
“Iguessthat’swhatI’msaying.HadIknownitwasa—”Hestopsandseemstochewonhiswords.Meanwhile,mybrainisanuclearreactor,meltingdown.Hadheknownitwasawhat?“I’vealwaysreallyadmiredyou,”hestartsagain.“You’reoneofthefewpeopleinmylifeIhopeI’llbeclosetoforever,andIdidn’twantthingstobeweirdafterthetreefarm.”Heglancesatme,hisfaceilluminated.“Iwasn’tsureifIrespondedthewayIshouldhave.Iwasreallysurprisedwhenyousaidit.”
“That’sokay.IwassurprisedwhenIsaidit,too.”
Hegrins.“Ittookalotofbraverytotellmehowyoufeel,though,andIjustwantedyoutoknow—”Hegesturesbetweenus.“Itwon’tchangethis.”
Iknowexactlywhathemeans—we’llbethesameaswe’vealwaysbeen—andofcourseI’mgratefulforthat.
ButeventhoughInever—notinmywildestdreams—imaginedhewouldsharemyaffection,whenhesaysthisIamconsumedwithrejection.Imean,ofcoursetheentirepointoftellinghimhowIfeltwassothatnothingwouldstaythesame.
“Let’smoveon,”Isay,pushingforward.
Andrewlaughs.“Okay,goodidea.”
“Youcantravelanywhere,wheredoyougo?”
Hedoesn’tevenhavetothinkaboutthisconversationalpivot:“Budapest.You?”
“Besideshere?”
Andrewrollshiseyes.“Yes,besideshere.”
“Okay,fine.”Imentallyscrollthroughpostcardimagesofvariouslocations,feelingvaguelyuninspiredbymyowngame.“Noidea.MaybeHawaii?”
“YouhavetheentireworldtochoosefromandyougotoHawaii?”
“What’swrongwithHawaii?”
Heshrugs.“Itjustfeelssoeasy.WhataboutTahiti?Mallorca?”
“Sure,theysoundnice.”
Andrewlaughs.“Okay,it’ssettled.Withthatattitude,I’minchargeofallofourfuturetravel.”
Thewordssettleheavilybetweenus,andwebothgostill.
“Imadeitweird,”hesaysfinally,grinningoveratme.
Iburstoutlaughing,relievedthatthistimeitwasn’tme.
“Youtotallydid.”
Ourlaughterdiesawayandsilenceengulfsus.Idon’tknowhowtoreadthemood.ItoldhimhowIfelt,givinghimanopeningtoreciprocate,buthedidn’t.Andyet…there’sastrangeunderstandingbloomingbetweenus.
“Okay,Ihaveanidea,”hesays.“Nospeakingforfiveminutes.Let’sjustlookupatthetreetogether.”
“Andhopewedon’tgetourfaceseatenoff.”
Heburstsoutlaughingagainandthenwipesahanddownhisface,sayingplayfully,“God.Whycan’tyoueverbeserious?”Hewipesathiseyes.“Okay.Fiveminutes.”
Ifollowhisleadandfocusonthetree.“Fiveminutes.”
Asoddanideaitis,it’salsobrilliant.Itsavesmefromhavingtothinkaboutwhattosay,whichisgood,becausemymindisamortifiedblanksheetofnothing.
Forthefirstthirtysecondsorso,IfeellikeI’mdrowninginthesoundofeverythingelseintheroomandthecontrastingquietbetweenus.Butthenthestiltedawarenessdissolves,andIcanfocusonthelights,thedanglinggoldornamentjusttomyright,thelaminatedpictureofTheoandAndrewaslittlekidshangingonthebranchnearby.Icanfocusonhiswarm,easypresencenexttome.Andrew’sarmpressesalongthelengthofmineandwejustlielikethat,breathingintandem.
Hisstomachgrowls,anditmakesmegiggleagain,andheshushesme.Iturntolookathim,andhe’salreadylookingatme,andwithaknowingtwinkleinhiseyes,heliftshisfingertohislipsandwhispers,“Notalking.Ijustwanttobeunderthetreewithyou.”chapterfifteen
Decembertwenty-second.Stillhere.
Andtoday’stheme—SledDay—ismyfavorite.Unfortunately,Icanimagineamillionwaystheuniversemightgivemeafailinggradeandsendmebacktothestart:Anenormoustreebranchonmyhead.Aboulderthrowninmypath.Comedicmusicasabackdropwhilethecameracapturesme—theloneholidaytourist—caughtatthecenterofanavalanche.
Withtrepidation,Isetmyfeetontothecoldbasementfloor.
ThehouseisquietasIshuffleacrossthekitchentostandinthewindow—mybreathfogsupthecoldglassinfrontofme.Thegentlyfallingflakesfromlastnighttransitionedintoafull-blownstormwhileweslept,andtheworldhasturnedwintrywhite.Treesbowundertheweightoffreshsnow.Themountainswearsparkling,powderycaps.I’dnevergettiredofthisview.
Lisa’scookiebarsarestillonthecounter,soIpickuptheplateanddumpthemstraightintothetrash,coveringtheevidencewithyesterday’scoffeegrounds,andstartafreshpot.WhatdoIhavetolose?
Onarollnow,Igetbreakfaststarted.WhywaitforMomtogetup?
Thesmellofcoffeeandcookingmeatislikeasirencallandpeopleslowlytumblein.SoontheTVisonintheotherroom,thethememusictoHowtheGrinchStoleChristmas!filteringthroughthehouse.
“Thankyouforgettingthisstarted,honey.”Mompullsherhairbackintoabun,slipsonherMrs.Clausapron,andtakesthewoodenspoonfrommyhand,wordlesslytellingmethatshe’lltakeitfromhere.
WhenIstandoverthesink,IseeAndrewalreadyoutsideandshovelingthedriveway.He’sgotabeanietuggedlowoverhishairbutevenfromhereIcanseehischeeksflushedagainstthecold,thewayhiscoatstretchesacrosshisback.Thecoatisthick,butIcaneasilyimaginethewayhismusclesshiftwiththeefforthe’stakingtodigtheshovelbeneathheavypilesof—
“Mae,honey,canyouhandmethe—oh.”
Istartle,turningtofindmymotherstandingbesideme.“What?What’s‘oh’?”
Shestrugglestolookoblivious.“Nothing.Justneeded”—shegrabsaspatulafromthedryingrack—“this.”
“IwasjustlookingattheviewwhileIcleanup.”
“Ofcourse.”
Iturnonthewater,rinseacleandishagain.“It’sprettyout.”
Sheliftsabrowandglancesatthewindow.“Itispretty.”
Igiveheralook.Indulgingmymotherinthiskindofthingwillonlyleadtodisaster.“Thesnow.”
Feetshufflebehindus,andagroggyTheomumbles,“Diditsnow?”
“Itdid.”MomlooksatAndrewoncemore,andthengivesmeaplayfulsmirkbeforewalkingaway.WhenIturnbacktothewindow,Andrewislookingupatthehouse,andwhenoureyesmeet,hethrowsacheekylittlewave.
MyfaceflushesandIreturnthewavebeforeturningoffthefaucet.Ihavenoideaifhecaughtmewatchinghim,orifIjustcaughthimwatchingme,butmyheartispounding.Nomatterwhathesaidlastnight,Idon’tthinkwe’regoingbacktonormalanytimesoon.
???
I’msurenomotheralivewouldbesurprisedbyhowlongittakesustogetoutofthehouse.Iseveryfamilysuchamess?MileswalksinonAaronintheshowerandslipsonthebathmatinanattempttoflee.Kylecan’tfindhisboots.Rickycan’tfindhiskeys.Kennedydoesn’tlikepants,andTheogetssidetrackedlookingforWD-40inthebasementbecausehistruckdoorissqueaking.Whenwe’reallfinallyready,wepileintooursmallcaravanofvehiclesfortheshortdriveupthemountain.Oncewestepoutofthecars,thewindisbitinglycold;we’renolongerprotectedbythethicktreesnearthecabin.Intheend,Kennedyisgladsheworepants.
Bundledheadtotoe,wehopontheskiliftandwatchasthetreesandsleddersontheslopesgrowsmallerandsmallerbeneathus.Itsnowedwaymoreupherethaninthevalley,andtheviewisglorious.Theskyiscrystalblue,andtheairisclearandsmellslikecoldandpine,thestormhavingknockeddownanylingeringhaze.
Thewindatthetopisbrutal,andweallbendintoitaswenegotiatewhoissleddingwithwhom.Dadhovers,waitingformetoclimbonboardwithhim,butthetruthisthatI’mprettysurehewantsoffthehookanyway.
Dadisaterriblesledpartner.Hecandriveacarascapablyasthenextguy,buthe’slikeanervousgrandmotheronthesled.Reactiveandanxiousandjittery.Moreoftenthannotweenduptumblingoversideways,whichmakesDadfeeljustifiedinhistrepidation.We’llspendtherestofthedescentslowlyscootingourwaydownthemountainside,withDad’sheelsdugintothetrailandhishandliberallyworkingthebrake,whileothersleddersgetrunafterhappy-screamingrundowntheslope.
WithKylestandingtotheside,alreadyshiveringinhisonethousandlayersofclothing,IdecidetochannelFuck-ItMae.
“Dad,doyoureallywanttodothis?”Iask.
“Ofcourse,”hesays,unconvincingly.
“Youdon’tevenlikesledding.”Ipointtoateeth-chatteringKyle.“Whydon’tyoutwogohangoutinthelodge?”
Kyleshufflescloser.“Didsomeonesay‘lodge’?”
Dadfrownsatme.“Don’tyoulikesleddingtogether,Noodle?”Butit’sahalf-heartedguilttripatbest.Theideaofbeinginthelodgeinstead—hangingwithKyleanddrinkingspikedciderneararoaringfire—hasquicklycapturedhim.
Iliftmychin.“Go.”
Theydon’tneedtobetoldtwice:DadandKylehopontheskiliftandheadbackdownthemountaintowardwarmth,food,andbooze.
Milesisalreadyoff,flyingdownthehillsolo.MomandLisaareridingtogether.AaronhasKennedy,RickyhasZachary,andaquiethushfallsovertheten-footradiusaroundme,Andrew,andTheoaswedothemath:therearetwosledsremaining,onesingle-riderandonetwo-person.
Theseguysarebothwelloversixfeettall;theycouldn’tshareasledeveniftheywantedto.Atfivefootfive,IknowI’mgoingtoridewithoneofthem,andusuallyI’daskTheotogowithmebecauseIwouldbenonverbalwithnervesifIrodethatcloselywithAndrew.
Butnow,thethoughtofsettlingbetweenhisspreadlegs,ofhisarmsbandedaroundmywaistandhisbreathinmyhairdoesn’tmakemenervous.Itmakesmehungry.
HowdoesitmakeAndrewfeel,though?Yes,hefollowedmeunderthetreelastnight,andyes,heseemedtolikebeingthere.ButtheverylastthingI’deverwanttodoisputhiminanawkwardposition,nowthatheknowshowIfeel.
BeforeIcanoffertogowithTheo,Andrewstepsforward,grabbingtheropeforthetwo-personsledandgivingmealittlewaggleofhisbrows.“Wannaridewithme,Maisie?”
Irequirenoarm-twisting.“Ido.”
IfTheoisatallannoyed,itdoesn’tshow,becausehejumpsinfrontofacoupleintheirtwenties,hopsonhissled,andtakesoffdowntheslopewithawhoop.ThankGod.
Andrewdragsmeoutofmythoughts.“Whyaren’tyouwearingahat?”
Ireachup,touchingmyhair.“Shit.”Ileftitinthecar.Notonlyisitinsanelycoldout,butmycoatdoesn’thaveahood.Oncewehitfullspeedonthesled,myearsaregoingtoturnintoicicles.
Andrewpullshisfromhisheadandtugsitdownovermine,butIprotest.“Mandrew,youdon’thavetogivemeyours.”
Heliftshishoodupandgrinsatme.“Mylicewilllikeyourhairbetteranyway.”
“Gross.”Ileanintoplantathank-youkissonhischeek,connectingwiththesoft,chillystubblethere.
I’msuddenlygladthatTheoisalreadyhalfwaydownthemountain,thatmymomisn’theretogivemeherlittleraisedeyebrow,andthatthepeoplebehindushavenoideahowlongI’vewantedtodothat.
Ipullbackandhegrinsatme,butsuddenlythere’sanobviousawarenessthere,becausewhileIhughimallthetime,Idon’tkisshimthatoften.NowIdon’tknowwheretolook.Mygazewantstosinktohismouth,butthatwouldbeaterriblechoicebecauseIworryit’dbestuckthere,immobile.Toolate.Hislipsareredfromthewind,fulllikeusual,totallyfascinating.WhenIdragmyattentionbackuptohisface,Andrew’seyesseemextrabrightouthere,moreintensethanusual.
“Whatwasthatfor?”heasks.
“Thehat?”
“Well,fortherecord,I’malwayshereforkisses.”
Pardon?
Hebreaksthetensionandsitsdown,slidingtothebackofthesledandpattingthespacebetweenhislegs.Mypulsetrips.“Climbaboard,Maisie.”Andrewlooksupatme,andmyheartdoesanachingnosedive.“Thereareadventurestobehad.”
Itwasonethingtohughim,butit’sanentirelydifferentexperienceslidingbetweenhisstronglegs,feelingoneofhisarmsaroundmywaistandthelowvibrationofhisvoiceinmyear.
“Ready?”
No
Inod,leaningbackjustalittle,andAndrewreleasesthebrake,liftshisfeettobracketmycalves,andpushesoffwithhisfreehand.Weworktogether,humpingthesledforwardinawaythatmakesmewanttoexplodeinembarrassmentbecauseitisbeyondsexual,butthenwearegainingspeed,slidingfasterandfasterdownthehillside.
Hisarmtightensaroundme,andwithoutthinkingIgrabontohislegs,holdingthemtight,leaningbackintohim.Icanfeelthesturdyweightofhisbodybehindmine,thewayhegripsmewithhisthighs.I’vealwaysknownAndrewtobekind,generous,andplayful.Butthewayheengulfsmeonthesledmakesmeawareofhisphysicalstrengthandbrawn.Aflashofanimagetearsthroughme:Andrew’sbarelegs,hisstomachclenched,headthrownbackinpleasure
Inearlyswallowmytongue,broughtbacktothepresentonlywhenhecallsouthappilyinmyear,whoopingandlaughingaswereallystartflyingdowntheslope.There’snoneoftheuncertaintyIfeelsleddingwithDad,noneofthatunbalancedsensationthatwecouldtipatanytime.WithAndrewbehindmeIfeelsafe,balanced,andcentered.Iwanttheridetolastforever.
“Yougood?”heshoutsabovethewhippingwind.
“Yeah!”
Asmallpause,andeventhoughwearesurroundedbythescreamsofothersledders,thesoundofwind,andtheskilift,Icanalmosthearhisbreathcatch.
“I’mgonnasaysomething,”hecallsabovethefray.
Isquintintothebrightsun,andweleantothesideinunisontosteeroursledaroundasapling.“Okay!”
Hismouthcomesrightupbesidemyear.“Afterwhatyousaidlastnight,Ithoughtyouweregoingtokissmebackthere.Reallykissme.”
It’smyturntolosemybreath.Ican’tturnaroundandlookathim,can’treadhistone.
“Likeonthemouth?”Icalloutovermyshoulder,butmyvoicedisappearsintothewindaswegoscreamingdownthemountain.
Andrewleansforward,spreadinghishandacrossmyside,pullingmecloserintohisbody.Whenhespeaks,hesoundsbreathless.“Yeah,onthemouth.”
Istareaheadofus,andthefiguresontheslopestarttoblur.Myeyeswaterwiththecoldwind.
Hisvoiceisquieter,buteverythingelsehasfallenawaysomehow,andIcanhearhimperfectly.“You’veneverbeenforme,Maisie.Ineverknewyouwereanoption.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Wehitabumpandveertotheleft,andhisfingerstightenatmywaist.Whenwestraightenout,hedoesn’tletgo;ifanything,hetightenshisgrip,pullingcloserandwrappingmoreofhisarmaroundme.Hisfingerscurl,brushingjustundermyjacket.
Hisbreathcomesoutwarmagainstmyneck,voiceshaking:“Itneveroccurredtomethatyoumightbemine.”chaptersixteen
Twohourslaterandtheimpactofthatfirstridedowntheslopestillhasn’tdimmed;Ihearit—Itneveroccurredtomethatyoumightbemine—asclearlyasifAndrew’ssaiditagainrightintomyear,eventhoughhe’ssittingnexttomeatthebasementcardtableandnotholdingmetightaswesprintdownamountain.
Forthefirsthourofthesleddingtrip,Ididn’tfeeleventheslightestbitcold.Iwasacampfireinside,aroaringinferno.Eventually,though,myfingertipswentnumbandmybuttwasalmostdeadfromthechillofthewoodensledbeneathme.Nowbackinthecabin,we’veholedourselvesupinthebasement—Theo,Miles,Andrew,andme—toescapethecloyingheatoftheroaringfireupstairs,aswellastheroaringcacklesofourparentsengaginginsomepreholidayday-drinkingandcatchingup.
Theoshufflesadeckofcardsabsentlywhilewealldecidewhatwe’reinthemoodtoplay.Underthetable,asockedfootfindsmine,andtheotherfootcomesaroundit,gentlytrappingmeinafoot-hug.Acarefulpeekbelowdeckstellsmeit’sAndrew,andIsuddenlyfeellikeI’mwearingawoolsweaterinDeathValley.Clumsily,Ireachdown,tuggingmysweaterupandovermyhead.Itgetstangledinmyhairclip,andAndrewhastoshiftforwardtohelpextractme.
Itmeansthathepullshisfeetaway,andonceI’mfree,Icatchhimbitingbackaknowingsmile.
“Thanks.”
Heholdsmygaze.“You’rewelcome.”
Itakeafewdeepdrinksofmysparklingwatertocoolthisridiculousfever.You’dthinkI’dneverbeentouchedbyamanbefore,goodGod.
Lookingatmefrombeneathhislashes,Andrewreachesup,scratchingthebackofhisneck.
“Todaywasfun,”Milessays,andtriestotakeTheo’sbeer,butisinstantlysmackedaway.“I’mgladyoutalkedDadintojustheadingforthelodge.IfIhadtoridewithMomthisyear,IthinkIwouldhavebailed.”
“ThanksfortakingonefortheteamandsleddingwithMae,”TheosaystoAndrew,andthensmirksatme.“Worstsledsteererever.”
Iglare.“Hey.”
Andrewgivesamagnanimousshrug.“I’mahumanitarian.”
Ismackhim.“Hey.”
Hiseyessparklewhentheymeetmine,andthesmilesfadeintothatsamebuzzingawareness.Ifinallyblinkdowntothetable.Werodetheslopeaboutsixtimes,andIguessI’mgratefulthatnothingwasasloadedandheavyasthatfirstridedown,becauseIprobablywouldhavehadsomeinternalcombustionissueandendedupbackontheplanefromaheartattack.TherewasplentyofAndrewbeingAndrew:hesangterribleoperaononetrip,sworeheclosedhiseyesthewholewaydownonanother,andsaidhellotoeveryothersledderwepassedonathird,butitwasjustnormalagain.WhichIloved,andhated.
Turnsout,whereAndrewisconcerned,Iapparentlylikeheavyandloaded.
“Weneedtocallourselvessomethingotherthan‘thekids,’”Isay,breakingthequiet.Theosetsdownthedeckofcardsinthemiddleofthetable.“‘Thekids’arethetwinsnow.”
“Aren’tthetwins‘thetwins’?”Milesasks.
“Wecouldbecalledthe‘kid-ups,’”Isuggest,laughing,andAndrewbeamsoveratme,thrilledwiththissuggestion.
Andrewslidesthedeckofcardsclosertohim,tapping,shuffling.Iwatchhisfingers,tryingnottothinkabouthishandsandhowbigtheyare.Hehaslong,gracefulfingers.Idon’tthinkI’veevernoticedaman’snailsbeforeunlesstheyweredramaticallyunmanicured,butAndrew’sareblunt,clean,notfussy.IthinkI’dliketoseethosehandsroamingandgreedyallovermybareskin.
TheoclearshisthroatandmyattentionfliesawayfromAndrew’sfingers,guiltily.
“Twotruthsandalie,”Theosays,andgivesmeabewilderingwink.
Andrewlooksupfromhisshufflinganddeadpans,“Idon’tthinkthat’sacardgame.”
Ignoringthis,TheoliftshischintoMiles.“Youfirst.I’llgiveyouasipofmybeer.”
“Mileshasn’tlivedenoughtohaveinterestingtruthsorlies,andhe’sdefinitelytooyoungforday-drinking,”Andrewsays.
“Actually,”Milessays,“wedidthisgameasanicebreakerinchemistrylastyear.Itwashardthinkingofthingsthatwereappropriateforschool.”
Iholdupmyhands.“Pardon?”
Andrewlaughs.“Don’tbreakyoursister,Miles.”
“It’syouridea,”MilessaystoTheo.“Yougofirst.”
IcantellwithalittleannoyedtiltofmythoughtsthatthisiswhyTheosuggestedthisgametobeginwith:hewantedtosharesomescandalousstories.Andreally,ifIthinkback,nearlyeverygameTheosuggestsisaploytosubtlyornot-so-subtlytalkaboutwhatawildandexcitinglifeheleads.
“Let’ssee,”hesays,leaningbackandcrackinghisknuckles.“Okay,one:incollege,oneofmyfraternitybrotherskeptachickenlivinginhisroomforanentireyearandnoneofushadanyidea.”
Inwardly,Igroan.That’sright.WhereasAndrewlivedinamessybutcomfortableapartmentoff-campusatCUBoulderwithsomeofthefunniestandweirdestguysI’veevermet,Theowasinafraternitywithabunchofplayersandtrustfundmen-children.Iknowtherearelotsofgreat,progressivefraternitiesoutthere,butTheo’swasnotoneofthem.
“Dude,whywashehidingachicken?”Miles’sfacepales.“Washebeinggrosswithachicken?”
Iturntomybrother.“MilesDanielJones,don’tyoubegross.”AndthenIturntoTheo.“Anddon’tyoubreakmybrother.”
“Two,”Theocontinues,laughingthisoff,“IhaveatattooofaparrotonmyhipthatIgotwhenIwasinVegaswithsomefriends.”
“Aparrot?”Andrew’sexpressionisahilariousmixofbewildermentanddeepsiblingjudgment.“Onyourhip?WhyhaveIneverseenthis?”
Theosmirksandrocksbackinhischair.
Andrewshiversashegetsit.“Onyourgroiniswhatyou’resaying.”
“I’dliketogobacktothepartwherehethoughtitwouldbeafuntimetogetatattooinLasVegas,”Isay.“I’mreallyhopingthatoneisthelie.”
“Andthree,I’mnotticklish,”hesays,andthenturnshiseyestome,adding,“anywhere.”
Thiswinkisdefinitelylascivious.Rude.
“Um,I’mgoingtogowithnumberone,”Milessays,stillstuckonthechicken.
“I’mgladtherearesomethingsIdon’tknowaboutyou.”Andrewwipesawearyhanddownhisface.“I’mwithMae:I’mhopingnumbertwoisalie.”
“Ialsohopeit’salie,”Isay,“butmyguessisthatnumberthreeisthelie.Nowaydoyounothaveevenoneticklespot.”
“Wannacheck?”heasks,smirking.
“I…”Iflounder.“No,I’mgood.”
“Well,”Theosays,“you’reright.AsEllieT.discoveredmysenioryearincollege,I’mticklishbehindmyknees.”
Whatmustitbeliketohavehadsexwithsomanypeoplethatyouhavetofirstname–lastinitialthem?
“WhatdoIgetforwinning?”Iask.“Achicken?”
Mileswinces.“Oh,pleaseno.”
Andrewpinsmewithateasingsmile.“Yougetittobeyourturn.”
“Ihatethissortofgame,”Iadmit.
“ImaginehowIfeel.”Andrew,theworld’sworstliar,laughs,sweepingahandoverhismessycurls.Theypopbackoverhisforeheadinadisplayofcarelessperfection.
“Okay,one,”Istart,“IhatedmycollegeroommatesomuchthatIusedtousehertoothbrushasafingernailbrushaftervolleyballpractice.”
“Gross,”Milesmumbles.
“Two,incollegeIhadacrushonaguywho,Ieventuallyfoundout,waslegallynamedSirEltonJohnsonbecausehisparentswereclearlyinsane.HewentbyJohn.”
“That,”Andrewsays,pointingatmewithanelatedgrin,“isthebeststoryI’veeverheard.Goddammit,pleaseletthatbetrue.”
“Andthree,”Isaywithoutfullyconsideringthatmybrotherissittingrighthere,“Ibrokeupwithmylastboyfriendbecausehetastedlikeketchup.”
Milesfallsoverasifhe’sbeenshot,convulsingonthefloor.
BothTheoandAndrewnarrowtheireyesthoughtfully.
“Nowayisthattrue,”Theosays,shakinghishead.“Healwaystastedlikeketchup?Whatdoesthatevenmean?
Numberthreeisthelie.”
“Agree,”Milesmoansfromthefloor.“Besides,Idon’tthinkthat’spossiblebecauseyou’veneverkissedanyonebefore.”
Ipracticallycackle.“Whateverhelpsyousleepatnight.”
ButAndrewjustwatchesme,eyesstillnarrowed.“Toothbrush.That’sthelie.Youwouldn’teverdothat,nomatterhowmuchyouhatesomeone.”
Ipointathim,grinning.“You’reright.Thatwasthelie.”
“Wait.Ihopethat’snotwhyyoubrokeupwithAustin,”Milesgrumbles.“Ilikedhim.”
“It’soneofthereasons.Andyouonlylikedhimbecauseheletyoudrivehiscar.”
Iwatch,surprisedandmesmerized,asapinkflushworksitswayupAndrew’sneckandacrosshischeeks.Helooksflusteredandalittleannoyed.IsAndrewHollisjealous?
???
Oncewe’redonewithourridiculousgame,andnoonefeelslikeactuallyplayingcardsorClueoranyoneoftheotherfiftyorsoboardgames,theboysallfileupstairstogetsnacks,leavingmealonetocurluponmybottombunkandsuccumbtotheexhaustionofconstantlywhirringthoughts.
Thecrazinessofthelastfewdayscatchesupwithme,andInaplikeI’veneversleptbefore,sodeepandheavythatit’salmostlikeapost-Thanksgivingslumber,oraBenadrylinducedblackout.
Icomeoutofitslowly,thickly,atavague,paperyrustlenearby.Ittakesafewsecondsformyeyestoadapt;thesunhassetoutside,leavingthebasementwindowwellsblack.Acrosstheroom,anotherpageturns;thesoundofpapercracklesthroughthecoolstillness
Atmysharpinhale,Ihearthebookclose.Aclickofthefarfloorlamp,andthenthespaceisgentlyilluminated
“Shelives.”Andrew.Alertnesscomesatmelikeashove.
Myvoiceisthickandscratchy.“Whattimeisit?”
Hepeeksathiswatch.Inhisotherhand,he’sholdingapaperback.“Six.Dinnershouldbereadysoon.”
Isleptfortwohours?Wow.
“Whereiseveryone?”
Helookstowardthestairs,likehemightbeabletoseefromwherehe’ssittingatthecardtable.“Thetwinsweremakingmorepopcorngarlandswithyourmom.It’ssnowingagain,sothedadsareshoveling.Mymomis,um”—hewinces—“bakingsomething.”
Imaketheeepface,andhenodsinagreement.“Ithinkthisoneissomesortofcoffeecake.”
“Ithrewthecookiesout.”Ipushoffthecoversandsitup,runningahandoverthebackofmyneck.It’swarmunderallthelayers,andIfeelgroggyandoverheated.
Hiseyeswiden.“Rebel.”
Istretch,groaning.
“Youokay?”
Ilookup.“Justoddlyexhausted.”Whoknewtimetravelwassodraining?No.Wait.Whoknewtimetravelwasreal?
Heturnsthefoldingchairhe’sonaroundandsitsbackwardonit.“Maybesomeketchupwouldperkyouup.”
Ipointaplayfullyaccusingfingerathim.“Areyoustuckonthat?”
“Maybe.”QuieteatsupthespacebetweenusuntilwithaslygrinAndrewfinallyadds,“I’mjustwonderingifyoumeant—”Hemotionstohisface.“Or…”Hetiltshisheadtotheside,winking.
Burstingoutlaughing,Isay,“Youareapig.”
Hiseyesgowideinplayfuloutrage.“I’mthepig?”
Upstairs,Ihearalotofpotsbangingandboysshouting,followedbyMomyellingsomething.“Whatisevenhappeningupthere?”
“Yourmomwasgoingtostartdinnersoon,”hesays,“butBennytoldTheoandMilestodoit.”Heseesthesurpriseinmyexpression.“Bennysaidsomethingaboutyouwantingusalltohelpoutmore.”
“HowniceofhimtogivemecreditwhileIwastakingamonsternap.”
Andrewlaughs,histhroatmovingwiththesound.Slowly,quietswallowsusagainashesetsthebookdown.Iwanttoaskhimaboutthewayheheldmeonthesled.Iwanttoaskhimaboutthefoot-hugunderthetable.Ireallywanttoaskhimwhyheseemsjealousofmyex.
“What’reyoudoingdownhere?”Iaskinstead.“Thereareaboutsevenhundredmorecomfortableplacestoreadinthishouse.”
“Icamedowntogetyou,”hesays,“butcouldn’tbringmyselftowakeyouup.”
“SoyoujusthungoutnearbywhileIslept?”Iask,grinningoverathiminthedimroom.
“Youwerecute.Youkeptsmilinginyoursleep.”
“Ithoughtyouwerereading.”Heshrugs,andIlaugh.“HowEdwardCullenofyou.”
Hefrowns.“Who?”
“OhmyGod,Andrew,no.Wecannotremainfriends.”
“I’mjustkidding.IknowtheguyfromTheHungerGames.”Heburstsoutlaughingwhenmyhorrordeepens.“Youlooksoinsulted!Isthatyourtesttoweedoutthebadones?”
“Yes!”
Stilllaughing,hestandsandwavesmeup.“It’sagoodthingI’vealwaysbeenanexcellentstudent.”
Oh
“Comeon.”Hetakesmyhand.“Itoldthetwinswe’dplaySardinesbeforedinner.”Inthedarkness,hiseyesshinewickedly.“I’mhidingfirst,andIhaveakillerspot.”chapterseventeen
Afterthesecluded,darkbasement,itfeelsobscenelybrightinthekitchen,likewe’rewalkingontothesetofasalacioustalkshow.Myguiltcomplexisbehavingasthoughwewerenakedandrollingaroundonthescratchybasementcarpet.Everyonelooksatusexpectantlywhenweemergefromthedownstairs,andI’msureit’sjustmyimaginationbutIcan’thelpbutfeelthatasuspicioushushhasfallenovertheroom.
Iwave,likeanidiot.“Hey.SorryIfellasleep.”Ipointbehindme,downthestairs.“Afterweweretalking.Andplayingcards.Youknow.”
Milesscrewshisfaceup.“Thanksfortheupdate.”
Hetugsatthestrapofafloralapronaroundhisneckandpicksupacanopener.Granted,it’sasortoffancyversionofaregularcanopener,butmybrotherturnsitaroundinhishandslikeit’sacomplicatedrocketenginepartsalvagedfromNASA.Arewereallyentrustingthisfetuswithdinnerpreparationforthirteenpeople?
Andrewstartstoexplaintohimhowtouseit,butIstophimwithahandonhisarm.“No.Hewilllearnthroughthesuffering.”Iturntogivethesamewarninglooktomymom,butsheseemsperfectlycontentatthekitchentablewithaglassofwineinonehandandapaperbackintheother.
Mileslookslikehewouldverymuchliketogivemethefinger,butthenhisexpressionclearsandasmirkpullsathismouth.“Dude.”Hepointsupward.“Youtwoareunderthemistletoe.”
Inunison,AndrewandIturnourfacesuptothedoorwayoverhead.Milesisright.Thefestivesprigisnowhangingfromaredribbonpinnedintothedoorway.
“Ididn’tknowthatwasthere,”Iburstoutdefensively.
“Ididn’teither.”Andrewlooksdownatme,andevenwhenhismouthisn’tsmiling,hiseyesalwaysare.Doestheclockstop?Itsurefeelslikeit.OfallthetimesI’veimaginedluringAndrewunderthemistletoe,neveroncedidthefantasyincludehalfofourrespectivefamiliesstandingnearby.
“Youguyscouldeachtakeonestepbackward,”Theosaysgruffly,butit’sprettyhardtotakehisangerseriouslywhenhe’swearingMom’sMrs.Clausapron.“Youdon’tactuallyhavetokiss.”
Except,Ithinkwedo.Let’snotbreaktherule.
Andrewletsoutanervouslaugh,buthiseyeshooktomine.Slowly,hebends.Hislips—ohmyGod,hisperfectlips—landonmineinthepurestkiss,ever,inthehistoryoftime.Andrewstraightens,andIfocusonkeepingmyspinerigidsoIdon’tleanintohimformore.
Itwasperfect,butitwasnothing.Barelylastedaslongasoneofmyagitatedheartbeats.
Aflashburstsnearby,followedbyLisa’smuttered,“Damnit.Imissedit.”
Milesscoffs.“Thatwasn’takiss.”
IimmediatelyregretallthosetimesItoldmybrotherhe’sanidiot;veryclearlyheisatruthseerwiththeemotionalintelligenceofYoda.
“Dude,it’sfine,”Theogrowls.
Butwe’reinourownlittlebubblenow.Andrewlaughsquietly.“He’sright.Itwasn’treallyakiss.”
Andrew.Kissedme.Onthemouth.Ishrugwithfeignedindifference,keepingmyvoicelow.“Itwasfine.”
“Ipromiseyou,”hewhispers,“mygoalforourfirstkisswasnot‘fine.’”
“Okay,well,”Isay,heartshovingitselfupintomythroat.“Tryagain.”
Hequirksabrow,eyesdartingdowntomymouthandbackupagain.
“Areyougonnakissher?”Zacharyyellsdownthehall.
Weturntofindatleastsixpairsofeyeswatchinguswithvibratingintensity,andeverycellinmybodyletsoutanaggrievedgroan.Achorusofconversationbreaksoutallaroundus.
Kylelaughs.“Ithinkinterruptingamistletoekissisbadluck.”
“God,they’resoyoung,”Aaronstage-whispers.“Iwanttobethatyoungagain.Makingoutunderthemistletoe.Stayingupuntilthreeinthemorning.Tyingmyshoeswithoutgettingwinded.”
“Theyweren’tmakingout,”Dadscoffs,andthenaddswithlesscertainty,“Werethey?”
WhydoIlikemyfamilyagain?EvenifAndrewwasintentondoingthekissover,themomenthasbeendousedwithseveralproverbialgallonsoficewater.
“So,”Andrewsays,takingastepbackandslidinghishandsintohisfrontpockets.“Sardines?”
“Sure.”Imusterupsomeenthusiasm.“Let’sdoit.”
SardinesisZachary’sfavoritegame,andKennedy’sleastfavoritegame,butsheagreestoplayitwhenheasksbecause,assheoncesaidtoallofusatthedinnertable,“Idon’tlikestandingclosetopeoplebutIdon’tmindstandingclosetoanyofyou.”
Aarongotupandpretendedhehadsomethinginhiseyesohecouldgohaveahappycrywithoutherseeingit.
ZacharyisexplainingtoLisahowSardinesworks,inanefforttoconvinceherthatsheshouldplay.Bestoflucktoyou,kid.
Lisascrunchesuphernose.“So,weallgetinasmallspacetogetherandhide?”
“Oneofusgoestohide,”Kennedysaysinhersmallvoice,“andwhensomeonefindsthem,theygetintotheplacewiththem.”
Zacharydoesasnappykarate-chopdancecombo,andoneofhisshoesgoesflying.“Thelastpersontofindthehidingspaceisthelastwinner!”
“Theloser,”Kennedycorrects.“DaddyandPapacallitthelastwinner,butreallythelastwinneristheloser.”
Zacharyshrugs.“Iliketowin.”
IcanseeKennedyconsideringtakingaswingatthisone,butshejustlooksbacktoLisainstead.“Areyougoingtoplay?Andrewishidingfirst.”
LisaisclearlypleasedthathersonandIhavegivenherachancetoescape.Maybeshe’llmovethemistletoeagain.“IthinkI’llseeifEliseneedsmyhelpwithdinner.”
“TheoandMilesarecooking.”
“Maybetheyneedhelp?”
“Mom.”Andrewwincesgently.
Shelaughs.“Fine.I’llgofindElise.”
Heturnsbacktothetwins.“Who’sready?”
Twolittlehandsgoupintheair.
“Okay,then.Coveryoureyes,counttofifty.”Helooksatme.“AndMae?”
“What?”
“Nopeeking.”Hiseyesgleamflirtatiously,andmyladypartswavethewhiteflagofsurrender.
“Iwouldn’tdare.”Bringingmyfingersovermyeyes,IstarttocountalongwiththetwinstothesoundofAndrew’stiptoeingretreat.
“One…two…three…
“Twenty-four…twenty-five…twenty-six…
“Forty-eight…forty-nine…fifty.”
“Readyornot,herewecome,”screamsZachary.
Thekidspeeloffindifferentdirections:Zacharydownthehalltowardthekitchenandbasement,Kennedyintothedarkdiningroom.Me,Ipadupstairs.IhaveaprettygoodhunchwhereAndrew’sgone.
Whenourentiregrouphasn’tdescendedonthecabin,theHollisboysdon’tactuallyhavetosleepinthebasement;therearefourbedroomsupstairs,plustheattic.Dadsleepsinthestudy,andMomsleepsinTheo’sbedroom.TheroomwhereKyleandAaronsleepisAndrew’s.
Withmyhearthammering,IpushopenthedoorandamhitwiththeintenseessenceofAndrew.Lisaputscandlesineachbedroom,butwhereassheandRickyfavorlavender,andTheogetssandalwood,theeucalyptusisspecificallyforheroldestson.Beneathit,there’salsothecleanscentoflaundry,andthatunmistakablefeelofhimeverywhere.AssoonasIwalkin,theroomgoestense,likethewallsandfurniturearesneakilypointingtotheclosetandhissingconspiratorially,He’sinthere
Thelightison,too,whichisanotherclue.Kyleisanotoriousenergysaver,butAndrewwouldn’twantthetwinstohavetosearchadarkroom.
Iwalkover,hoveringoutsideforadeep,steadyingbreath.Ahundredtimeswe’veplayedthisgameandnotoncehaveweevermanagedtohuddlealonetogether,hiding.
Icrackopentheclosetdoor.
Andrewcupshishandsoverhiseyes,blinkingintothebrightlight.“Thatdidn’ttakeyoulong.”
“Itwasn’texactlyastretchoftheimagination.”Istepinbesidehim,andthesmallclosetshrinkstothesizeofashoeboxwhenoursituationhitsme.
“Wheredidthetwinsgo?”heasks.
“Downstairs.Diningroom.”
Hedoesn’tsayanythinginresponse,butIfeelhimshiftbesideme.Iamimmediatelydrowninginthedeep,achingtensionofproximity.
“So…isithardforyoutogiveupthisroomoverChristmas?”Ifinallyask.
Icanbarelyseehimbecausetheonlylightwehavetoworkwithisatinysliverilluminatingusfrombelow,valiantlystretchingupfromunderneaththedoor.ButIcanstillseehimshakehishead.“I’mnotheremuchanymore.Besides,Icansleepanywhere.”
Iknowthistobetrue.Whenwewerekids,Andrewwasfamousforfallingasleepatthetableafterabigmeal.“ThenwhygoouttotheBoathouse?”
“Becausethere’sjustsomethingsoinfantilizingaboutsleepingonabunkbedinthebasement,”hesays.“Iknowitseemscrazy,butIjustcouldnotdoitanotheryear.”
“Iseeitmoreasasummercampvibe,butIgetthatthisisyourredbutton.”
“Itis.”
Ithinkaboutthecold,dark,emptyspaceoftheBoathouse,anditmakesmeshiver.“Don’tyougetcreepedout,sleepingbyyourselfoutthere?”
Andrewlaughsandleansalittleintome.“What’sgoingtohurtmeoutthere,Maisie?Aghost?Thewolf-man?”
“Iwasthinkingmorelikeaderangedserialkillerroamingthearea.”Helaughsatthis.“Whatscaresyou,then?”Iask.“Anything?”
“IfellinlovewithaudioworkbywatchingHalloweenandTheShiningandReturnoftheLivingDead,”hesays,andIcanhearhissweetlyproudsmile.“Iwatchmovieslikethattounwind.”
Whataparadoxheis,thisbowl-of-sugarmanwholoveshorror.
“What’syourfavoritescarymovie?”
Helaughs,alldeepandhoarse.“That’sthekiller’ssignaturelineinScream.”
“Itis?”
“Literallyeveryoneknowsthat,Maisie.”
Ilaughnow,too.“I’mtellingyouIcan’twatchanythingscary,evenfunny-scary.”Ielbowhimgentlyinthedark.“Butreally,what’syourfavorite?”
“Forsound?”hesays,andIshrug.
“Sure.”
“ProbablyAQuietPlace.Butmyall-timefavoriteisSilenceoftheLambs.”
Thrillglittersacrossmyskin.“Wesawthattogether,remember?”
“Irememberyouwouldn’tletmemovemorethanafootawayfromyouonthecouch,andIevenhadtocheckunderyourbunkinthebasementlater.”
“Listen,”Isay,laughing,“I’mawuss.I’llalwaystakekissingoverkilling.”
Icansensehowheleanshisheadbackagainstthewallatthis,exhalinglikehe’sgotalotonhismind.IdomybesttonotimaginerunningmytongueoverhisAdam’sapple.
“Youokay?”Inudgehisshoulderwithmine.
Ifeelhimturntolookatme.“I’mokay.”
“Justokay?”
“Overthinking,probably.”
Astormeruptsinmyblood,andIdeflectnerveswithhumor:“AbouthowI’llforeverthinkyou’rejustafinekisser?”Ijoke.
Hislaughthistimeishalf-hearted.Eveninthedarkness,there’sasizzle-snapintheair.Iblinkawaytotheshadowedviewofhisjaw,butthatdoesn’thelpbecausehe’ssoangularandedible.Ilookdownathisneck,whichissimilarlyproblematic.Finally,mygazedropstohisforearms,exposedinthesliceoflight.He’srolleduphisflannelshirt,andthey’remuscular,lightlydustedwithhair,andevenmoreamazingthanhisneck.Iwanttosinkmyteethintothem.
“Thisyearhasbeensoodd,”hesaysquietly.“Theo’sbuildingahouse.MomandDadaretalkingaboutretiring.Everyoneseemstoknowwherethey’regoingand—”Hebreaksoff.“Ilovemyjob,butIhavethisrestlesssensethere’smoreoutthere.Morelife,moreadventure.Morethanjustafewdatesamonth.”
Myheartsqueezes.“Iknowthatfeeling.”
“Imeetpeople,”hesays,“butonedatebleedsintoanother.Ihaven’treallydatedsomeone,like,longterm,inalongtime.”Inallthetimewe’veknowneachotherandalthoughI’veknownhe’shadthem,Andrewhasnevertalkedaboutagirlfriendnearme.“Andthenyou…”Heletsthesentencehang,andIworryifItrytospeak,myvoicewon’twork.“Itthrewme.Notinabadway.DoyouknowwhatI’mtryingtosay?”
“Notreally.”Ihearthewaymywordscomeoutwavy.
Imean,IthinkIknowwherehe’sgoingwiththis,butIneedhimtoarticulateitcarefully.Hecouldmeanalotofthings.Like,thisyearisdifferentbecauseTheoandIaren’tsuperclose.OrthisyearisdifferentbecauseIfinallytoldAndrewhowIfeelabouthim.Or,forexample,thisyearisdifferentbecauseI’vetraveledthroughtime,andhehasnoidea.
“RememberhowIsaidIwasatapartyacouplemonthsback,”hewhispers,“andafriendofafriendwasreadingtarotcards?”
“Yeah.”
“Iwasteasingheraboutit,Iguess,andshemademesitdown.Putthesecardsinfrontofmeandwaslike,‘I’lldoyourreading.’WhatdoIhavetolose?Shedoesn’tknowme.SoItoldher,‘Sure.’ShelookeddownatthecardsandsaidIcouldbehappybeingsecondatwork.ToldmeIdidn’tneedabiglife,didn’tneedtosettheworldonfire.She’sright—Idon’t.ButthenshetoldmeI’dalreadymettheloveofmylife,Ijustwasn’tlistening.”Helaughs.“AndallIdoislisten.”
Thereisaswarmofdragonfliesinsideme,colorfulandbrightandtakinguptoomuchspace.It’shardtobreathe,becauseIfeelthisweightofallthethingsthathemightmeanbythis.
“Istillcan’tbelieveIdidn’teverknow,”hesays,andturnshisheaddown.“Howyoufeltaboutme.”
Ignawonmylip.“Ican’tfigureoutifyou’vebeenputoffbythat,”Iwhisper.ItfeelslikeadecadepassesbeforeIdecidetopushthenextwordsout:“Orturnedonbyit.”
Heshiftsbesideme,anglinghisbodyintomine.WhenIrealizewhat’sabouttohappen,myheartisnolongeraheart,it’saglovedfist,punchingthewallofmyribsagainandagain.Andrewliftsahand,sounhurried,andrestsitonthesideofmyneck.
Hisbreathshakeswhenheexhales.“Turnedon.”
Andjustlikethat,Andrew’slipsareonmine.Again,hebreaksittoosoon,buteveninthatsingle,perfectsecond,histouchwashungrier,playful.Itwasnothinglikethepublicmomentunderthemistletoe.
Andeventhoughourlipsarenolongertouching,theintensitycontinuestoratchethigherbecausehestaysrightthere,maybeonlyaninchfromme,andhe’sstrugglingtobreathejustlikeIam.It’sdarkinhere,compressedandwarm.Afewofhisshirtsareonhangers—slidtothesidesotheybracketus—andtheysmelllikehim.Thosesameshirtshavebeenonhisskinwhenhe’sworkedandsweated,nappedandplayedcardswithmeinthebasement,andnowthey’rebrushingagainstmybackjustafterhekissedme.
“Isthisokay?”
“It’sbetterthanfine,”Iwhisper.
Helaughs,breathlessly,andthishere—breathingwithhim,deliciouslyanticipatingwhatcomesnext—iseasilythemosteroticmomentofmylife.
Istretchforwardjustashebendsagain,andhismouthisthere,lipsparting.Whenhisarmscomearoundmywaist,pullingmeintohim,Imoanandhetakestheopportunitytosweephistongueacrossmine.
That’sit.
Igetit.Iwillnolongersnortderisivelyatdescriptionsofwomeninnovelsfallingtopieceswithbarelyatouch.Ican’timaginewhatkindsofnoisesI’dmakeifIevermanagedtogetthismannaked.
Heatblazesapathfrommymouthdownmythroat,acrossmypoundingchest,anddownthecenterofmystomach.AmilliontimesIimaginedthis,butmybrainisanuncreativedisappointmentinhindsight,becausethisisbeyondanythingI’veconjured.Andrewtasteslikepeppermintandchocolate,smellslikethesmokefromthewoodinthefireplace,andfeelslikesunshine.IfyouputallmyfavoritethingsinaWillyWonkamachine,I’mprettysureAndrewHollisisthecandythatwouldcomeout.It’sallIcandonottopressmyhipsagainsthisandpushthatflannelshirtoffhisshoulders.
“Youlookgrowly,”hesaysonhisowngrowl.
I’veneverknownthissideofhim,butit’slikebeingshownaglimmering,dimlylithallway.Gemstoneslinethefloor.Goldwinksonthewalls.Let’sseewherethisgoes,avoicesays.Forjustabreath,Ipanicthatthisisn’ttherightpath.ThatkissingAndrewinaclosetisn’twhatI’msupposedtodo.
Butthenhebends,nippingatmyjaw,andthehesitationdissolves.
“Ifeelgrowly,”Iadmit.
“WhoeverthoughtMaelynJoneswouldbetotallyfuckingirresistible,”hemusestohimself,kissingdownmyneck.
“Notme.”
Hishandgripsmyhipandslidesupovermywaist,stoppingpainfullyfarfrommybreast.“Forsolong,youwerejustakid,”hesays.“Andthenacoupleyearsago,youweren’t.”
I’moutofwords.Instead,Ijustreachforward,runningafingerdownhisnecktohiscollarbone.
“I’dhadasexdreamaboutyou,”hesays,andthenbreaksoutlaughing.
“Youwhat!”
“Inthebunkbed,”headmits.“Mortifying.”
“Whenwewereallhere?”
Andrewnods.“Youknowhowwhenyouhaveadreamlikethat,itjuststayswithyouallmorning?”
“Yeah.”
“Afterbreakfast,youandTheowerewrestlingonthefloor,andyouwerescreaminglaughing.Havingthebesttime.Ijusthadtopushthethoughtaside—ofseeingyouthatway.Icouldn’tgiveitanymorespacetobreathe.”
Everywordhesaysrequiresmetorewritemymentalhistory.“IfIknewthatbackthen,Iwouldhavehappilyreenactedthedream.”
Andrewlaughs.“Andnowyoutoldmeyouwantedme,andIrememberedthetarotcards,and—Idon’tbelieveanyofthat,oratleastIdidn’tthinkIbelievedit,butIjustthought—‘Whatifallthistime,she’sbeenrightinfrontofme?’Itfeltsoobvious.Whenwewereonthesled?”hesays.“Andyousmelledlikecaramelandsweetshampoo?”
“Yeah?”I’minanAndrewtrance.
“Ialmostleanedforwardandkissedyourneck.Justlikethat.Justoutoftheblue.”
Withoutthinking,Imakeagentlefistinthefrontofhisshirt,pullinghimcloser.Whenheletsoutaquietgrunt,hisbreathmixeswithmineandsuddenlyIwanttotakethissunshinemananddovery,verydirtythingstohim.
“I’vehadalmosttheidenticalthought,”Isay.“Many…”Hestretchesbutthendivertsawayfrommylips.Hisopenmouthlandsonmyneck,sucking,teethsinkinggentlyin.Icanbarelythink.“…manytimes.”
Andrew’shandslidesdownovermyasstothebackofmythigh,andhepullsmylegoverhiship,leaningin.Aslowgrind.Ifeelhim,theheatofhishipsagainstmylegs,thesolidweight—
Brightlightslicesacrossus,andasmallbodyboltsintothecloset.
Andrewdropsmyleg,jerkingbackward.IthrowmyhandsuplikeI’munderarrest.WearebothbreathingsohardandfastwesoundlikewejustdidclosetCrossFit.
“Foundyou!”Zacharywhisper-screamsgiddily.
“Oh—hey!”Andrewtakesadeep,steadyingbreathandreachesup,adjustingthenecklineofhisshirt.“Tookyoulongenough,squirt.”
EveninthedimlightIcanseetheflushonAndrew’sneck,thequickflickerofhispulsebeneaththeskin.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifIlookeddownandfoundthatmyskinwasonfire.
“Ithoughtyou’dbeintheBoathouse,”Zacharysays.
Andrewguideshimtositbetweenusandclosesthedoorwithagentleclick.“There’snowheretohideoutintheBoathouse.”
Zacharysoundsdejected.“That’swhatUncleRickysaid.”
“Where’sKennedy?”Iask.
“Stilllooking.”Zachary’sdarkeyesshinewhenhelooksatmeoverhisshoulder.“Butdon’tcallheraloser,okay?”
“Iwouldnever,”Iassurehim.
OverthetopofZachary’shead,AndrewandIstareateachother.Ifeelhotandachyallover.Unsatisfiedandjittery.
“Tobecontinued?”hewhispers.
Oh,withoutquestion.chaptereighteen
Andrewpullsoutachairformewhenwegettothetable,andIhavetodoamentaldoubletake,tryingtofigureoutifthisisnormalbehavior.Haveweeverreachedthetableinunisonbefore,andifso,hasAndrewpulledoutmychairforme?ArestrainedlaughisstillshininginhiseyesandIknowhewantstogivemesomuchcrapforbeingpatentlyuncoolrightnow,butdoeshenotstillfeelmymouthonhis?Icertainlystillfeeltheimprintofhiskiss.
Bennycatchesmyeyeandslowlyraisesasinglebrow.Ilookaway.
Objectively,dinneristerrible.Thetableisclutteredwithplatesofunidentifiablefood:amassofredandbrownthatIsuspectisanattemptatmeatsauce,abowlofpastywhitenoodlesallclumpedtogether.Charredgarlicbreadcutintounevenchunks.Limp,sufferinggreensdrowningunderwhatmustbeacupofranchdressing.
Thekitchenlookslikeabombwentoff,MilesandTheohavebrokenatleastfourdishes,andIknowI’mgoingtohavetocleanthemessuplater,butfuckmeifitisn’tthebestmealI’veeverhad.Andrewsaidtobecontinued!I’dhappilyeatgluerightnow.
“Seriously,”Ising,“thisisdelicious.”
Andrew’selbowmakesagentlenudgetomyside.
Rickytakesaboutateaspoonofmeatsauceandpassestheplatteron.“Whatdoeseveryonefeellikedoingtonight?”
Inearlychokeonabite,andAndrewpolitelypatsmyback,answeringwithacasual“WecouldplayClue?”
“Ooooh.”Momlikesthisidea.“Wehaven’tplayedClueyet.”
“Wehaven’tbeenherethatlong,”Iremindher—andmyself.Frankly,itfeelslikeit’salreadybeenamonth.Iquicklydothemath:sevendaysoforiginalholiday,plusanothersixintheLandofRepeats.
Thesaucemakesitswayaroundthetable.Zacharymimesthrowingupwhenitmovesinfrontofhim,andAarondoesn’tevenchastisehisson.Instead,hestudiesthesaucesuspiciouslybeforeofferingavague“ProbablyshouldtakeapasssinceI’monadiet,”andthenhandsittoDad,bypassingKyleentirely.
I’msurehe’stryingtosavehishusbandfromhavingtoeatit,butKylechasesitwithahand.“Comeonnow,Ihavetoworkforthesecurves.”Everyonelaughs—becauseKyleisnothingbutmuscleandsinew—andAaronapologizeswithakiss.
Themomentissosimpleandsweet.IlookawayintimetocatchMomandDadexchangingaknowinglook.Dadtuckshischintohischest,hisshouldersshaking.
“Okay.”Ipointbetweenthem.“What’shappeninghere?”
“WhenIwasbarelypregnantwithyou,”Momexplainswithsuppressedlaughter,“IaskedyourdadifIlookedpregnantyetandhesaid,‘No,itjustlookslikeyou’relettingyourselfgoalittle.’”
Dadcovershiseyes.“Assoonasthewordswereout,Iwantedtodragthembackin.”
“You’dthinkamanwhointeractswithpregnantwomenforalivingwouldbesmarter,”Rickyteaseshim,andthenimmediatelyshrinksatthewrylookfromhiswife.“Ohno.”
Lisapointsanaccusingfingeratherhusband.“DoyourememberwhenIstartedtakingthatpotteryclassatnight,overattheU?”
Rickyslideslowerinhischair,lettingoutagigglingandashamed“Yes.”
Sheturnstotherestofus.“ItoldhimIfeltsooldandfrumpyaroundalltheseyoungcollegegirls,andhesaid,‘That’sokay,honey,Iloveyouanyway.’”
Everyonelaughsatthis,andTheoletsoutagroaning“Dad,no.”
Rickyturnstohisson.“Areyoukiddingme?Yougotacallfromagirltheotherdayandcouldn’trememberwhoshewas.”
“Ididn—!”Theostarts,butRickyholdsupahand.
“WhenwewerehereoverThanksgiving,whatdidyouhavehidinginyourclosetafterGrandmaleft?”
BothAndrewandIgovery,verystill.
Theocloseshiseyes,pretendingtobeembarrassedbythis.“Awoman.”
“Awoman,”Rickyrepeats.“Justhangingoutinyourclosetwaitingforustofinisheating.”Surprisedlaughterbreaksoutatthetable,butinside,IfeellikeI’vedodgedtheworld’slargestbullet.“Theo,youareinnowaypreparedtogivemeshitaboutanything.”
“Earmuffs,”Aaronmutterstothetwins,whobelatedlyclaptheirhandsovertheirears.
Milesisthelasttogetoverhislaughteraboutallofthis,andTheoturnstohim,teasing,“AtleastI’vegotgame,bro.”
Tomybrother’scredit,hedoesn’tlookfazedbythisintheslightest.“I’mseventeen.AmIsupposedtobehidingpeopleinmycloset?”
“No,”MomandDadsayinunison.
“MaeandAndrewareawfullyquietoverthere…”Lisasingsongs.
Theentireroomgoesstill,andeverygazeswingsourway.IlookupfromwhereI’mcuttingmyspaghettiintosmallerclumpsandrealizeAndrewismakingnearlythesameWho,me?expressiontomyright.
“I’msorry,what?”Andrewsaysthroughabiteofsalad.
“Oh,we’rejusttalkingabouthowabovereproachyoutwoare,”Dadsays,andMomlooksundeniablyproud.
“Thesetwocertainlyaren’tsneakingaround,hidingbootycallsintheirbedrooms,”RickychidesTheo.
WhileIstruggletoswallowdownabiteofglueynoodles,Andrewnonchalantlyspearsapieceoflettuce,saying,“Thatistechnicallycorrect.”
“Maewouldhavetodateforthattohappen,”Milessays,andIglareathim.
“Yoursisterisnotinterestedin‘bootycalls,’”Dadsays,bringingaforkfulofspaghettitohismouthbeforereconsidering.
Mybrotherdropshisforkindisgust.“Caneveryonestopsaying‘bootycall’?”
IfeelAndrew’sfootcomeovermineunderthetableandamsuddenlyvery,veryinterestedinthecompositionofthemeatsauce,blurting,“Thisissounique,Theo,howdidyoumakeit?”
Flattered,hewaxeshappilyaboutfryingthemeat,dumpingincannedtomatoes,findingsomedriedherbsinthepantry.Theconversationmoveson,andI’mabletomostlytuneitout…whichisgoodbecauseit’stakingnearlyallofmyenergytonotbecompletelyfocusedonAndrew’severymovementnexttome.Iwouldnotbegoodforanyconversationrightnow.
Ithinkhe’sintentionallybrushingelbowswithme,butit’shardtoknow,becausehe’sleft-handedandI’mright-handed.ButthenI’mthinkingabouthands,andfingers,andthewayhegrippedmyleg,pullingitoverhishipbeforerockingagainstme.
I’mthinkingaboutthosehandsslidingundermyshirt,upovermyribs.I’mthinkingaboutthosefingerspullingthebuttononmyjeansfree,teasinglytuggingdownmyzipper.I’mthinkingaboutthatmouthmovingbreathlesslydownmybody,overmy—
“Mae?”Mom’svoicerisesoverthenoise.
“Mm?”Ilookup,realizingagainthateveryoneiswatchingme.Apparently,I’vemissedadirectquestion.
Herbrowsfurrow.“Areyouokay,honey?”
Withhorror,Irealizemyentirefaceandneckareflushed.“Yeah,sorry,wasjustchowingonmydinner.”
Theoleansonhiselbows.“IcalledProfessorPlum,andyoudidn’tevenblink.”
“Oh.”Iwavemyfork.“I’llbewhoever’sleft.”
Icanfeeltheripplesofshockmaketheirwayaroundthetable.Iamlaid-backaboutfewthings,it’strue,andnoneofthosethingsareProfessorPlum.Likeanyself-respectingwomanoftwenty-six,ItakemyClueveryseriously.
Andyet.
“What’sthebigdeal,guys?”Iask.“Sometimesalittlechangeisgood.”
???
I’llhaveyouknowthatColonelMustardwonCluetonight,andProfessorPlumisalreadyofftobed,poutingthatnotonlydidItakethegoodluckjujuwithmetoanewcharacter,butProfessorPlumhimselfwasthemurderer,intheconservatory,withtherope.Idon’tthinkTheoenjoysmyvictorydance,butAndrewsureseemsto.
HeandIpackupthegamepiecesinthelivingroomwhileeveryoneelsewandersofftotheircorners—bedroomsforthegrown-ups,basementforthekid-ups,andthenit’sjustus,standingtogetherwiththefirecracklingdowntoembersandthesexualtensionroaring,wonderingwhatcomesnext.
Atleast,that’swhatI’mwondering.I’mnotremotelytiredandthereforeI’mnotremotelyinterestedingoingdowntothebasement.Idefinitelyhavesomemoremakingoutinmetonight.
Withatinytiltofhishead,Andrewleadsmetothekitchen—whereIthinkwebothplantoescapeoutsideandtotheBoathouse,butinsteadwefindthatthereisstillasinkfullofdishestodo.
“Oh,right.”Dreamsofimminentlyrippingtheflannelshirtfromhisupperbodydieasad,quietdeath.“Isaidwe’ddothese.”
Andrewrollsuphissleevesandgivesmeaplayfullyannoyedlook.“‘Let’shelpoutmore,’shesaid.‘Weneedtobegrown-ups,’shesaid.”
Laughing,Iputmymostlyfullglassofcidernearhimonthecounterandturntocollectstraydishesfromthetable.“Sorry.”
“Youreallyareaterribledrinker,”heobserves,dumpingthecontentsoftheglassdownthesinkandslottingitintothedishwasher.
“Iknow.”Iwatchhimclosethedishwasherandthenwashhishandsatthesink.“Butsoareyou.”
Andrewgrinsoverhisshoulderatme.“ImakeimpulsivedecisionswhenI’mdrunk.Like,I’mprobablyonlyeveronetotwodrinksawayfromgettingabadmusicquotetattoo.”
ThismakesmelaughandIclapahandovermymouthtokeepthesoundfromechoingpastwherewestandinthequietkitchen.ThelastthingIwantisMilesorTheocomingbackupstairstojoinus.“Youmeanyouwouldn’tgetaparrot?”
Afull-bodyshiverwormsthroughhim,andheplugsonesideofthesinktofillitwithsoapy,warmwater.“ThethingIcan’tgetpastiswhyaparrot?”
Ishrug,bitingmylips.“Whynotaparrot?”
“Acoolparrotonyourarmorback?Maybe.”Hepointsfingergunsdownathiscrotch.“Butaparrot—here?Rightnexttoyourdick?Why?”
I’drespond,butthishasfriedthepartofmybrainthatmakeswords.AssoonasAndrewlooksupatme,hecanseeitallovermyface.“DidIflusterthelady?”
“Abit.”Ireachforadishtowel,intentondryingthedishesIassumehe’sgoingtostartwashing,buthetakestwostepscloser,cuppingmyface.
“You’remakingthisexpressionlikeyou’renotsurethisisreallyhappening.”
“Thatisafrighteninglyaccurateassessment.”
Herestshislipsonmine,smiling.
“Wehavedishestodo,”Imumbleagainsthismouth.
“We’lldotheminthemorning,”hemumblesback.
“Wearen’tgoingtowanttodotheminthemorning.”
Nippingatmybottomlip,hegrowlsandturnsaway.“Fine.Belogical.”
HemovesovertoRicky’soldcassette-playingradioonthecounterandsnapsatapeintoplace,hittingplaywithaclunkyclick.SamCookefiltersfromthesmallspeakers,quietenoughthatI’mprettysureitdoesn’tmakeitswaydown-orupstairs,andevenifitdoes,it’sSamCooke,notOzzyOsbourne;we’reprobablysafetoassumewe’llbeleftalone.
Don’tknowmuchabouthistory..
Andrewsingsquietly,washingthedishes,andthefirstcoupleoftimeshehandsmesomethingtodryhegivesmeaflirtysmile,butthenwegetintoaquietrhythmafterafewminutes;wesettleintothebestcombinationoflifelongfriendsandnewlovers.
Herinseshisfavoriteunicornmugandhandsittometodry.“Youwanttohearastoryaboutthis?”Iask.
“HellyesIdo.”
“WhenIpaintedit,Iwrote‘MaeplusAndrew’inwhiteandthenpaintedoverthewholethinginpink.”
Hegapesatme,takingitbackandimmediatelyflippingitover.“Youdidnot.”
“Idid.”
Heholdsittothelight,squinting.“OhmyGod,thereitis!”
Weleantogetherandhepoints,outliningtheletterswithhisindexfinger.He’sright.Theraisedshapesofthelettersinthickpaintarebarelyvisible.
“Iknewitwasmyfavoritemugforagoodreason.”
Ilaugh.“Sodorky.”
“Uh,no,Mae,it’sawesome.”Heleansover,kissingmycheek.“SoIguessyouweren’tkidding,”hesays,“aboutyourcrush.”
“OfcourseIwasn’tkidding.”WhenIturntolookathim,heleansinagain,brushinghismouthovermine.
Andifthisonecouldbewithyou.
Wefallbackintoarhythmwiththedishes,andIdon’trealizewe’veshiftedsothatwe’retouchinguntilhisarmslidesdownmineashereachesintothesinktowashthefinalplatter,butwemakeeyecontactafterward.I’minfatuatedwithhimbeyonddistraction.ThisiseverythingI’vealwayswanted:tobehere,exactlylikethiswithhim—andmaybewearen’t“together”inadefinedsenseoftheword,butwe’realreadyundeniablymore
Asecondthoughtsinksintomelikeaweightdroppinginawarmlake:Iamhappy.Ihaveneverbeenthishappyinmyentirelife.MaybeBennywasrightandI’mfinallybeingme.
Ileanoverandkisshisneck.“Letthatdishdryintherack,I’mgoingtoputawaythespicesandstuff.”
Igrabthejarsoforegano,parsley,andsomemixcalledPastaSprinkleandtuckafewunusedcansoftomatoesundermyarms,duckingintothewalk-inpantry.Behindme,thewatershutsoff,andIturnjustasAndrewcomesinafterme,wipinghishandsonadishtowel.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Beingsneaky.”Whenheclosesthedoorbehindhim,hissmileisswallowedbytheshadowsandstillsomehowthebrightestthinginthissmallspace.
“DotheHollismenhavesomesortofclosetfetishIshouldknowabout?”
“Isn’tthiswhattheholidaysareallabout?”heasks.“Kissesunderthemistletoe?Makingoutinapantry?”
“Nosyrelatives.”
Hismouthisonlyinchesawaywhenhelaughsandslideshislipsovermine.Likeadry-eraseboardsweptwithacloth,Iamwipedfreeofanyotherthought.There’sjustthefeelofhiskissandhisarmscomingaroundmywaist,myownhandsslidinguphischestandaroundhisneck.
Iwanttoaskhim,thewordsareatthetipofmytongue—Doesthiskissfeellikethebestkissever?—becausetomeitdoes.Anditisn’tjustbecauseit’sAndrew,itfeelsclearlyliketheperfectkindofmeltingtogether;hismouthjustseemstofitagainstmine.Wekissthesame.
Hemovesfrommymouthtomyjaw,andlower,pressingtheseperfectsuckingkissestothesensitiveskinjustovermypulse,moaningagainstme.ThesoundputsmeinarocketshipandlaunchesmetoJupiter.Inaflash,Iimaginethesightofhisheadbetweenmylegs.
Theideaofwatchinghimdothatmakesmebothshyandravenous;mylibidohasturnedintoafangedmonster.Andrewdoesn’tseemfazedintheslightestbyhowIpullhimcloserandkisshimdeeper,bymysoundsandtheintensityofmygrip.Hereinthedarkpantry,Icanpretendwe’realone,thattherearen’televenotherpeopleinthishouse.Isendmyhandsupunderhisshirt,seekingthesoft,warmskinthere,skatingoverhisribswithmyfingertips.
“Youfeelingmeup?”
He’steasing,butthewayhiswordshavegoneallraspytellsmeheapproves.“Yes.You’reyummyunderhere.”
“Myturn.”HisfingersplaywiththehemofmyT-shirtandthenhishandisonmystomach,myribs,andhiskissesdon’tsloworlessen.Iwanttoeatthissensation,toswallowitdownandgorgemyselfonit.
“Doyouthinkeveryonewouldfreakoutiftheyknewwhatwashappeninginhere?”heasks.
“Noteveryone,”Isay,“butcertainlysomeofthemoreinfluentialones…”
Histhumbsweepsundermybra,backandforth.“Ithinkthey’dbehappyforus.”
Thethoughtofthisexistingoutthereforeveryonetoseemakesitbothwonderfullyandterriblyreal.Keepingitasecretfromourfamiliesfeelslikekeepingitasecretingeneral,andIcanpretendthattheuniverseisn’twatching,either.Yes,I’mhappy,andIfindmyselfbelievingthatisthegoalhere,butwhatIdon’tknowiswhy,orhowtoholdontoit.Nobodycanbehappyallthetime.WhathappenswhenI’mnot?
Histhumbslidesbeneaththeunderwire,pushingthefabricupoverthecurveofmybreast.“Thisokay?”
Idon’tcarehowdesperateIsoundwhenItellhimyes.Iwanthisentirebodytouchingmerightthere,eachelectronofhisenergyfocusingonmyskin.
Hispalmcomesovermybreastbeneathmyshirt,andwebothletouttheseridiculousmoansinunisonintoeachother’smouth,andthenpullaway,bendinginsilentlaughter.Wearethesamekindofidiot.
Withanunfocusedglazeinhiseyes,hefeelstheshapeofme,teasing,gentlypinching.
“You’reperfect,”hetellsme.“You’resosoft.”
Isendathousandthank-youstotheskybecause,pressedagainstme,Andrewfeelsanythingbutsoft.
Thisisthebestkiss,mybrainscreamsagainwhenheputshismouthovermineagain,sweetlydistractedbyhishand.
Aharshwhitelightlancesacrossmyfieldofvisionandinstinctwhipsusbothawaysothatwe’refacingtheshelves.Andrew’sfrontispressedallalongmyback,andmyheartlaunchesitselfintomywindpipe.
Holycrap,weneedtofindanotherplacetomakeout;closetsarenotworkingwellforus.
“Uh,upthere!”Ishouttocover,prayingBennywastheonewhoopenedthepantrydoor.
“Whywasthedoorclosed?Whyareyouinhere?”
OhGod.Mybrother
Igrappletopullmybrabackdown.“Iwasgrabbing,um—”
“This.”Andrewstretchesbehindme,reachingovermyshoulderforsomethingonthetopshelf.Ihavenoideawhathe’sgetting,andfrankly,whocares.HishipspressagainstmybacksideandIfeelhim.Imean—wow.Heisvery,veryhard.Mybrainmelts
MilesmustbefocusedonwhatAndrew’sreachingfor,andthankGodbecauseIamentirelyfocusedonthefeelingofAndrewpressedagainstmybutt.Ididthat
Iwantthat
HepullstheobjectdownandhandsittoMiles,somehowmanagingtoturnmeintheprocesssoI’mfacingMilesandstillstandinginfrontofAndrew.Coveringhim.Irememberhe’swearingsweatpants,andfromthefeelofthingsdownthere,hisstatuswouldbedifficulttohide.
Milesstudiestheobjectinhishands.“Youweregettingthis…ceramicsombrero?”
Atmybrother’swords,IactuallylookatwhatAndrew’shandedhim.Thechips-and-salsadishisancient.Itisabsolutelycoveredindust.Ihaven’tseenthisthinginatleastadecade.
“Yeah,Maewasfeelingsnacky.”
AndrewgentlypinchesmywaistwhenIdon’timmediatelyplayalong.“Iwas!”
“Youcan’teatsomechipsandsalsafromaregularbowl?”
Miles,justletthisgo!
“Iwasfeelingfestive?”Itry.
Heblinks,andgrimaces.“You’reallred.”
“Iam?”
“Sheis?”Andrewaskswithrestrainedlaughterasheturnsbacktotheshelves.“I’llgrabthechips,Maisie.”
We’resobusted.OhGod,poorMiles.Firsttheketchup-mouthedboyfriend,andnowthis.
WhenIemergefromthepantry,Milespullsmetotheside.“Wereyoutwokissinginthere?”
“Ofcoursenot!”Seriously,thisismortifying.Whywon’tmybrotherjustreadtheroomandleave?“Weweredoingdishes,andIgotthemunchies.Just—gobacktobed.”
Withafinalskepticalglanceintothepantry,Milesgrabsacupofwaterandshufflesbackdowntothebasement.
OnceI’msurehe’sgone,IlookovertoAndrew,who’sadjustinghissweatsandgrinningatme.“Well,thatwasawkward.”
“Themostawkwardthathaseverexisted.”
There’ssomethinginhisexpression:likeacurtainhasbeendrawnopen,revealingthenextphaseofournightofadventures.
“Oh.”Ipointathimandgrin.“Isenseatransition.”
Heleansinconspiratorially.“Iwasthinking—”
“Averydangerousthingtodo.”
“—thatinsteadofhangingoutinthekitchenandgettingbustedbyoursiblings,perhapstheladywouldliketoreturnwithmetotheBoathouseforanightcap.”
“By‘nightcap,’”Iwhisperback,“doyoumeankissingwithshirtsoff?”
Henodswithplayfulgravitas.“Correct.Andintheinterestoftransparency,IshouldtellyouIdon’tactuallyhaveanyinterestingnightcapoptionsoutthere.”
Ipretendtothinkthisover,butinsideIamdoingathousandbackflips.“Iwanttogooutthere,ononecondition.”
Immediatelyhisexpressionshifts.“Wedon’thavetodoanythingyoudon—”
“Youwalkmebackhereafterward,”Iinterrupt,voicelow.“There’snowaywewouldsurviveourmothers’inquisitionifIgotbustedsleepingoutthere,butIdon’twanttowalkbackalone.”
Aknowinggleamsparklesinhiseyes.“SilenceoftheLambsflashbacks?”
“Onehundredpercent.”chapternineteen
Outside,theskyisfull,adeepoceanblueoverrunwithtiny,glimmeringsilverfish.Theairissosharpittakesafewbreathsformybodytoadapt,toclearoutthedryindoorair.Twostepsoffthebackporch,andAndrew’shandcomesovermine,fingersthreadingbetweenasifhe’sdoneitathousandtimes
“Wenevergetskieslikethisathome,”Isay.
“IforgethowmuchIloveituphereuntilI’moutsideatnight,andthenit’slikewhoa,yeah,itwouldbehardtogivethisup.”
Atinystranglednoiseescapesme,andIturnitintoacough.“Maybetrytoconvinceyourparentstokeepit?”
Hisquietpausetellsmethatheprobablywon’tdothat.“Ijustwantthemtodowhatworksforthem,youknow?”
Ireachup,runningmyfreehandthroughmyhair.Thestrandsthatcomeawayarewoundaroundandaround,andIfinger-flutterthemaway.
“Youhavesomuchhair,”hesaysquietly.“It’ssopretty.”
“It’sapain.Youshouldseemybrushes.”ThedeepbrownisallMom,butitssheerdensityisfromDad’ssideofthefamily.
“Thinkofallthebirds’nestsyou’vehelpedbuildouthere,”Andrewjokes.
Ilaugh,butaswemoveforwardthroughthedarkness,oversnowthatisilluminatedblueandsocoldwecanwalkacrossitwithoutsinkingin,afearhitsmelikeabrickofice.
“Ijustwanttosay,”Ibegin,“beforewegettotheBoathouse,thatifthiseverfeelsweirdorwrong,pleasejustdon’tstoptalkingtome.IpromiseI’llbeokayifyoudecidethisisn’twhatyouwanttodo,butIwouldn’tbeokayifyouignoredme.”
“DoyoureallythinkIwoulddothat?”
Intruth,no.Ican’timagineit.“You’reright.”
“AndwhyareyouassumingI’mtheonewho’llchangehismind?”
“I’mjusttryingtoprotectusandourfamilies.Itfeelssogood,butIknowit’sahugedeal.”
HebendswhenIsaythis,brushinghismouthovermine.Itfeelslikethenextsentenceintheconversation,theunspokenTrustme,okay?
We’reattheBoathousenow,andheturns,reachingforwardandpushingthesqueakydooropentorevealthedarkhollowspace.I’mnotreallysurewhy,butseeingtheBoathousetonightwithAndrew,underthesecircumstances,makesthecoldblacknesstantalizingratherthaneerieanduninviting.Yes,it’sfreezinginhere,butIknowinthatfarcornerthereisapileofsleepingbags,andinafewminutes,IwillbecuddledinsidethemwithAndrewpressedallalongsideme.
Whatifwehavesex?
Theword—sex—flashesintomyhead,buzzingfluorescentandneon.Onlyamatterofhoursago,Idiscoveredwhatitfeltliketokisshim.Buthereweare,nolongerchildren,friendsourentirelives.Iftheintensitybetweenusisanythinglikeitwasintheclosetandpantry,andwithoveradecadeofpent-uplusttrappedbeneathmyskin,Idon’tknowhowwe’llkeepfromrippingallofourclothesoffassoonaswelockthedoor.
Thedoorsealsshut,andAndrewreachespastme,turningthedeadbolt.Theclickechoesonce,contrastingwiththestaccatoofmyheartbeat.
“Comeon.”Heleadsmetothebackoftheroomandturnsonthelittlelampinthecorner,illuminatingaconeofspacewithasoftyellowglow.“Ta-da.”
Whenhestepsback,Iseehe’sarrangedthepileofsleepingbagsonthefloor,andittakesmeonlyafewsecondstorealizeit’sbecausethecotisreallyonlywideenoughforonebody.Butbyzippingtheflannel-carcasssleepingbagstogether,he’smadeacozylittlebedfortwo.Therearepillowsproppedagainstthewalltoleanagainst,ifwewant.He’sevenbroughtacoupleofbottlesofmyfavoritesparklingwateroutherefromthekitchen.
ImusthaveheartsinmyeyeswhenIlookathim.Whendidheevendothis?
“Yousaidyoudidn’thavebeverages.”
“IsaidIdon’thaveanynightcaps,”hesays,grinning,“butIdoknowwhatyoulike.”
I’mtryingtokeepmybrainfromdoingit,butatinyflashworksthrough,ofthehandfulofguysinmypastwhowouldbehardpressedtorememberhowmuchiceIlikeinmydrinkornameoneofmyfavoriteanythings,letaloneprocureitforme.
Withoutanycarefulcalculation—onlygratitudeandwant—Imoverightupagainsthim.Myarmsgoaroundhisneckandthere’snohesitationonhisend,either;myGod,it’slikeanexplosioninreverse,amelting.Hisarmspullmein,andhismouthcomesoverminewithalaugh-moanofhappyrelief.Thisfeelingissunshine.There’snopauseliketherewasinthecloset,nocarefulconsiderationofwhomightfindus.Here,there’sonlytheheatofhissmilingmouth,thetinyrelievedexhale.
Andrewturnsus,pressingmeagainstthewall.PlayfulandsweetandlightAndrewiswashedawayintheshadowofthemaninfrontofmewhosmilesstill,butit’sdarkandexciting.Hishandsgripmyhips,pullingmeflushtohim,lettingmefeelthathe’sstilljustashungryforthisasIam.
Wemovetothefloor.Myshirtisslidupandovermyhead.Ifinallygettopushthatsoftflanneloffhisshouldersandrunmyhandsdownhisarms,feelingthesmoothdefinitionthere,thebunchingoftensioninhisbackashehoversoverme,pressingjustwhereIwanthim.
Theneonsignisback.Sex.Sex.Sex
We’vebeenintheBoathouseformaybefourminutes,andwe’rehalf-undressed.It’snotthatI’msurprised,but…Idon’twanttobestupid.
“Andrew,”Imumbleagainsthismouth.
Hepullsback,andeveninthedimlightIcanseetheworryonhisface.“What?”
DoIsayit?Ordowefigureitoutaswego?Buthonestly,that’sneveragoodidea.Theheatofthemomentisarealthing,andwearerightinthemiddleofit.“Thisisawkward,okay,butIdon’thave…”
Hewaitsformetofinishthesentence,butsuddenlyitfeelstoopresumptuous.Toofast.Wejusthaveourshirtsoff,Mae,settledown.“Nevermind.”
“Don’thavewhat?”hepresses.Heshiftsforwardslightly,leaningintothatdistractingheatbetweenmylegs.
“Um.Notthatwearegoingto.Imean,ofcourseweprobablyaren’t.Butifonethingleadstoanother,and—”
There’sasmileinhisvoice.“MaelynJones,areyouthinkingaboutbirthcontrol?”
Idon’tthinkIcouldbemoremortified.
“LikeIsaid,”Isayimmediately,“I’mnotsayingwe’regoingtogothere,wejustgothere,butIliketobe—”
“Safe.”Hedropstheteasingvoiceandsqueezesmyhipwithagentlehand.“I’vegotittakencareof.Don’tworry.”
Andrewbendsandit’ssweeternow,lessfrantic,likewe’veletoutsomeofthepressurebyjustsayingthepossibilityoutloud.
TheairintheBoathouseseemscolderthantheairoutside,butinthezipped-togethersleepingbagsitistoastywarm.Andrewwrestlesbrieflywithmybra,whichIfindbothreassuringandendearing,andthenit’sgone,tossedsomewhereovernearhiscot.Hismouthisatrailofheatdownmyneck,overmychest,tinybitesandkisses.
It’slikewantingtohitthebrakesandthegasallatonce;Iwanttogofaster,feelhimmovinginme,butwanttosavoreverysecondofthisbecauseit’ssomanyofmylifelongfantasiescometolifeandhe’sperfect,likehereadtheGuidebookonMae’sBodyandisdeterminednottomissabulletpoint.I’dhadnocluethatAndrewfeltanythingbutbigbrotherlyfeelingstowardmeuntiltoday,but,withmyverysimpleinvitationtoexploreanus,he’sonboard.Totally.It’salmostasthoughhe’sbeenwaiting,too.He’shadfantasiesofhisownthathe’sfinallyabletobringtolife.Whichiscompletelysurreal.
Hedisappearsbeneaththetopofthesleepingbag,andwithacombinationofkisses,dexterousfingers,anddeterminedhands,hemanagestounbuttonmyjeansandgetthemdownmylegsandshovedtothebottomofthesleepingbag.
Ican’tseehim,canonlyfeelhismouthonmyknee,mythigh,thesmallestpressofhismouthbetweenmylegsand,goodGodImightdie,Idon’tthinkIhaveeverwantedsomethingmoreinmylife,likeIwouldsacrificeanythingjusttofeelthedirect,heatedpressofhiskissthere—
Andrewscramblesupmybody,crawlinginapanickedflurry,andtakesadeepgulpingbreathofaironcehemanagestoemergefromthesleepingbag.“Holyshit.”Hesucksinanotherbreath.“Ihaveneverbeenthatclosetodeath.”
It’sacombinationofshockedlaughterandmortifiedcrythatescapesme.
Obviouslyeverythingdownthereisterribleandhorrifying?Whyhasnooneevertoldmethetruth?
Iclapmyhandsovermyface.“…Areyouokay?”
“I’mgreat.Iwantedto—butIcouldn’tholdmybreath—”Hegasps,inhalingagaindeeply.“Itissohotinthatflannelsleepingbag,there’s,like,noair.”
Iburstoutlaughing,droppingmyhands.“Iwasmakingamentaldealtosacrificeallofourlovedonesifit’dkeepyougoing,butitisn’tworthyourdeathbysuffocation.”
Hebends,leaninghisforeheadonmybareshoulder.“IaccuseMae,inthesleepingbag,withhervagina.”
Icompletelyloseitwhenhesaysthis,andhe’sshakingwithlaughter,too.Honestly,laughingwithAndrewwhileI’mnakedmightbethebestfeelingI’veeverhad.Heslidestothesideinthegiantdoublesleepingbags,proppinghisheadonhishand.Withthefingersofhisotherhand,hedrawslittlecirclesonmystomach,mychest,myneck
Ilikelookingathiminthislight;withthewayit’sangledacrosstheroom,itmakeshimaperfectcombinationofangularandsoft.Sharpjawlineandcheekbones,thegentlebowofhislips,hisimpossiblylongeyelashes.
“Hasanyoneevertoldyouthatyouhavethemostbeautifuleyes?”heasks.“You’vegotthisdoe-eyed,innocentGidgetthinggoingon.”
Ilaugh.“That’sanawfullyold-manthingtosay,Mandrew.”
“No,listen,”heinsists,pushingupandhoveringoverme.“IusedtowatchrerunsofGidgetwhenIwashomesick,andI’mnotkidding,IthinkSallyFieldwasmyfirstcrush.”
“Isthatweird?”Iask.“Ican’tdecide.”
“Notweird.”Hebends,kissingmyjaw.“She’sababe.Eveninherseventies,shecouldgetit.”
“DidyouknowTomCruiseisalmostsixty?”Iask.
Helooksmildlyconcerned.“DoyouhaveathingforTomCruise?”
Iscrunchmynose.“Definitelynot.Ijustthinkit’sfunnythathelookseternallyforty.”
Hehumsthoughtfully.“DidyouknowChristopherWalkenisalmosteighty?”
Ilaugh.“Whydoweevenknowthesethings?”
“We’rethegoodkindofweird?”Hismouthmovesupmyneck.
“Butisitbad-weird,”Isay,“thatI’mnakedandwe’retalkingaboutChristopherWalken?”
“Itisgood-goodthatyouarenaked.Andfrankly,”hesays,“I’mhappytosharethismomentwithChristopherWalken.”
I’movercomewithafondnesssoconsumingthatIcupAndrew’sfaceandpullhimtome.Itisn’tjustabouthowgoodthisfeelsorhowflat-outgorgeousheis,it’sabouthoweasyandnaturalitistobewithhim,totalkbetweenkisses,tobetotallyunselfconsciouslynaked,tolaughaboutAndrew’snear-deathexperiencebetweenmylegs.
Thekissstartssweetandcalm,butwhenhegrazeshisteethacrossmylip,Imakeanoisethatseemstouncorksomethinginsidehim,andhe’sovermeagain,elbowsplantedbesidemyhead,kissingmesogoodI’mdizzywithhowmuchIwanthim.
Myfingerstoywiththewaistbandofhissweats,andskimjustbeneathandthen—whynot—Ipushthemdownhiships,andhiswarmskinslidesovermine.Ithinkforonesecondthatit’smovingtoofast,butIsensethesameawarenessinhimbecauseheshiftsbackandaway.
I’veneverbeeninsyncwithsomeonelikethis.Itfeelslikehourspasswhilewe’rekissingandtouching,talkingandbreakingintospontaneous,loudburstsoflaughter.Thesexisrightthere,butsoistheblacknessofnight,remindingusthatnooneisinahurryandwehaveplentyoftimeforfun.Eventhefumblingcondomunwrappingleavesusinhysterics.He’sstilllaughingintoakisswhenhemovesoverme,andintome,andthenIgettoseethequiet,focusedsideofAndrew,theonewhomakesithislife’sworktolisten,becauseheworkssocarefullytorespondtoeverysinglesoundImake.
Whenwefinallypullourclothesbackonandhewalksmeacrossthemoonlitexpanseofsnow,therearetwothingsIwantwithequalintensity:Iwanttoturnaroundandgobacktobeingnakedinthesleepingbag,andIwanthimtofollowmeintothekitchen,sitdownatthetable,andtalktomeforhours.chaptertwenty
Atfivethirtyinthemorning,twoandahalfhoursafterAndrewwalkedmebacktothehouse,Igiveuponsleepandshuffleupstairstothekitchen.Iamasewercreatureemergingintodaylight;awomanwhoverydefinitivelyneedseightfullhoursofsleep.Todayshouldbeinteresting.
RickystumblesinaboutthesametimeIdo,andwebothfreezeatthesightofhissonattheendofthetable,bentoverabowlofcereal.Myheartfallsintomystomach,andIwatchinhorrorasAndrewliftsanarmandcasuallywipesawayadripofmilkfromhischin.
Hehasn’theardusapproach,Iknow,buttheviewofhimbowedoverthetable,thesilencethatseemstostretchlikeacanyonacrosstheotherwisewarm,invitingspace…it’ssosimilartothathorriblemorningwithTheothatIaminstantlyqueasywithdread.
Isthisthecatch?Thesurpriseending?Gotcha!You’vemadethesamemistakewithAndrew.Didyoureallythinkthepointofallthiswasforyoutobehappy?
Asoundcreaksoutofme,somethingbetweenaninhaleandagroan,andAndrew’seyesshootup,andthenbackoverhisshouldertohisdad,beforereturningtome.
Hissleepygazeimmediatelyshiftsintotwinklinghappiness.“Well,goodmorning,fellowearlyrisers.”
He’slookingatmelikeI’mexactlywhohewantedtofindthismorning,butmydoubttakesabeattowearoffandthefeelingkeepsmefrommovingdeeperintotheroom.
Rickylooksatme,thenthecoffeepot,andthenmeagainmeaningfullybeforeheeventuallygivesupandwalksovertoithimself.“What’reyoudoingupsoearly,Drew?”
“Couldn’tsleep.”Behindhisfather’sback,Andrewwinksmischievouslyatme,andmyinsidesallturnintoaheatedtangle.Anechoofhisgroan,aflashofhisthroatarchedbackinpleasuresnapsmythoughtscleanofanythingelse.
“ToocoldoutthereintheBoathouse?”Rickyturnstosmileatme,too,likehe’sreallygotAndrewwherehewantshimnow.
“Actually,Iwastoastyasabearinaden,”Andrewsays,pokingathiscereal.“Juststayeduptoolateandthencouldn’tshutoffmybrain.”
“Somethingworryingyou?Workstuff?”Rickypullsdownthreemugsasthecoffeestartstoslowlydribbleintothecarafe.
“Workwasthelastthingonmymind,actually.”Andrewgiveshisdadaneasyshrugandtakesanotherbiteofcereal.“Justwideawakeandbuzzing.”
Ilookdownatthelinoleum,fakingayawntosmothermydeliriousgrin.
“Well,you’llbetiredaftertoday,”Rickysays,sittingatthetable,“that’sforsure.”
Today:December23.ScavengerHuntDay.WepairupinteamspulledoutofahatanddispersearoundParkCitytocollectphotoevidenceofalonglistofrandomthingsRickyandLisadreamupforus—asilverornament,agiantcandycane,adogwearingasweater,thingslikethat.Occasionallyvideoevidenceisneeded,likelastyearwhenwehadtogetvideoofagroupofpeopledoingthecancan.Permissionisrequired,andaskingstrangerstodoweirdthingscanbemortifying,butmostlyit’sablast.
Thehuntalsogivesusthechancetodoanylast-minuteChristmasshoppingwemightneed—TheoandMilesneverhavetheirshoppingdonebeforehand—andisusuallyamuch-neededbreakfromtheconfinesofthecabin.Mom,Kyle,andAaronusuallystaybacktostartcookingtomorrow’sfeast.Theypreparethesame,belovedmenueveryChristmasEve:ham,scallopedpotatoes,roastedvegetables,macaroniandcheese,homemadebread,andabouttendifferentpieswealllookforwardtoeveryyear.
Therestofusareunleashedandturnruthlesslycompetitive.Oneyear,Dadevenboughtawomananewshirtsonooneelsewouldhavethechancetocrossoffthe“someonewearingaBroncosjersey”itemontheirlist.
Myfeetfinallyunlocked,Iwalkacrosstothetable,pulloutaseat,andsitshouldertoshoulderwithRicky.
“Whataboutyou,Mae?”hesays,nudgingme.“Yousleepokay?”
Ishouldprobablylie,butI’mtootiredtobecoy.“Notreally.”
Andrewputsonamaskofdramaticconcern.“Ohno.Youtoo?”
Rickyboltsupassoonasthecoffeemakerbeepsthatit’sdonebrewing,andIusetheopportunitytogiveAndrewawarningexpressionthatIcan’tseemtohold;itimmediatelycracksintoasmilethatfeelslikesunlightonmyface.Inmyhead,JulieAndrewssingsandspinsonanAustrianmountainside.Confettiburstsfromaglitterycannon.Aflockofbirdstakegloriousflightfromthetopofanenormoustree.Iamsilvery,glimmeringhappiness.
Rickyslidesamuginfrontofmeandletsoutatinysoundfromthebackofhisthroat.“Youdon’tlooktired,Maelyn.”
“Youactuallylookalittleflushed.”Andrewinnocentlyslidesanotherbiteofcerealintohismouth,chewsthoughtfully,andswallows,adding,“IfyouneedanapintheBoathouselater,it’squietandreallywarminthesleepingbags.”
Well,nowI’msuremycheeksarehotandmyeyesaregleaming.Ileanovermymug,inhalingthewarm,nuttyscent.“IthinkI’mgood.”
“Inanycase,we’llgetyoutobedextrasuperearlytonight,”Andrewsays,andcatchesmyeyeoverthelipofhisownmug.“Scout’shonor.”
???
Ahalfhourlater,hecatchesmeinthehallwaywithmyshowerbag,preparingtoclimbthelongstaircasetotheupstairsbathroomwiththebestwaterpressure.Andrewtugsmeintothedark,secludeddiningroomandhidesusbehindoneofthethickvelvetcurtains,buryinghisfaceinmyneck.
“Hi.”Hepullsinadeepinhale.“Don’tshoweryet.”Hismouthopens,teethpressintothesensitivejunctureofneckandshoulder.“YousmellliketheBoathouse.”
“Yourflirtingwasverysubtlebackthere,”Itease.
Laughingsilently,hepullsmerightuptightagainsthim,astand-upcuddle.“Kissme.”
SoIdo.
“YouwanttoknowwhyIcouldn’tsleep?”heasks.
Ilaugh.“Why?”
“BecauseIkeptthinkingaboutallyourlittlesoundslastnight.”
“Mysounds.”
Hismouthcomesupmyneck.“Yeah.Rightinmyear.”Hisvoicegoesquiet.“‘Don’tstop.Please,don’tstop.’”
Ihonestlyhavefewrecollectionsofanythingthatconcrete—justblurryflashesofhimmovingoverme,ofthisspiraling,back-bendingpleasure,andofhisownbreathy,gravellynoiseswhenhecame.“Idon’tthinkIrealizedIwassayinganythingcoherent.”
“Notallofitwascoherent.”Helaughs.Itturnsintoagroan.“Howarewegoingtohidethis?I’msureIwon’tbeabletokeepitoffmyface.Maybeweshouldn’ttrytokeepitquiet.”
Isheserious?Hecan’treallythinkwe’llannouncethistoday,afteronedayoftogetherness?Doeshenotknowourfamiliesatall?
ButIdon’tactuallywanttothinkaboutanyofthemrightnow.Iwindmyarmsaroundhisshoulders,andhestartstofeelmeup.“Youknow,itmightlooksuspiciousfromtheoutsidewhenthecurtainstartstowiggle.”
Hepullsbackinfeignedshock.“Whatareyouthinkingwe’regoingtodoinhere?”Evenso,hispalmcomesovermybreast.
Istillfeeltherhythmicechooflastnightallover.InatwistIcanonlyblameonmysemi-uptightupbringing,guiltcastsashadowovermyelation.Momhasleftalotofherownmother’sprudishnessbehind,butherbiggestconservativeholdoverisherpreferencethatsexnothappencasually.SheknowsI’mnotavirgin,butI’malsosureshewouldn’tlovetoknowIwashavingsexwithAndrewinhisparents’cabin.Idon’tregretit,butIdon’twanttoflauntit,either.
Andrewseestheshadowfallovermythoughts;hishandslidesbackdowntomywaist.
“What’swrong?”
It’salsomorethanjusttherealitythatIhadsexwithAndrewsoquickly—which,frankly,isshockingenough.Butinthepastseveralhours,I’veletmyselfforgetthatI’mactuallyonawild,cosmictrip,thatImightbelivingonatimer.I’vebeeninthisexactdayandhourbeforeandIdon’tknowwhatmightpropelmebackwardalloveragain.DoIfeelmorefirmlyrootedherethanIdidlasttime,whenthebranchfellonmyhead?Maybe?Imadeitthroughdaythreewithoutreturningtotheplane,butIalsodidn’tmakeanynewdeclarationsorhaveanyheavyrealizationsyesterday.Iwasjust…happy.
AndbeinghappywastheonlythingIaskedfor.
SowhathappenswhenI’mnothappy?Whathappenswhenthisvacationisover,andAndrewheadsbacktoDenver,andIreturntoBerkeley,andI’mdevastatedtobeawayfromhim,andjoblessandbroke?WhatifIcan’tkeepupthistrajectory?WillIfailthisparticulartest?WillIfindmyselfbackatthebeginningofthegame,taskedwithrelivingallthesemomentsagainandfindingawaytokeeptheballoonintheaireternally?
“Nothing’swrong,”Isay,andhopeIwasn’tquiettoolong.“Justprocessingitall.”
“Oh,shit.”Hisfacefalls.“We’removingtoofast.”Herunsahanddownhisface.“Weshouldhavetakenitslowerlastnight.Itwassogood,though,andIwasjust—”
“Itwasn’tonlyyou.Itwasfast,”Iadmit,andhisadmissionthatitwasgoodmakesmehotalloveragain.“Butitwasn’ttoofast.I’dwantedtodothatwithyousinceIknewwhatsexwas.”
Awickedsmilepullsuponehalfofhismouth.
Sobering,Iadd,“Imean,it’sonlytoofastif…”Iswallow.“Ifit’sjustanover-the-holidaysthing.”
Hepullsbackandlooksgenuinelyhurt.“Isthataseriousconcern?”
“Idon’tactuallyknow,becauseyou’remoreprivatethanTheoisaboutthesethings.ButI’mdefinitelynotlikethat.”
Hetoyswiththestrapofmytanktop.“Iwouldneverdothatwithyou,Mae.That’snotwhatthisis.”
“Thisiscomplicatedbyalotofthings,butlet’sstartwiththefactthatourparentsarebestfriendsandwelivehundredsofmilesapart.”Ichewmylip.“Sorry.Idon’tmeantogetallintense.”
“Areyoukidding?”Hebendsatthekneesowe’reeyetoeye.“Theonlywaytodothisistobeopenaboutit.Evenifyoufeellikewedidn’tmovetoofastlastnight,wedefinitelywentfromzerotosixty.Talktome.”
Iguessthere’snopointdelayingthisconversation.“Iknowyouwanttotelleveryoneaboutus,butareyousureaboutthat?”IslidemyhandunderthehemofhisT-shirt,seekingwarmth.Heswallowsagroan,anddistractsmemomentarilywithadeep,searchingkissthatmakesanachedropfrommypoundingheartintomynavel.“Idon’twanteveryonetogetoverlyinvestedbeforeweevenknowwhatthisis.”
FromAndrew’snod,IknowIdon’thavetoexplainmyself.Igrewupwithaprimeexampleofarelationshipthatdidn’twork.Eventhesimplestofbreakupscangetmessy,andIdon’twantanyoneheretofeelforcedtochoosesidesifthisdoesn’tworkoutperfectlyrightoutofthegate.
Restinghislipsjustatthecornerofmymouth,hesays,“Thenwhydon’twejustkeepfollowingthisforabitbeforewesayanythingtoanyone?I’msohappyrightnowIfeelhammered.ButI’lltrytoplayitcool.”
Theproblemis,Idon’tknowhowtodothat,either.I’veessentiallyhandedmyheartovertothepersonwho’shaditonreserveforhalfmylife,andI’mterrifiedthathedoesn’trealizewhathe’sholding.
Footstepscometoastopjustafewfeetawayfromwherewe’rehidinginthecurtains,andAndrewgoesstill,eyeswide.Mylungsturntoconcrete.
“Hello,whoeveristhere,”Andrewsays,wincing.“Wasjust,uh,checkingthiswindowlock.”Ashereachespastmetorattlethelock,westarewide-eyedateachother,probablybothprayingthatit’sKennedyorZacharyandwecanpretendtobeplayingSardinesagain.
Butthenathroatclears,andIhavetoadmitneitherofthetwinswouldcleartheirthroatandsoundlikeagrownman.
“Iknowagoodlocksmith.”
Benny
Andrewthrowsbackthecurtain,blowingoutanenormousbreath.“Oh,thankfuck.”
Bennylaughs.“ShouldIevenask?Whatwereyoutwodoinginthecurtain?”
Iputahopefulshineonmywords:“Fixinglocks?”
ButBenny’snothavingit.“Isthatwhatthekidsarecallingitthesedays?”
“Makingout,”Andrewsayswithashrug.“Butyouaresworntosecrecy.”
“IfeellikeI’mcarryingalotofsecretslately.”Bennyeyesmesideways.
Andrewnoticesandlooksbackandforthbetweenthetwoofus.“What’sgoingon?”
Ishruglike,Bennysaidit,notme
“Mae’sgoingthroughsomestuff.”
“Goodorbad?”Andrewasks,turningtome,immediatelyconcernedthatI’mhidingsomethingfromhim.
“Oh…I’dwagergood,”Bennysays,raisinghiseyebrowsmeaningfullyatme.
OverAndrew’sshoulder,IgiveBennythethumbs-up.BehindAndrew’sback,Bennydoesadorkylittledanceofcelebration.HestopsabruptlywhenAndrewturnsbacktohim.“ButIwascomingtowarnyouguysthatMilesislookingforMae.”
“Andyouknewtofindusinthecurtains?”Iaskhim.
Bennyturnstoleaveandgrinsatusoverhisshoulder.“Itwasprettyeasytofollowthegiggles.”
???
Ifindmybrotherontheporch,sittingontheswing,scrollingthroughhisphone.Helooksupwhenhehearsmyfootstepsanddropsitintohisjacketpocket,tuckinghishandsbetweenhisknees.“Hey.”
“Hey.”
It’sfreezingouthere,andfreshoutoftheshower,IfeellikeI’vejuststeppedintoawalk-infreezer.Teethchattering,Icuponehandaroundmywarmmugofcoffeeandusetheothertozipmyparkauptomychin.
“Bennysaidyouwerelookingforme.”
Milespauses,blushing,andinaninstantIknowwhatthisisabout.Whydidn’tIseethiscoming?
Isitdownnexttohimontheswing,bumpinghisshoulderwithmine.“What’sup?”
“Iwasrightlastnight,wasn’tI?”heasks,andthenlooksatme.Mybrothergotourmother’senormouseyesandheknowshowtousethem.Hecanmakethemroundwithinnocenceornarrowtheminmischief.Rightnow,hewincesalittle,lookingmortifiedtobeaskingmethisbutalso,Iknow,hopingIwon’tlietohim.
“Rightaboutwhat?”Iask,wantingtobesure.
“ThatyouandAndrewarehookingup.”
“Yes,”Isaysimply.
“DoesTheoknow?”
Adefensivewavesweepsbrieflyoverme.“No.Andpleasedon’ttellhim.Ifwedecidethisisgoinganywhere,we’lltelleveryoneourselves.”
Milesnodsatthisandturnshiseyesouttothesnow-coveredfrontyard.“Areyousureyouknowwhatyou’redoinghere?”
“Notreally.”
“BecauseyouknowMomwillhavenochillaboutthis.”
ThethingaboutmovinghomeisthatIwentfromindependentadultbackintokidmode.Momstilldoesmostofthecookingbecauseshelovesit.Shedoesmostofmylaundrybecausesheusestheactivitytounwindwhileshe’sthinkingabouthowtofixoneofherpaintings.Ofcourse,IlovetheseperksbuttheymeanIcan’tcomplainthatshealsoneverthinkstwicebeforegivingmehertwocentsoneveryaspectofmylife.
“Trustme,”Isay,“thatisreasonnumberonewhyI’mnotsayinganythingyet.”
Milestakesadeepbreathandletsitoutslowly.“IthinkTheoisinlovewithyou.”
“What?No,heisn’t,”Isay.
“Howdoyouknow?”
Ilaughdryly.“Theoisusedtoeveryonewantinghim.Idon’t.He’sthekindofguywhowantswhathecan’thave.”
IwatchMilesabsorbthisinformation,andthenheseemstounderstand,noddingslowly.“Okay.Ijust—Idon’twanthimtobeupset.”
Kissingmybrother’stemple,Itellhim,“You’reagoodboy.”
Hepretendstobegrossedoutbythis,pushingmeaway,butturnsbackbeforeleaving.“Hangoutwithhimtoday.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIthinkhemissesyou.”chaptertwenty-one
Isupposeit’sfate,then,thatMilesandTheobrokethebowlwealwaysusetoholdthescrapsofpaperforpickingteams.Rickygrabshiscowboyhatinsteadandthistime,whenTheo’snameispulledout,mineistheonethatimmediatelyfollows.Andrewthrowsmealittlewomp-wompface,butI’vegotnodoubtthatheandMilesaregoingtocrushthescavengerhunt;theirteamhasthekillercombinationofMiles’sdoeeyesandAndrew’sabilitytocharmastrangerintodoinganything.
Whichisgood,becausethisyear’slistisheavyonthevideoevidence,including:
?Astrangersinging“JingleBells”
?Adogdoingatrick
?SomeonerecitingtheirChristmaslist
?Ateammateperforminganactofkindness
Theocomesovertome,holdingthelistandsmilingshyly,andit’sdisarming.Howcanthisself-consciousturtlebethesameguywholickedmyfaceandrefusedtotalktomethenextmorning?It’simpossibletoreconcile.Weusedtotextabouteverything—homeworkandschool,hissoccerpracticeandmyartprojects.He’dcomplainaboutthesnowandI’dsendhimaphotoofmymom’sgarden,stillinbloom.Wehaven’tdonethatforareallylongtime.Iwonderifhemissesit.
Ireallydon’twantMilestoberightaboutthis.
“Guessyou’restuckwithme,”hesays.
Ismackhisarm,laughing.Toohigh,Mae.Toofake.AndTheoknowsmetoowellforittogooverhishead:hepullsbackinmildsuspicion.Buthe’salsonotthekindofpersontoaskaboutitinfrontofeveryone—oraskaboutfeelingsingeneral—sowe’releftstandinginawkwardsilenceastherestoftheteamsareformed.
Andthenwe’reoff—pilingintoRicky’svan.Upfront,AndrewputsonNatKingCole’sChristmasalbum,andweallsingalongbadly,perusingourlists,makingfunofRickydrivinglikeagrandpa,andalreadyexcitedlytalkingabouthowamazingdinnerwillbelater.
Webarrelintotown,findingaparkingspotinasmalllotandtumblingoutofthevanandintoourteams.Withinstructionstomeetbackatthevanintwohours,Rickyreleasesus,remindingustobepolite,getpermissionbeforetakingpicturesofpeople,and“Ifyouwanttojustgiveupnow,that’sfine.KennedyandIaregoingtowinanyway.”
Theoturnshisbacktotherestofthegroup,andweformatwo-personhuddle.Thefeelingofbeingthisclosetohimshouldn’tbeweird—Iknowhimjustaswellasanyoneelseinmylife—butIcan’tshaketheheavyawareness.Itisn’tjustabouthookingupwithhiminapastreality,orthefactthatI’mnowhookingupwithhisbrother.It’sthelayersofthingsthatTheodoesn’tknow,andthetruththatIfeellikeIgottoknowhimevenbetter—andnotforthebest—thefirsttimeIlivedthisweek.
Heholdsthelist,scanningitwithafinger.“Weshouldstartwiththequickstuff.Thecandycaneprop,”hesays,readingfurther.“ApictureofusbothwearingSantahats.Apictureofamooseonsomething.”Helooksupatme.“Theseshouldbeprettyeasy.”
EspeciallysinceIknowwheretofindmostofthesethings,Idon’tbothertoadd.
“Leadtheway.”Ismileupathim,butit’sforced.Everythingfeelsforcedbetweenus.Ihateit.
Heturns,headingleftfromthevanontoMainStreet,andIlookbehindustowhereAndrewandMilesareheadedinthesamedirection,butcrossingthestreettogiveussomespace.Whenoureyesmeet,Andrewwinks.It’ssoothing,likewatertoaparchedmouth,andtheperfectreminderthatevenifwehavetonavigatethiscarefully,wegettonavigateittogether.
Wekissed.
Wehadsex.
Thingsarereally,reallygood.
IjogtocatchupwithTheo,linkingmyarmwithhis,feelingfreshlybuoyant.
“Theresheis,”hesays,andgrinsdownatme.
BeforeParkCitybecameknownasapopularskiingdestinationandhometotheSundanceFilmFestival,itwasaminingtown.Nownestledbetweentwogiantresorts,thesmallvalleywasdiscoveredwhensoldiersstationedinnearbySaltLakeCitysetoutthroughthemountainstofindsilver.Whentherailroadcamethroughandwordspread,itwasfloodedwithprospectorsinsearchoftheirfortunes.
MainStreetstillbearssomeresemblancetothatoldminingtown,withold-timeystorefrontsandhistoricbuildings,butinsteadofsaloonsandgeneralstoresthestreetisfilledwithtrendyboutiquesandrestaurants,museums,andevenadistillery.ParkCityisalsomoney.Withmoretouriststhanresidentsinthearea,theHollises’propertyisprobablyworthafortune.Nowondertheydecidetosell.
TheoandIrackupafeweasyphotosforthehunt—amooseonasweatshirt,apictureofacowboy,adreidel,asnowflakeonanornament.AphotoofanobjectwiththewordsHo,Ho,Ho.Westopacoupleontheirwaydownthestreetandaskifthey’dbewillingtosing“JingleBells”forus.Ittakesamomentofawkwardconvincing,butthankfullytheyaregamebecauseI’vealreadyspottedAndrewandMilesgettingvideoofatleastfourdifferentpeopleoutonthestreet,andaheadofus,RickyandKennedyseemtobeflyingthroughtheirlist.Thebenefitofhavinganadorableandprecociousfive-year-oldasyourpartner.
It’snoteventhatIcareaboutwinning,butthisactivityisdoinganamazingjoboftakingmymindofftheincreasinglyshrillvoiceinmyheadtellingmethateverythingisonthevergeoffallingapart.
Ican’tquiteputmyfingeronwhythatfeelingisrising,butitis;thattwingeofpanicisgrowing.Yes,everythingisdifferentandforthebetter.ButI’venevertrustedmyowndecisions,andwhenyougeteverythingyou’veeverwanted,youdon’tknowexactlyhowtomanageit.IwantedAndrew,butitisn’tassimpleaskissinghimandbeinghappy.Iftherewereonlysomeindication,somewinkfromthestarsthatI’vegotitallsorted,Icouldmaybebreathe.Rightnow,IjustwanttogetthroughDecember26—pastthepointwhereI’veeverbeenbefore—beforeIcanrelaxandknowthateverythingissettled.ThatI’mheretostay.
Withafewitemscheckedoffourlist,Theostopsinfrontofoneofthesmallshops.“Ineedtograbacoupleofthingsformyparents.”Ifollowhisattentiontoawindowdisplayfilledwithfancycookinggadgets,spicemixes,andkitchenknickknacks.
Honestly,akitchenwarestoreseemslikethelastplaceheshouldbeshoppingforLisa,butjustdowntheblock,IseeAndrewduckinsideastorefront.WithoutMiles—who’sprobablydoingsomeofhisownlateshopping.Myheartgrowsthreetimesinsize.“I’lljustbedownthere.”Ipoint.“Ihavesomeshoppingtodo,too.Meetmethereintwenty?”
IfTheosawhisbrothergoin,hedoesn’tletanyreactionshow.Withalittleliftofhischin,heurgesmetogo,andit’sallIcandonottosprinttoAndrew.
???
ThewindowislitupwithanoldfeatherChristmastreeandanassortmentofantiquetoys.Istepinsidetoablastofwarmairandholidaymusic,andmakemywaythroughaislesofretroelectronicsandwornfurniture,stacksofoldrecordsandusedkitchenware,searchingforAndrew.
Ifindhiminthebackoftheshop,turninganoldrecordoverinhishandstoreadthesonglistontheback.
“Hey,you.”
Heturns,andwhenhegrins,theworldaroundusbrieflyglimmersgolden.
“Hey.”Glancingaroundusfirst,heleansinandgivesmeaquickkiss.“How’sitgoingwithTheo?”
“It’sfine,”Isay,pickinguparecordoutoftheboxhe’sperusing.“Alittletense.Notsurewhy.”
“Probablybecauseyou’resleepingwithhisbrotherandhehasnoidea.”
Iglowinsideatthecasualmentionthatwe’resleepingtogether,butguiltshadowstheedges.“IfeellikeI’mlyingtohim.”AndthenIremember:“Oh.AndMilesknows.”
“Knowswe…?”Andrewlooksmildlyhorrifiedandmakesavaguesexualgesture.
Laughing,Isay,“Idon’tthinkheknowsmorethanthatwewerekissinginthepantry.”OffAndrew’slook,Iadd,“Oh,comeon.He’sseventeen,notseven.Andheaskedmepointblank.”
Andrewgivesaregretfulwince.“PoorMiles.”
“Hepromisedhewouldn’tsayanything,butIfeellikeit’sjustamatteroftimebeforeeveryonefiguresitout.”
“EspeciallywhenIcomevisityouinBerkeleyinaweekbecauseIcan’tstayawayfromyou.”
Ibeamupathim.“Youwhat?”
“Maybe?”hesays,grinningwinningly.“Wouldthatbeweird?”
Ibitemylip,shakingmyhead.“Ifeellikeeverythingisabouttochange.”
“Yeah?”
“Milesisleavingforcollegeinafewmonths.I’mgoingtohavetofindanewjob.”Ismileupathim.“Meandyou.”
“Wecouldbrainstormthejobthingtogether,”hesays.“Whatareyouthinking?”
Ishrug,gnawingmylip.“Somethingartistic.IcouldfreelancegraphicdesignuntilIfiguresomethingout.”
“Icouldseeifthere’sanythingweneedatwork,”hesays.“Websitestuff?”Heshrugs,andit’sclearhehasnoideahowanyofthatworks,butit’sendearinganyway.“Icanask.”
“Thatwouldbeamazing.”Ismileupathim.“IknowIshouldbemorenervousaboutnotbeingemployed,but…”
Butit’shardtoworrywhenhe’srighthere.EverytimeIstarttopanic—aboutthetimejumps,aboutmyjob,abouttellingmyparentsanyofthis—lookingathimimmediatelycalmsmedown.Thathastomeansomething.
AlmostasifheknowswhatI’mthinking,Andrewlooksatme,eyessearching.Hestepsawayfromtherecordsandturns,cuppingthebackofmyheadandpullingmeintoakiss.MythoughtsgofromOh,thisishappening,toOh,Ineedthisman’shandsonmeimmediately
Hetiltshishead,histonguebrushesmine,andheletsoutaquiet,vibratingsound.EverythingaboutthewayIhearitandfeelitandtasteitremindsmehowitfelttobetotallyimmersedinhimlastnight.Istretch,wantingtopressastighttohimasIcan,eventhoughinthebackofmymind,I’mscramblingtoholdontothefilmyawarenessthatwe’reinpublicandourfamiliescouldbeanywhere.Hishandsslidedownmywaisttomyhips,andhepullsthemflushtohisbeforeheseemstorememberwhereweare,too,andshiftshishandsaway.
Withhisthumbbrushingtheundersideofmyjaw,hepressesonefinalkisstomylipsandthenpullsback,grinning.“Well,thatgotdirtyfast.”
Iswallow,feelingwarmanddefinitelyunsteady.“Youalmostjustgotlaidinasouvenirshop.”
Andrew’seyesflareandthenhetakesadeepbreath,gettingsomephysicaldistance.“Don’ttemptme.”Hegoesbacktolookingthroughtherecords.“Ineedasecondto,uh…”Heexhalesslowly.
“Didn’trealizetalkingaboutourbrotherswouldgetyousoworkedup,Mandrew.”
Helaughs.“Iassureyou,sweetheart,it’syourproximity.”
Iabsorbthisanditfeelsliketakingahitofadrug.“Everythingissomuchbetterthistime.”
Andrewpauses.“What’sthat?”
Oh,shit.Iopenmymouthtocover,buthisattentionissnaggedovermyshoulder.
“OhmyGod.Maisie,look.”
Relieved,Ifollowhisgaze.There,onaturquoisevelvetcouchwithaFORSALEsignonit,isapillowwithaneedlepointofChristopherWalkenwearingaSantahatandwordsbelowhimreadingWalkeninaWinterWonderland
Burstingoutlaughing,Isay,“Well,that’sacoincidence.”
Andrewlooksdelighted.“WemightneedtogetthisandkeepitintheBoathouse.IhaveveryfondmemoriesofdiscussingChristopherWalkeninthere.”
“Youdo?”Iask,hugginghimfrombehindandpressingmylipsbetweenhisshoulderblades.“Elaborate,please.”
“Yousee,itwasjustbeforeIhadsexintherelastnight,”hewhispersoverhisshoulderinteasingconfidence,“withawomanwhoI’veknownforeverandwhousedtowearmybrother’sBatmanunderwearasapiratehat.”
Istretchtoplayfullybitehisshoulder.“LookatthatgiantbagofpeppermintHershey’sKisses.Thatismydreamrightthere.Icouldliveoffthatforamonth.”
Hefollowsmyattentiontothefive-poundbagondisplayandgivesadramaticshudder.“You’rekidding.”
“They’remyfavorite!Icanonlyfindthemthistimeofyear,andIeatsomanyIgetastomachache.”
Andrewturnsinmyarms,frowningdownatme.“Areyouawhitechocolateevangelist?”
“Onehundredpercent!”Ilaugh-yell.“OhmyGod,arewehavingourfirstfight?”
“IwilldieontheWhiteChocolateIsNotChocolatehill.”
“Itmaynotbechocolate,butitisdelicious.”
“Wrong,Maisie,”hesaysinMandrewvoice.“Ittasteslikefakemintandass.”
“Likefakemintandass?”IreplyinoutragedMaisievoice.“You’retheonewhostealsthecrappy,plastickychocolatefromtheAdventcalendar.”
“Well…it’shardtoarguewiththat.”Hestartstobendtomeetmykiss,butwebothgostillatthesoundofTheo’svoicebehindme.
“Whoa,whoa.WhatexactlyamIseeingrightnow?”
???
ItisasquietasmidnightwhenIturnaround.Theostaresatme,andthenathisbrother,beforehelaughsdrylyandstaresatthefloor.“Didn’tseethatcoming.”
“Hey,Theo.”Idon’tknowwhatelsetosay.
Andrewhasturnedbehindmebuthasn’tmovedaway.Infact,hesnakesanarmaroundmywaist,pullingmybacktohisfront.“Theo.Hey.”
“Hey.”Theogesturesbetweenus.“So—isthisathing?”
“Yeah.Itis.”Andrewletsthatsinkinbeforeadding,“Youokay,man?”
Theostudiesusforseveralpainfulbeats.“Notsurewhattosay.”HelooksatmyhandsoverwhereAndrew’sfingersrestgentlyonmystomach.“You’veclearlykeptitfromeveryone.”
“It’snew,”Isay.
“Hownew?”
“Coupledays.Ormaybeyears,”Andrewjokes,smilingdownatme.“It’shardtosay.”
Iwanttobecharmed,butthatmaybetheworstthingAndrewcouldhavesaidrightnow.
Theolooksdirectlyatme.“Mae,doyouhaveasecondtotalk?”
Inallpracticality,I’vealreadylivedthisdayoncebefore.Imighthaveallthetimeintheworld.EveniftherearesevenmillionthingsIwouldratherbedoing.“Sure?”
IlookovermyshoulderatAndrew,andhereleasesme,givingmeasmallnod.Theoisalreadyhalfwaytothedoor,andIhavenochoicebuttofollow,leavingAndrewbehind.
Mymindisvibratingwithnerves;itfeelslikeIhavenomorewordsinmyhead.ThenightwithTheofeelslikeahundredyearsago,butIworryitwillforevercolorhowIseehim.AndIcan’teventellhimaboutit.
Outonthestreet,Theokeepswalking—passingadiner,asmallartgallery,afewotherstoresuntilwereachaquieterstretchofMainStreet.Heturnstofaceme,leaningagainstthefrontofaclosed-upshopwithsandstonebricks,woodtrim,windowspaperedover.Hetiltshisheadback,staringskyward.
“Idon’tevenknowhowtostart,”hesays.“I’mstilltryingtofigureouthowtoreact.”
“I’msorryyoufoundoutlikethat.”
Helaughs,runningahandthroughhishairandlookingpastmedownthestreet.It’ssocold,butI’mnotsureifthecolorthatbloomsinhischeeksisfromthewaythetemperatureseemstobedroppingbythesecondorfromanger.Acardrivesby.Acouplewithhappysmilesandshoppingbagsapproachesonthesidewalk,andTheoandIstepoutofthewaytoletthempass.
Finally,hesays,“Ifeelsostupid.”
I’malreadyshakingmyhead.“No,don’t.Itsurprisedme,too.”
“Weweretight,Mae,”hesays.“Youandme.WewerealwayscloserthanyouandAndrew.”
“Whenwewerekids,yeah,”Iagreecarefully.Anothercarpasses,andanotherclosebehindithonkingloudlyatsomepedestrianswhounexpectedlystepintothestreet.“Butasfriends.Theo,wewereonlyfriends.”
“Haveyoualwayslikedhimthatway?”
Inod.
“Howlong?”
Forever?Iwanttosay.“Alongtime.”
Icantellthissurpriseshim,andcolormakesitswaydownhisneck.“Didheknow?”
“Beforethisweek?”Iask.“No.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Ididn’ttellanyone.”
“ExceptBenny,”heguesses.
“Bennyknowseverything.”
Hetakesafewslowbreaths.“Ijust—”Helaughsagain.“Idon’tknowhowtosaythissoIguessI’lljustcomeoutwithit:Ifeellikeyouledmeon.”
Whatthehell?Myhearthasspentalotoftimeracinglately,butnotlikethis.Notoutofangerandindignation.“HowdidIleadyouon?Bybeingyourfriend—”
Mywordsarecutoffwhen,nottenfeetaway,abrilliantexplosionofsound,shimmeringinitsproximityandvolume,cutsthroughtheicyair.Webothstartleviolently;acarhasrunthestopsignandhitanotheratfullspeed.Itisablastofmetalcrunchingandglasscracking,oftiresscreamingonasphalt.Theodivesonme,coveringmeassomethingispropelledtowardus,shatteringthewindowjustbehindwheremyheadwasonlyasecondago.
Wesitup,dazed.Myearsareringing,andafterahiccuppinginhale,adrenalinedumpsintomybloodstream.Myentirebodystartstoshake.
“Areyouokay?”Theoasks,andhisvoicesoundslikeit’scomingthroughahollowmetaltube.
Numbly,Inod.“Areyou?”
“Yeah.”
Westareoutattheaccident,atsteamrisingfrombothcars.Myattentioncatchesonapatchofgreen—amangledwreathandredvelvetribbontiedtothehoodofthelargercar.
Inthecommotion,peoplepouroutofstorefronts,crowdingaroundthecrash,makingsureeveryoneisokay.Whatwasonceamassofchatting,dawdling,laughinglate-shoppersisnowastreetfullofonlookersstandingwiththeirhandsovertheirmouthsasthedriversemerge,stumbling,fromthesurprisingruinsoftheircars.
Theohelpsmetomyfeet,butevenonceI’mstanding—legsshakingbeneathme—Ican’tmovefromwhereI’mrooted.Thatdebriswasmeantforme,Iknowit.I’vedonesomethingwrong,takenabadturnsomewhere,andIhavenoideawhatitwas,orwhat’scomingformenext.
Butitwasawarning.
Mytimehere,inthisversionofreality,isrunningout.chaptertwenty-two
Istepawayfromthebrokenglassandshardsofmetalthatlitterthesidewalknearby,Theomovingbehindme.Oncetheonlookers’attentionmovesfromtheaccidentinthestreettotheaftermathallaroundus,afairamountofconcernisthrownourway,asthetwobodiesintheimmediatevicinityofthecrash.
Withthescavengerhuntnowcompletelyforgotten,ourfamiliesfranticallyrunoverassoonastheyspotusinthemiddleofthechaos.Forafewminutesfollowingthereliefthatnoonewasgravelyinjured,TheoandIaredrowningintheadrenalineofwhateveryonesaw,whathappened,andhowcloseitwas.Andrewhugsme,checksthatI’mokay,andpressesbreathlesslipstomyhairuntiltheotherscrowdinfortheirturn.Butsmackinthecenterofmystomachisaleadenballofdread.
Isearchforhimagain,seekinghisarmsandsteadyingIgaze,butit’salreadylockedinsilentcommunicationwithhisbrother.Veryquietly,Andrewsays,“Idon’tunderstandwhyyou’remad.”
“Don’tlie,Drew.Yougetit.”Theodigshishandsintohispocketsandlooksaroundself-consciouslyastherestofthegroupfallsintoahush,realizingthere’sanotherconversationhappening.
Rickystepscloser,puttingahandoneachoftheirshoulders.“Hey.Guys.What’shappeninghere?”
TheoshrugsoutofRicky’sgrip.“Stayoutofit,Dad.”
Rickyfrowns.“WhatamImissing?”
Iwanttodisappear.Myeyesshootskyward.Kidding!
TheoliftshischintoAndrew.“Goahead.Youtellhim.”
Andrewshakeshishead.“Notrightnow.Notthetime.”
“Tellmewhat?”Rickyasks.
Andrewlooksatmethen,hisexpressionsearchingforpermission,andIfeelthewayawarenessspreadsinasilentwavearoundthecircle.Maybeit’showMileslooksdownattheground,orBennystepsclosertome,shouldertoshoulderinsolidarity,butanyonewithevenamodicumofemotionalintelligencemustknowwhat’sbeingleftunsaid.
Well,IguessexceptRicky.“Seriously.What’sgoingon?”
“Maybewecandothiswhenwegethome,”Bennysaysquietly.
IlookgratefullyatBenny—thelastthingIwantisascene,andI’dprefertotellmymommyself—butTheoexhalessharply:“MaeandAndrewarehookingup.”
Whatreactionhewasexpecting,Ihavenoidea.ButthegroupfallsdeadlysilentbeforeswingingtheircollectiveattentiontomeandAndrew.
“Whatisconsidered‘hookingup’thesedays?”Lisaasksquietly,andmystomachdropsinmortification.
“Wait,”Rickysays.“Sorry,IfeellikeImissedsomething.”
“Whatever.”Theoturnstowalkdownthesidewalk.“Doesn’tmatter.”
“Theo.”Ichaseafterhim,joggingtokeepupwithhislongstrides,andreachouttograbthesleeveofhisjacket,buthetugsfree.“Wait.”
Ihopoverapatchoficeandslowtoabewilderedstopinfrontofasmallicecreamshopthat’sclosedfortheseason.Isheseriouslyjustrunningaway?
“Theo!”Ishout,buthekeepsgoing.Itakeanotherstepandthenfreezeatthesoundofametallicgroan,followedimmediatelybyacacophonouscrashjustbehindme.
Turning,hearthammeringinsidemychest,Iseethatthemetalframebeneaththeshop’sawninghascrumpled,plummetingtothesidewalknotafootawayfromwhereIstand.TheinnocentpatchoficeIsteppedaroundisnowburiedbeneathit.
Iturnmyfaceuptothesky.“What?”Ithrowmyarmsout.“WhatamIsupposedtodo?AmInotsupposedtofollowTheo?AmIsupposedtojuststandnearAndrew?What!Justtellme!”
Bennycomesover,agentlehandonmyshoulder.“Mae.Honey.Calmdown,itwasjustanaccident.”
“Itwasn’t,though.”Hysteriahastakenovermybrain,myblood,mypulse.Itpoursthroughme,silveryandhot,obliteratinganythingrationalormeasured.“Thecarcrash?This?”Imotionwildlyatthetwistedmessoffabricandmetal.“Clearlyitwasmyfault.”
Dadstepsforward,gentlymurmuring,“Mae,”withAndrewrightathisside.“Honey,what’swrong?”HelookstoBenny.“Whatisshetalkingabout?”
Andrewcomesclose,puttinghishandsonmyshoulders.“Maisie.What’sgoingon?”
IlookpasthimtoBenny.“Ican’tactlikethisisn’thappeninganymore.It’sexhausting.Idon’tknowhowtokeeptheactup.”
Bennygivesmeahelplesslook.
IturntoAndrew,andthenmydadandmybrother.Iscanmyeyesacrossthegroup.“I’mstuckinsomesortoftimeloop,andIdon’tknowhowtogetoutofit.Imean,”Isay,“afewdaysago,Iwantedoutofitsobad.ButnowIdon’twanttomessitup.”
Andrewtakesmyhand.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Idon’tknowhowtoexplainit.”
Bennyclearshisthroat.“WethinkMaeisinaGroundhogDay–typescenario.She’sbeentothecabinafewtimes,andeachtimeshegetsinjuredandthenwakesupbackontheplaneonDecembertwentieth.”
Andrewletsoutalittleincredulouslaugh.Everyonelooksaroundateachotherlike,Areweallhearingthesamething?
“I’mtryingtokeeptrackofeverything,”Iadmit,“andIrealizethissoundscrazy,butI’mscaredsomethingterribleisgoingtohappen,socaneveryonejusttakeafewstepsawayfromme?”
Noonemoves.
“Please,”Iplead,andpullmyhandoutofAndrew’sgrip.“Backup.”
Mycomposurefeelslikeastringbeingslowlydraggedalongtheserratededgeofablade.Iturntomybrother,whoiswatchingwithwide,worriedeyes.“Miles.Punchme.”
Heletsoutadisbelievinglaugh.“What?”
“Intheface.Hard.”
Afewvoicesmurmurmynameinpity,butI’mnothavingit.“Punchme.Iwanttogobacktotheplane.”
“Mae,I’mnotgoingto—”
“Punchme!”
HetakesastepbehindBenny,lookingtoourdadforhelp,andthenIrealizethatRickyhaspickedupKennedy,thatLisaisholdingZachary,andthateveryone—evenAndrew—islookingatmelikethey’reafraidofme.
Iturnandrunawaydownthestreet.Idon’tknowwhereI’mgoing.I’mprayingwitheverythingIhavethatallofthisendsandIwakeupinseat19B.Takemeawayfromthisnightmare
TheonlyvoiceIhearbehindmeisBenny’sgentle“Lethergo,Dan.Sheneedstobealone.”
???
Twohourslater,BennywalksintothesmalldinerwhereI’vebeensitting.Hedoesabriefscanoftheinterior,spotsme,exhalesinrelief,andmakeshiswayover.
I’msippingmyfourthcupofcoffee,handsvibratingasIshredanapkinintosmallerandsmallerpieces.Prettysoonthey’llbemicroscopic,asmatteringofdustontheFormicatabletop.Atinsel-coveredChristmastreestandsinthecorner,glitterypapersnowflakesflutteroverhead,andasmallrockfireplaceburnsnearby.Noneofithelps.Noneofitmakesmefeelanything.
“Hey,Mayonnaise,”hemurmurs,kissingthetopofmyhead.
WhenIdon’treplywithasillyname,hepullsoutthechairoppositemeandsitsdown.“You’renotansweringyourphone,”hesays.Icanseetheworryinthetinylinesaroundhiseyes,thedownturnofhismouth.
“Iturneditoff.”Thebellringsoverthedoorasacoupleofteenagerscomeinside.“IsTheookay?”
“Everyone’sfine.We’reallworried.”
“Isoundinsane,”Isay.“There’snowaytoexplainthistothem.I’vebeensittingherefortwohours,andAndrewhasn’ttriedtocomefindme.I’mgoingtobeterrifiedofsomethinghorriblehappeningtomeeverysecondfortherestofthistrip—maybeeverysecondfortherestofmylife—andeveryonemustthinkthatI’mlosingmygrip.”
Hewincessympathetically.“Ifitmakesyoufeelbetter,theyallwantedtocomefindyou.Youdidn’tscareAndrewaway,Ijusttoldhimtogiveyousomespace.”
Theopeningnotesto“AllIWantforChristmasIsYou”playthroughthedinerspeakers.Icastmyeyestowardtheceiling.“Didyouknowthey’veplayedthissongeverytwenty-twominutes?”
Hedoesn’tgiveanyoutwardresponsetothis,justletsmesilentlyworkthroughmythoughts.Groaning,Ibendtorestmyforeheadonmyarms.“Benny,IrealizedsomethingwhileIwassittinghere.”
Hishandcomesovermyarm.“What’sthat?”
“Iaskedtheuniversetoshowmewhatwouldmakemehappy.”
“Ithoughtwealreadyknewthat.”Hesoundsconfused.
“No,”Isay,pushingmyselfbackuptofacehim.“Imean,Iaskedittoshowme.Ididn’tsay,‘Givemewhatwillmakemehappy,’or‘Letmebehappyforever.’Isaid,‘Showmewhatwillmakemehappy.’So,itshowedme,butclearlyIdon’tknowhowtohandleit,orwhattodo,andIcan’tkeeppretendingeverythingisnormal.”
Bennyshakeshishead,browslow.“Mae,thisdoesn’thavetobesocomplicated.JustgotellAndrewwhatyoutoldme.Explaintohimwhat’sgoingonwithyou.Andrewissmart.Ofanyofus,he’llbeopentotheideathattheworldisn’talwayswhatwethinkitis.”
“Well,that’stheproblem.”Ifeelahundredyearsold.“HowdoIexplainit?HowdoIshowhim?”
“Thesamewayyoudidwithme.”
Ishakemyhead.“Butthefirsttimeithappened,andItalkedtoyou,itwasthebeginningoftheholiday.ThingswerestillhappeningthewayIremembered.Icouldpointthingsoutinadvance,becausetheyhadn’tchanged.”Ishredmynapkinalittlemore.“Butnoweverythinghaschanged.Idon’tevenknowwhat’sgoingtohappennext.Idon’tknowhowtoprovetohimthatI’mnotmakingthisup.”
“WhataboutwhatyousaidaboutRickyandLisasellingthecabin?”
“Healreadyknowsaboutthat.AndI’vebeentalkingaboutit,askingaboutit.Itisn’tthatbigaleapformetoguessthattheyweregoingtotelluseventually.”
“Comeon,Noodle.Let’sheadback.”
Pullingmycoffeecloser,Ihugitlikeit’smylasttruefriend.“Ineededtomakesomechangesanyway.Thistableismyhomenow.Forwardmymail.”
Laughing,Bennyreachesintohisbackpocket,fishingouthiswallet.“You’llfeelbetterafteryoutalktoAndrew.”
“Aretheyallwaitingatthevan?”
Heshakeshisheadandpullsacleanhundred-dollarbillout,droppingitonthetable.“Theyallheadedbackawhileago.”Hestands.“Wecantakeacab.”
Istareatthebillonthetable.“HolyBenjaminFranklin.Mycoffeewas,like,fourdollars.”
“Idon’thaveanythingsmalleronme.”
“Letmejustpaywithmydebitcard.”Istarttostand,butheputsahandonmyarm.
“Mae.Igotit.It’salmostChristmas,andthisnicelittlerestauranthaskeptyousafefromcarsandawningsandallotherdangerousflyingobjects.”Heshrugs.“YoueverhearofSpotify?”
“Uh,yeah?”
Hegrins.“Igotinearly.”
“Howearly?”
“Early.”Heliftshischintothedoor.“Let’sgo.”chaptertwenty-three
IspendthedrivehomethinkingofeverytimeloopmovieI’veeverseen,andthenberatingmyselfbecauseI’vebarelyseenany.NowonderI’mscrewingthisup.Thetaxidropsusoff,andIdon’tgointothemainhouse.InsteadIaskBennytoleteveryoneknowI’mfinebutneedalittlespace,andmakemywaythroughthesnowtotheback,insearchoftheonepersonwho—Ihope—canmakemefeelbetter.
IhearAndrewstrumminghisguitarfromoutside,andreachup,knockingtentatively.“It’sme.”
Hegivesanimmediate“Comein.”
Thesunwanes,droppingbehindthemountain,castingtheBoathouseinaneerietwilightshadowwhenIstepinside.
“Hey.I’vebeenhopingyou’dcomesoon.”
Reliefbloomsinme.“Hey.”
Hesetshisguitardownnearthecotandwalksover.ICuppingmyface,heleansinandkissesmesointenselytheworldaroundusgoesmilky.“Youhadaroughafternoon,”hesaysoncehe’spulledaway.
“Yeah,Iwashopingtoexplainalittleabout—”
“Youwerealmostkilledtwiceinfiveminutes,”hesays.“Anyofuswouldhavebeenfreaked,too.Iwasworried,Mae.”
Ikisshimforthat;eventhoughhedoesn’tknoworprobablybelievewhat’sreallyhappeningtome,heisn’tleavingmehanginginthisemotionalskydive.
Hereachesup,pushingmycoatfrommyshouldersinawaythatreadshungryandready.ItisexactlythedistractionIneed.Wemovethroughtheroom,leavingapathofdiscardedclothing:boots,socks,shirts,pants,bra…shivering,wediveintothesleepingbagstogether.
He’salreadyhard,andcomesovermewithagroanofrelief,hisfacepressedintomyneck.“I’msogladyou’reokay.Thishasbeenthelongestdayofmyentirelife.”
Andrewreachesdownandunzipsthetwobags,openingonesidesothathecantossitopenlikeablanket.Icatchaglintinhiseyewhenhelooksupatmebriefly,butit’sdarksoittakesmeafewsecondstorealizewhat’shappening.
Hekissesdownmyneck,acrossmychest—lingering—downovermystomachandhips,andthenhiskissisthere,vibratingwiththesoundhemakes.Ithrowanarmacrossmyeyes,wantingtoblockouteverythingexceptthewayhewrapshisarmsaroundmyhips,thewayhisfingersdigintomydelicateskin.
I’mnevergoodatshuttingoffmyownbrain,andthepastfewdays—todayespecially—I’vebeenamessofnervesandconfusion.Evenrightnow,whenit’snearlyimpossibletoletanyotherthoughtinbuthowgooditfeels,I’vestillgotthattendernessattheedge—thefearthatsomehowthisisallgoingtogoawayandI’llwakeupontheplanewiththesedeep,realemotionsthatonlyIremember.
Fallingapartwithacry,Ireachforhim,urginghimupandoverme.Heripsthecondomwrapperopenwithhisteeth,impatienthandsshaking,andonlysecondslaterwe’removingtogetherandhe’spressingagroanintomyneck.Iwonderif,nowthatI’vemanagedtorestarttime,Icanfigureouthowtostopit,becauseIneverwantthisnighttoend.Iwantittogoonandonforever.Iwanthimtonevergetenoughofme.ButthenAndrewismovingfaster,andhisbreathgoesjagged,andthemusclesofhisshouldersbunchtightlyundermyhands.Hesaysmynameonanexhaleandshakesoverme.
Goingstill,hebreathesinunevenburstsagainstmyneck.“I’velovedyoumywholelife,butthisnewthing…”Hesucksinadeepbreath.“It’samazingandscary.”
Whenhesaysthis,itfeelslikehavingadrinkonanemptystomach:ashotofheatstraightdownthemiddleofmybody,followedbythesensationofbeingimmediatelytipsy.
Andthenaringingscreamsinmyhead.Ican’thaveheardhimright.
Istarttopanic.
Catchinghisbreath,Andrewpullsbackandlooksdownatme.Ican’tseehisexpressionverywell;it’sdarkandmyvisionisblurry,butIfeeltheweightofhisgaze.“Youokay?”
Inod.
Heletsoutalittlelaughandrollsbesideme.“Shit.Sorry.Itwastoomuch.Iruinedthemoment.”
“No,youdidn’t.”Theproblemisn’twhathesaid—Iwantedhimtosaythat,ofcourseIdid—it’sthatI’msuddenlyunabletoimagineasituationwhereIcankeephim,wherethiswon’tallgoawayinthenextsecond,ortheoneafterthat,orlatertonight,orfirstthingtomorrow.Ihavenocontroloveranythinganymore,anditfeelshowIimaginejumpingfromaplanewithoutaparachutemightfeel.
“It’snotokay,”hesays,pushingupontohiselbowtohoveroverme.“Icantellitupsetyou.”
“Itdidn’tupsetme.Iwanttohearyousaythat.”
Helaughsagain,forrealthistime.“Clearly.You’vesuddenlyturnedintoRobotMae.”
“Areyoukidding?”Iask,tryingtokeepmyvoicelevel.“I’vewantedyoumyentirelife.ThereisliterallynothingIwanttohearmorethanthatyoufeelthesameway.Ipromise.”Itakeadeep,shakingbreath.“ButIreallyneedtotellyousomethinghard,andI’mnotsurewheretostart.”
Hepauses,andIfeeltherealizationasitpassesoverhim.“DoyouhaveaboyfriendbackinCalifornia?”
“What?OfcourseIdon’t.”
Hedeflatesinrelief.Hismouthcomesovermineinthedark,andIchaseit,pushingupandoverhim,suddenlywantingtowashawaymyanguishwiththefeelingIlovemostintheworldrightnow,whichishavingAndrewalltomyself.
“Hey,hey.”Hishandscometomyshoulders,andhecoaxesmebackandaway.He’snothingbutaseriesofanglesandshadowsinthedarkness.“IsthisabouttheGroundhogDaydreamBennywastalkingabout?”
“DoyourememberwhenIgothere,”Isay,“andIranintothehouselikeacrazyperson?ItoldKennedynottotripoverMiso,ItoldDadnottoeatthecookie.IwentthroughthethingaboutTheo’shairbeingfine,aboutyourdadandthegin.Allofthat?”
Henodsslowly.“Yeah.Irememberyourarrivalbeingsortof…wild.”Hequicklyadds,“Butfunny.Ilikedit.”
“Butspecifically,”Isay,“doyouremembermesayingthosethings?Andtheweirdhunchesyouaskedmeabout?”
Andrewshiftsmyweightontopofhim.“Yeah.”
“Ihadallthoseweirdhunchesbecause,bythatpoint,I’dalreadybeenthroughitthreetimesbefore.”
Heletsoutalong,slowbreath.“Sorry.Idon’t—”
“Iknewyourmomwouldhavemadethoseterriblebars,”Isay,“becauseDadbrokehistootheveryothertimeI’dlivedit.”
Andrewletsoutanotherincredulouslaugh.“Noway.”
“IknewKennedywouldskinherknee.Iknewyou’dsleepintheBoathouse.Iknewwheretofindthesleepingbags.”
“Well,okay,”hesays,tryingtoworkthisout.“Whydidyougetsentbackintime,then?”
Reliefthathe’slisteningandnotimmediatelyrunningawaycourseswarmthroughme.“Imadeawish.”
Andrewlaughs,abright,happyburstofsoundthatimmediatelydieswhenherealizesI’mcompletelyserious.“Awish.”
There’snowayaroundthis.Takingadeepbreath,Isay,“Thefirsttimearound—okay.ThingsweredifferentwithmeandTheo.”
“Differenthow?”Andrewasksquietly.
“ThefirsttimeIlivedthisholiday,”Isay,“onthelastnight,wewereinthebasementplayingboardgames—Christmasnight?Wedranktoomucheggnog.Youlefttogotobed,andwecamebackupstairs—Theoandme—andweendedupmakingoutinthemudroom.”
Eveninthedarkness,Andrewvisiblypales.
“Itwasawful,”Irushtoadd,“andwebothwenttobed,andthenthenextmorning,hegotupearlyanddidn’tevenacknowledgeme.”Ipause,that’snotright.“Actually,hesaid,‘Itwasnothing,Mae.Ishouldhaveknownyou’dmakeahugedealoutofit.’Itwasourlastdayhere,anditwascompletelymiserable.”
Andrewstilldoesn’tsayanything,soIcontinue.“Itwassoawkward.Youcameoutandteasedmebecauseyou’dseenus—”
“Areyousureyoudidn’tdreamthis?”heasks.
“I’msure.Yourparentstoldusthattheyweresellingthecabin,andthenmyfamilyleftfortheairport.Iwasfreakingoutandmadeawishtofindoutwhatwouldmakemehappy.”Iswallow.“Wegotinacaraccident.Iwokeupontheplaneheadedbackhere.Andthesamethinghappenedtwomoretimes—once,Ifelldownthestairs,andonceatreebranchfellonme.”
HeshakeshisheadasifhecansomehowdislodgewhatI’vejustsaid.“YoumadeoutwithTheothreetimes?”
“No—God—justtheonce.EachtimeIwassentback,Iwouldtrytofigureoutwhatwashappening.Iassumeditwaslikeapuzzle,youknow?IwouldthinkIhaditfiguredout,andwoulddecidesomecourseofaction,andthenboom,gone.IkeptgettingsentbackbecauseIwasn’tdoingsomethingright.”Iwaitforhimtorespond,buthe’sgonestillandquietbeneathme.“ButonceIwaslike,‘Screwit,’andjustwentforwhatIwanted,everythingfellintoplace.”
Stillnothing.NoreactionfromAndrew.
“Iwasmeltingdownonthestreetintown,”Isay,“becauseyou’rewhatIwant,andIhavethisfeelingthatwewon’tbeabletokeepwhatwehave.Thatitwillalldisappear.Andtheneverythingstartedtogowrong.”
“Sothat’swhyyouaskedMilestopunchyou?”heasks,confused.
“Yes!”
Hissilencestretches,andmythoughtsturnfoggywithworrythatthisisallsoundingmanicandimpossible.“Iknewwe’dbuildthesnowmonkey.IknewMisowoulddestroyyoursweater—”
“Misohasn’tdestroyedmysweater.”
“Well,”Ifalter,“no,notyet,but—”
“Mae.”Andrewletsoutalong,tiredbreath,andinthedarkness,Iseehimlifthishandstohisface.“Canyoujust—”Hepauses,andthenshiftsfartherawayfromme.Achillrunsdownmybarearms,andIsuddenlyfeeltoonaked.Ireachforthesleepingbag,tryingtomoveclosertohim,butheholdsmeaway.“Please.Don’t—Ijustneedto…”
“Iknowitsoundsinsane,”Isay,genuinelyworriedthatI’vescaredhim.Iputmyhandonhisshoulder,butitfeelscold.“Iknowitdoes.ButIthinkIgottodothisoverandoveragainsothatIcoulddothingsright.Ireallydo.Foryou,andthecabin.Andmylife.”
“Ithoughtyouweren’tintoTheo.”
Mystomachdrops.“I’mnot.Iwasn’t.Ever.”
“Butyou’resaying,”hesaysslowly,“insomeversionofthepast,youmadeoutwithhim?”
“Forlikeaminute.”
Herubshishandsoverhisface.“I’mnotevensureifthishappened,butyoucertainlyseemtothinkitdid.”
“Iknowitsoundsimpossible,Igetthat,butitdid.Iwasfeelingsadanddesperate.Itwasn’tgreat,hewasreallycoldafterward,andIimmediatelyregrettedit.Idon’t—”
“Sadanddesperateoverwhat?”
“You,partly.Andjustthestateofmylife.”
“Soyoumadeawishfortheuniversetoshowyouwhatwouldmakeyouhappyand—”Heshakeshishead.“I’mtheresultofthat?I’mtheprizeattheendofthegame?”
“Imean,”Istart,stumbling,“Yes—Imeanno,but—”
“Whynotjusttellmehowyoufelt?Thatseems,Idon’tknow,amilliontimeseasier?”
“BecauseIwasscared.BecauseI’veknownyoumywholelifeanddidn’twanttoruinit.BecauseIassumedyouweren’tinterestedinme.ButbeingsentbacktotheplaneoverandovermademerealizeIdidn’tcareifIfailed.Ihadtotry.”
“SowhichMaeisreal?Theonewhogoesforwhatshewants,ortheonewhomakesoutwithmybrotherwhenshe’safraidoffacingherrealfeelingsandthenwishesitaway?”
“Thisone.Theonerighthere,tellingyouthatIwantthistohappenwithyou.”
“Ineed—”hestarts,andslideshishandsdownhisface.Whenhelooksupatme,eveninthelowlightIcantellthattheglowinhiseyesisflattened,likeacandlehasbeenblownout.“Ineedyoutogivemesomespace.”
Hiswordsleavearingingsilenceinthecold,cavernousroom.Mystomachdissolvesaway,painfullyacidic.“Andrew.Itwasn’t—”
“Mae,”hesaysverycalmly,“don’t.Don’tmakeitsoundlikeitisn’tabigdeal.YoumadeoutwithTheobecauseyou’ddecided—withoutevereventalkingtome—thatyouandIweren’tgoingtohappen.Whetheryou’rerememberingsomethingfromadream,oryouhityourheador—Idon’tknow—you’resomehowrepeatingtime,don’tmakeitseemlikeit’snottotallystrangethatyouthinkyouandTheoactually—”Hestopsabruptly,unabletofinishthesentence.“Andtheninsteadofdealingwithyourlifethewayitis,you—makeawish?”Frustrated,Andrewrakesahandthroughhishair.“God.Ican’tevenprocessthis—whateverthisis.”
“Andrew,”Istart,andthere’sawaverinmyvoicethatIhavetoworktoswallowdown.“It’snotliketherewasn’taweirdsenseoffateforyouhere,too.Youtoldmeaboutthetarotcards.”
“Oh,comeon,Mae,ofcourseweknowthat’sbullshit.”
Atinyfireignites.“What’shappeningtomeisn’tbullshit—whetheryoubelievemeornot.”
“Yeah,well,Idon’tthinkdestinyincludeskissingonebrotherandthentheother.”
“HowmanywayscanIsaythatwasamistake?”
Hebends,scrubbinghisfacewithahand.“IthinkyouhavemorefeelingsforTheothanyou’readmitting.”
Hisvulnerabilityheremakesmeache.“Andrew,Iknowyou’rehavingahardtimebelievingthis,andIrealizethatwhatI’mtellingyoudoesn’thelpmycasehere,butno.There’snothingthereforme.IthinkIgotanotherchancetomakeitright.Andmaybealsotosavethecabin.”
Helaughs,butitisn’tanAndrewlaughI’veeverheardbefore.It’sahollowhuskofalaugh.“Youneedtogetoveryoursaviorthingwiththecabin.”
Ouch.Itrytostringtogetherafewwordsinresponse,butmybrainhasgoneblankwithhurt.
“Thisissoweird,”hesays,mostlytohimself,andthenhepushesoutofthesleepingbagandwalksbackalongourtrailofclothes,pickingthemupashegoes.Gently,heplacesmineinapileinfrontofme,andstartspullingonhisboxers,hispants,hisshirt,sweater,socks.
“Idon’twanttotalkaboutthisanymore,”hesaysquietly.“Youshouldprobablyheadbackuptothehouse.”
And…that’sit.
Igetdressedinmortifiedsilence.IwantAndrewtowatchlikehedidlastnight,withhishandstuckedbehindhisheadandasleepy,satisfiedsmileonhisface.Butheturnshisbacktome,bentoverhisphone.WhenImovewordlesslytothedoor,hefollows,walkingmebacktothehouse.I’mnotsurprised,thoughI’mheartbroken.AndrewknowsI’mafraidofthedarkandevenwhenhe’smadatme—evenwhenI’mprettysurewejustendedthings—he’sstillthebestmanI’veeverknown.chaptertwenty-four
Anothersleeplessnight.
Ivacillatewildly,staringupatTheo’sbunkinthedarknesswithanoddmixtureofmortificationandanger.MygutsaysIshouldn’thavetoldAndrewwhathappenedwithTheo,butmyguthasalwaysbeenanidiot.ThisisthekindofthingI’dhavetosharewithhimeventually,right?Isn’tthatwhatpeopledowhentheycareabouteachother?Theysharetheirflawsandmistakesjustasreadilyastheysharetheirstrengths?
ButhowdidIexpecthimtoreact?DidIexpecthimtolaughitoff?Tobelievemeblindlyandchalkituptoagiantcosmicmistake?Iclosemyeyes…Isortofhopedhewould.IwantedAndrewtofinditasridiculousasIdonow.AttheveryleastIwantedhimtocommiserate.AtthispointIcan’tevenfathomwhatledmetohopeforthat.
Theodidn’tcomedownstairsuntillate.Ilistenedasheslippeddownthestairsinthedark,shuckedoffhisjeans,andclimbedintothetopbunk.Ittookmefiveminutestogatherupthecouragetosayhisname,buthewasalreadyasleep.Oratleasthepretendedtobe.NotthatIcansayanything,really,consideringIslippedintothehousemyselflastnightandwentstraighttobedtoavoidhavingtotalktoanyone.
BythetimeI’vereplayedeverythingforthehundredthtime,mythoughtshavereachedafeverpitch.IsuspectAndrewisn’tfaringanybetteroutintheBoathouse.
Nauseated,Ithrowthecoversback,grabmyphone,andheadupstairs.It’sonethirtyinthemorning.
Thekitchenfloorisicebeneathmybarefeet.Thehallwayseemsalmostsinisterintheblackness.I’mdrawnbythequietcrackleoftheremainingembersinthefireplaceinthelivingroom.Theystruggletosustainthemselves,flickeringandglowingbeneathamountainofsootyblackwood.Ican’tbuildafreshfirewithoutriskingwakingtheeternallightsleeperRicky,andnotevenachatwithBennywouldhelpmerightnow.Igrabacollectionofthrowblanketsfromthecouchesandchairsandbuildamakeshiftbedinfrontofthehearth.
TomorrowisChristmasEveandI’vebarelythoughtaboutit.BecauseafewofusspendChristmasmorningatchurch,tomorrowwe’lleatahugemealandopenourgifts,andwhatisusuallymyfavoritedayallyearisgoingtobeawkwardashell.Andrewismadatme.TheoismadatAndrewandme.NodoubteveryoneknowsaboutAndrewandme,butitwillbeimmediatelyapparentthatsomethinghasgoneterriblyawry.
Universe,Iwonder,howamIanybetteroffthanIwasthedaywedroveawayfromthecabin?
SoeventhoughIthinkscotchtasteslikefierybutthole,Ipoursomeintoatumblerandtoastittothedyingembersbeforetiltingittomylipsanddowningitinonego.
Ineedsleep,andmorethanthat,Ineedtoescapemyownhead.
???
I’mawakewithasorebackanddroopyheartjustwhenthesunstartstopeekoverthelipofthemountain.Withablanketwrappedaroundmyshoulders,Ishuffleintothekitchen,brewapotofcoffee,andsitandwaitfortheinevitable:anawkwardmorningwiththefatheroftwopeopleI’vekissed.
Rickyshufflesin.“Maelyn,”hesaysquietly.“Youandmearetwopeasinapod.”
Butthenhedoesn’tfinish.
Hepourscoffee,sitswithagroan,andcloseshiseyesforafewdeepbreaths.“Youokay,hon?”
“Notreally.”
Henods,takingasip.“YouandAndrewokay?”
“Notreally.”
Henodsagain,studiesthetabletop.“YouandTheookay?”WhenIdon’trespond,hesays,“Letmeguess.‘Notreally.’”
Ileanmyheadonmyfoldedarmsandwhimper.“Imessedeverythingup.Todayisgoingtobesoweird.”
“Youdidn’tmesseverythingup.”Hesetshismugdown.“Andevenifyoudid,you’reinthemiddleofagroupofpeoplewhowereexpertsatmessingthingsuplongbeforeyoucamearound.”
Ilookupathim.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?YouandLisahavebeentogetherforever.MomandDadweremarriedfortwenty-fouryears.”
“Sure,that’showitlookstoyoukids.”Hecatcheshimself.“Guessyouaren’treallykidsanymore,areyou?”
Thismakesmelaugh,justalittle.“No.”
Hesniffs,scratchinghisjaw.“Well,thegoodhasstretchedoutalongwaypastthebad,buteveryonemakesmistakesintheirtwenties.Hell,evenintheirthirties.”Hepausesandmeetsmyeyesacrossthetable.“Andmaybetheirfortiesandfifties,too.”
“I’llbehonest,theideaofyoueverbeingemotionallymessyis…like,itdoesnotcompute.”
Rickylaughsatthis.“YouknowyourmomandLisawereroommates.Yourdad,Benny,Aaron,andIalllivedonthesamefloorourfreshmanyear,inthedorm.Wewereimmediatelyclose,spentallourfreetimetogether,”hesays,andIknewthatpartalready,butwhathesaysnextblowsmymind:“LisaandBennywereanitemforafewweeksbeforesheandIstarteddating.IfIrememberright,IthinksheandIstartedupbeforetheyreallyendedthings.”
Ipullmyeyebrowsbackontomyforehead.“I’msorry,what?”
Henods.“Youthinkthatwasn’tmessy?”
Thereissomuchherethatrequiresmentalrealignment,theonlythingIcanthinktosayis“Bennyhadagirlfriend?AndshewasLisa?”
Rickylaughs.“Hedid.”
“But—youguysarestillsoclose.”
Hestaresatmeintenderwonder.“Ofcourseweare,honey.Thatwasthirty-plusyearsago.Whenthefriendshipisworthit,peopleworkthroughthings.Likewithyourparents.We’vesurvivedthatbecauseofhowmuchwetrulyvalueeachother’sfriendships.”
“Sowhathappened?”Iask.“Backincollege?”
Hesipshiscoffeeashethinks.“Thespecificsareprettyfuzzy,butifIrememberright,Bennywasmoreupsetthatweweren’thonestaboutitthananythingelse.Itwasamonthortwo,maybe,ofhimhangingoutwithsomeotherfriends,buthecamebackaround.Weweremeanttobefamily.”
Thetimingisperfect—ormaybeit’sterrible.Thebackdoorcreaksopen,bootsstompinthemudroom,andthenAndrewstepsintothekitchen.
“Mornin’,Drew.”Rickybringshismugtohislipsandwinksatme.I’dsmileback,butkeepingmyfacefromcrumplingiscurrentlyrequiringallmyfocus.
Andrewpoursacupofcoffeeandlookslikehe’sgoingtoturnbackandreturntotheBoathouse.Buthisfatherstopshim.
“Comesitwithus.”
IclosemyeyesandtrytopretendI’minvisible.
Andrewlooksoverhisshoulder,givingawarning“Dad.”
“Well,atleastsay‘Goodmorning.’”
“Goodmorning.”WithaflickerofpaininhiseyesthatIknowisaconflictedblendofguiltandanger,Andrewducksbackoutside.
Rickyrumblesasighintohiscoffee.“It’llbeokay.Thingsalwayslookworsefromtheinside.”
???
NomatterhowmuchIwantRickytoberight—thatIhaven’truinedeverything,thatitwillallbeokay—Ican’tseehowwegettherefromhere.TheoabsorbshimselfinvideogametalkwithMilesoverbreakfastsohedoesn’thavetospeaktome.Momtriestocatchmyeyewhenevershepassesmeaplate,whichmeansshe’sconstantlytryingtohandmefoodandunfortunately,there’snoroominsidemystomachwiththisballofregretintheway.IcanonlywonderwhatDadorBennysaidtoherbecausestrangely,shedoesn’tpush.WhenAndrewfinallycomesin—longafterbreakfast—itisn’tjustawkwardashell,it’spainful.Hepassesstraightthroughthekitchen,mutterssomethingtoLisainthehallway,walksoutofthehouse,andclimbsintohis4Runner.
Forseveralloadedseconds,thoseofusinthekitchen—Mom,Aaron,Kyle,Benny,Dad,andme—fallintoaperceptivehush.TheonlysoundisAndrew’struckroaringtolifeandpullingoutdownthegraveldriveway.Oncehe’sclearlygone,wereturntowhateverweweredoingbefore—namelyignoringthegiantelephantintheroom—butthemoodhasdefinitelydropped.
It’sdiscordantforthevibetobesodark.Normallywe’reallcrammedinthekitchentogether.Musicisblasting,we’redancingandtastingaswecook,tellingstories,teasingeachother.Notthistime;it’slifelessinhere.NotevenAaron’sfittedmetallicjoggersandgiantGuccibeltbagareabsurdenoughtoliftthemood.
Theonlysoundisthewet,squishysquelchofMomstirringherhomemademacaroniandcheese.AllIcanthinkishowmuchitsoundslikethezombieseatingonTheWalkingDead.Ican’tevenlaughatthis.It’slikealaughhasdriedupinmychest,turneddusty.
Noonesaysanythingtomedirectly,buttheweightofthesilenceseemstodriftsteadilymyway,landingsquarelyonmyshoulders.
Rickywalksinfromoutside,wherehe’dbeenshovelingthebackwalkway.“Heardthe4Runnerstartup.Where’dDrewgo?”
Weallmakevaguesounds,andhewalksintothelivingroomtoaskLisa.Inthekitchen,wefallsilentagain,leaningslightlytoeavesdroponheranswer.
“Idon’tknow,”hervoicefiltersdownthehall.“Justsaidhewantedtogetoutofthehouseforabit.”
Thevolumeofeveryone’ssilentquestionWhatthehellisgoingon?turnsshrill.Icollectafewdirtydishestobewashedandmovetothesink.
Bennyfollows.“Hey,you.”
Turningonthefaucettowarmwater,Imutter,“Iamthehumanequivalentofafartthatclearsaroom.”
Unfortunately,I’vesaiditloudenoughforotherstohear,andBennyunsuccessfullyfightsalaugh.Withrelievedexhales,theyalltaketheburstoflevitytocomeovertome,hugme,assuremeinoverlappingvoicesthateverythingisgoingtobeokay,thatthey’resureIdidnothingwrong.Iknowtheydon’tknowthespecificsofwhat’sgoingon,butitdoesn’tmattertothem.Theyloveme,theyloveAndrew.Whateverishappeningisablip,justlikeRickysaid.
Tothem,it’ssomethingwe’llgetpast,andcomeouttheothersidestrongerforit.
IguessI’llhavetofigureoutwhatthatlookslikeforme,gettingoverthefeelingsthathavelivedinsidemeeverydayformorethanhalfmylife.
Mom’svoicerisesabovetheothersandIknowthatmyrespiteisover,whichisfine.Iprobablydeservewhatevershe’sgoingtosay.“Mae.”Ifeelherturningme,findingmyhand,andpullingmeoutofthefray.“Comehere,honey.”
Sheleadsmeoutofthekitchenanddownthehall.Oncewe’realone,sherunsherhandsthroughmyhair,gazingbackandforthbetweenmyeyes.Shamewashesoverme,hot,likewarmwateronaburn.
“Doyouwanttotalkaboutit?”sheasks.
“Notreally.”Iclosemyeyes,swallowingbacknausea.“I’msorry.Idon’tevenknowwhattosayotherthanImessedup.”
“Whatonearthareyousorryabout?”sheasks,cuppingmychinsoI’lllookatheragain.“You’retwenty-six.Thisiswhenyou’resupposedtodocrazythingsandmessupalittle.”
I’msurprisedshe’snotmoreupset.Momdoesn’tshyawayfrombigfeelings;unlikeDad,sheletsitalloutassoonasitcoursesthroughher.Dadisathinker;hebottleseverythingupuntil—outofnowhere—itcomesoutinapressurizedstream.OnlytwiceinmylifehaveIheardhimraisehisvoice.ButIexpectitfromMom.Iexpectedhertoreallyletmehaveit.
“That’sit?”Iask.
Shelaughs.“Imean,ifyoureallywantmeto,Icanprobablyworkuptosomething,butit’sChristmas.Consideritmygifttoyou.”
“Well,inthatcase,”Isay,wincing,“IshouldalsoletyouknowthatIquitmyjob.Nowyoucanletmehaveit.”
Fireflashesinhereyesforthedurationofherlong,controlledinhaleandthen,withawearylaugh,shepullsmetowardher.“Comehere.”Shekissesmytemple.“Youlooklikeyouwanttocrawloutofyourownskin.”
“Ido.”Iwanttocrawloutofmyskinandthendiveintothesnowoutside.
“Listenup,”shesays,“becauseI’mgoingtotellyouasecretnoteveryoneknows:Everythingisgoingtobeokay.Imeanit.Irealizeeveryonearoundyoubeingmessymightmakeyoufeellikeyoucan’teverbe,butthatisn’ttrue.It’sokaytobemessysometimes,honey.”
WhenIwrapmyarmsaroundherwaistandtuckmyheadunderherchin,IfeelrootedhereforthefirsttimeinmoredaysthanIcancount.
???
Andrewisn’taroundfortherestoftheafternoonwhenwe’rereadytostartsortingandopeningpresents,sowebake.Alot.Peppermintmeltaways,Mexicanweddingcakes,gingerbread,Santa’sWhiskers—thesamecookieswe’vemadeeveryyearIcanremember.WithaplatestackedforSantaandtheskygrowingdark,westartsettingthetable.
ThecandlesticksweusebelongedtoAaron’smomandserveasareminderofhowthiswholethingstarted.Isettheflowersinthecenterandthewinebottlesareevenlyspacedalongthelengthofthetable.Thetwinsdecoratethose—andMiso,andeachother—withabagofbowstheyfindinthelivingroom.
Andrewslidesunobtrusivelyintothekitchenjustastherestofthedishesarebeingbroughtout,andhechoosesaseatasfarawayfrommeashepossiblycould,inthedistantcorner,whereAaronusuallysits.
I’msurethefoodisdelicious—it’smyfavoritemealallyearandsmellslikeheaven—butIcan’ttasteathing.Ichewabsently,andswallow,tryingtolooklikeI’mfollowingtheflowofconversation.IfeellikeIhaveafrozenblockoficeinmystomach.Andrewwon’tevenlookatme,andI’msomiserable,I’mnotsurehowI’mstillhere,atthediningroomtable,andnotbackinseat19B.MaybeIhaven’tfinishedthoroughlyruiningeverythingyet,andtheuniverseiswaitingformetoreallygoallin.Ipickupmywineglass,fullalmosttothebrim.I’msureIwon’tdisappoint.
“Wethoughtwe’dwaittoopenpresentsuntilyougothome,”RickytellsAndrew.
Andrewchewsandswallowsabitequickly,guiltcoloringhischeeks.“Thankyou.Sorry.Youdidn’thavetodothat.”
“Ofcourse,baby,”Lisasays.“Wewantedtobealltogether.”
Thetwinshavebeensopatientallday,andwiththeprospectofgiftopeningfinallyspoken,it’slikeaswitchhasbeenflipped.KennedyandZacharyexplodeinexcitementandnoise.Irememberthatfeeling,rememberwantingtorushthroughthemealsothatwecouldtearintoourgifts,andthenafterwardalwaysbeingsogratefulthatwepacedourselves,otherwisethedaywouldgobytoofast.Butthistime,Iwanttoskipitallandheadtothebasement.Iwanttoclimbintobedandsuccumbtoblackness.It’sdramatic,butIwonderhowterribleitwouldbetodisappearonceeveryoneisasleepandsimplyflyhometoBerkeleyearlyandhaveaquietChristmasDayalonetomorrow.Maybemyscarfwillgetcaughtintheescalatorattheairport,andI’llwindupbackatthestartagain.Andwouldthatbesobad?Honestlyitdoesn’tsoundanyworsethanwhat’shappeningnow.
Aftercleaningup,weslowlymakeourwayintothelivingroom.Allaroundme,mylovedoneschatterhappilyabouttheirexcitementfortheirSecretSantarecipienttoopentheirgift.Mombringsinanenormousplatterofcookies,andRickyfollowswithapitcherofmilkandsomeglassesstackedonatray.Cocktailsarepoured,musicisputon,thefireroars.ItiseverythingIloveinlife,butIcan’tenjoyit.Whatagoodlifelesson:becarefulwhatyouwishfor.IwantedtoundothedamagedonewithTheo,butthatwasintrolevellife-ruining.WhathappenedwithAndrewfeelslikegettingaPhDinidiocy.
???
Acrosstheroom,Andrewsitsinachair,staringquietlyintothefire,sodifferentfromhisusualchattyself.Iwonderwherehewasallday,whathewasdoing.Howhecanlooksosadaftertheendofatwo-day-oldrelationship.I’mmourningsomethingIwantedforhalfmylife.What’shisexcuse?
Maybehe’sdecidinghowtotelleveryonethathewon’tbebacknextyear—ifweeveractuallygetaroundtonextyear—which,frankly,isexactlywhatIdeserve.
WhenIturnbacktotheroom,IseeKylewearingaSantahat,whichmeansit’shisturntochoosethefirstgifttobeopened.Althoughweeachdrawaname,theideathateachpersonwillgetonlyonegiftfromoneotherpersonissortofajoke.Thepileunderthetreeismammoth.Giftsfromparentstochildren,fromchildrentoparents,littlethingsthatweseethroughouttheyearandhavetobuyforeachother.Kylegetsrandomthingswithtacosonthem.Aaronlovescoolsocks.Dadgetsalotofjokegifts—WhoopeeCushions,gumdisguisedasJuicyFruitthattasteslikeskunk,handshakebuzzers.Helovestoplaypranksonhisofficestaff,andsomewherealongthelineweallagreedtobeinonit.Thepileofgiftsunderthetreeisahilariousdisplayofadoration,capitalismatwork,andourcompleteinabilitytomoderateourselvesinanyway.
WhenKylebringsmeasmallbox,andIlookatthetagandseeAndrew’snameintheFromline,IfeellikeI’veswallowedabasketball.Thisdidn’thappenthefirsttimearound.Iknowenoughhaschangedinthisversionofrealitythatitmightnotmeansomething.Itcouldbesomethingbenignheboughtonarandomtriptothe7-Eleven.ItcouldbeaboxofSnickers—myfavoritecandybar—oracanofClamato,aliteralgaggift.
Butthetinygroanheletsout—likeheforgotitwasthereandwantstosomehowtakeitback,undoit—tellsmethisisn’tajokegift.It’stender.
Underthepressofattentionfromeveryoneintheroom,Iremovethelightgreenstripedribbonandpeelawaythethickredpaper.Theboxhasthenameofthestorewewereintogether,andmystomachdrops.InsideisaT-shirtwithapictureofChristopherWalkenthatreadsI’MWALKENONSUNSHINE.
Ouch.HemusthavefoundthisinthelittleboutiqueyesterdayafterIranoff.
Thepresentissoperfectthatitalmostpullsasoundofpainfromme,butIlookup,arrangingmyfeaturesintoasmile.OddsaregoodthatI’llnevermanagetheemotionalfortitudeI’dneedtopullthisshirtovermyhead.MorelikelyI’lljustsleepwithitnearby.Thatis,untilI’meightyandit’sdissolvedintoapileofthreadsfrommyheartbrokenstroking,andthenI’llhavetocuddlewithoneofmysevenhundredcatsinstead.
“Thanks,Andrew.”
“Noworries.”
“It’sperfect.”
Heflexeshisjaw,noddingatthefire.“Yup.”
Bennyfrownsquietlyathisshoes.MomandDadexchangeworriedglances.RickyandLisa,too.
Butit’smyturntopickthenextgift.Istand,walkingonunsteadylegstothetree,andgrabthefirstboxthere.It’sforKennedy,thankfully,andherhappinessisabriefdistraction.
Presentsareopened.Hugsaregiven.Allaroundme,theroomisfullofbrightvoices,excitement,andcolor.Idomybesttobepresent;tosmilewhenitseemsappropriateandrespondwhensomeoneasksmeaquestion.Ioohandahhintherightplaces—atleastIthinkIdo.MyparentsgotmeanewAppleWatch.MilesgotmeagiantSnickersbar.MytrueSecretSantawasAaron,whogotmeticketstoseetheLumineersinFebruary.Forafewminutesmyexcitement,asIgothroughthisallagain,isgenuine.
ButthenMomgetsuptorefillhertea,andIhearthekitchendooropen,andthescatteryclick-clickofdogpawsonlinoleum,andthenMom’sdistressedgasp.“Oh.Ohno.Oh,Miso.”Shecallsout,“Andrew?”
Idon’tknowifhemeanstodoit,butAndrew’seyesflytomine.Ithinkwebothknowwhat’scoming,butwhenMomcomesintothelivingroomwiththeruinedremnantsofAndrew’suglyChristmassweater,forjustasecondIthinkI’vebeensaved.
He’llbelieveme.
Butthat’stheproblem.IcanseeinhiseyesthathedoesbelieveeverythingItoldhim,andit’ssomehowworse
Andrewstands,takingthesweaterfromMom’shands,andleavestheroom.chaptertwenty-five
St.Mary’sCatholicChurchinParkCityisanintenselystunningoldstone-and-woodbuildingsetinthemiddleofasnow-coveredfield.Inthesummer,itissurroundedbytoweringtreesoffluffygreen,butthistimeofyear,thebranchesarebareanddecoratedwiththecrystallinesplendorofwinter.
WegototheearlyChristmasMassservice—Mom,Miles,Lisa,andI—inpartsothatwedon’tlosemuchtimewiththerestofthegroup,butalsotoavoidthechaosofyoungerkidslaterinthemorning.
AlthoughIloveourchurchbackhome,thefactthatIcometoSt.Mary’sonlyonceortwiceayeargivesitthisdeeplynostalgicplaceinmylife.Inside,itisbeautifulsimplicity:softlyarchedceilings,crisscrossedpalewoodbeams,unassumingstonewalls.Smoothwoodenpewsandtallwindowsthatkeepthespacebrightandclear.
Andthen,unfortunately,there’sthealtar—theonethingthatdemonstratesthatIamaterribleCatholicandprobablygoingstraighttohellnomatterhowIspendmySundays.Witharchedstoneframinganequallyarchedwindow,itlookssomuchlikeavaginafromwherewesittothesidethatneitherMilesnorIcaneverlookatitwithoutbreakingintosuppressedlaughter.
Today,though,IstaredirectlyatitforafullfiveminutesbeforerealizingIamlookingintothedarkdepthsofthebuilding’svaginalcanal.What’swrongwithme?
Iblinkaway,focusingdownonmyhandsinmylap.I’mwarmlybracketedbymymotheronmyleftandLisaonmyright.Theirarmsarepressedalongmine;suchasimplepointofcontactbutsooddlygrounding.Mytwomothers—onebybirthandupbringing,onethatMomchoseasherclosestfriend.You’dthinkthingswouldbeweirdwithLisatoday,aftermyemotionalfiascowithbothofhersonsoverthelastcoupleofdays,butit’snot.
Probablybecauseshe’sknownmelongerthananyoneasidefrommyparents.Shepulledmeasideonthewalktothecarthismorningandsaid,“Iwantyoutoknowthatnomatterwhat,Iamalways—always—hereforyou.”Itwasn’talongexchange,justahugandasad,understandingsmile,butitwasexactlywhatIneededtoheartolettheairoutofthatstresssteam-pipe.Disappointingtheadultsinmylifeiskryptonitetomypeaceofmind.
Ofallofushere,Momisthemostdevout,butweeachhaveourownrelationshipwithchurch.Minehasgenerallyskewedmoretowardsentimentalcomfort:Ilovethesongs,thecommunity,thebreathtakingbeautyofchurcharchitecture(minusthevagina).Ilovetheconsistencyoftherituals.Momneverdemandedthatwebelieveeverythingshebelieves—afterall,Dadhasafirmdisinterestinallthingsreligion—ordoeverythingthechurchwantsustodo,whichisgood,becauseIfoundthatIwasneverabletoaccepttheBibleasnonfiction.Momonlyasksthatwecomeandlistenrespectfully,andthatweworktobegoodandkind,andlivegenerouslives.
Butthisisnow,andmyfirsttimeinsideachurchafterhavingrealandirrefutableproofthatthereisanotherpower,biggerthanme,atworkinthisworld.I’mstillnotsurewhatexactlythatpoweris,butIguessIhavetoacknowledgethereiswaymoreouttherethanwhatIunderstand.Ibelievenowthattheuniversedeliversrandomactsofkindness,andit’sonustodecidewhattodowiththem.
It’sonmetofigureouthowtomoveonfromthispastweekandfindhappiness—whetherthat’swithAndrew,oronsomeotherpathinmylife.
AsthepriestdelivershistranquilhomilyabouttheGospelofLuke,Iclosemyeyesandtrytobluroutallsoundandimages.Itrytobepresentinthisquietmoment,tosoakupthewarmthofmymomatmysideandthesolidshapeofthepewatmyback.I’mtryingashardasIcantonotsilentlywishformore—forAndrew’sforgiveness,orforajobIlookforwardtodoingeachday.I’vespentyearsnottrustingmyabilitytomakedecisionsandquietlylettinglifejusthappentome.Itcan’tbeacoincidencethatthemomentIstoppedbeingpassiveandfollowedmyinstincts,everythingseemedtofallintoplace.Iknowwhatmakesmehappy—trustingmyself.Whatagift,right?Ifoundhappiness.
NowIjusthavetofigureoutifthere’sanywayIcangetitback.
Momleansoverandstretchestoreachmyear.“Areyouokay?”
Mymotherneverspeaksduringservice—especiallynotChristmasMass—unlessit’stohissatustobequiet.Butshewouldrathercutoffherownarmthanletherkidsstrugglethroughsomethingalone.
“Justthinking,”Iwhisperback.“Iwantyoutobeproudofme.Iwanttobeproudofmyself.”
“Iamalwaysproudofyou.”Shewrapsherhandaroundmine.“Itrustyou.Theonlypersonwhoseexpectationsyouhavetoliveuptoisyourself.”Sheliftsmyhandtohermouthandkissesit.“Iwantyoutofindwhatmakesyouhappy.”
Shesitsbackup,staringstraightahead,oblivioustothewayherwordsjustdeliveredaglowingemberintomyheart.Thisisreal.Ihavesomanythingstoworkon,butit’slikemybouldermomentalloveragain,likewatchingapuzzleslotintoplace.
Theonlypersonwhoseexpectationsyouhavetoliveuptoisyourself
WhenIthoughtitdidn’tmatterandnoonewouldremember,Ifinallystartedlivingauthentically.Iquitmyjob.Iwashonestaboutmyfeelings.IwentafterwhatIwantedwithoutfear.
Myfeetfeelthefloor;mybackfeelsthepew.
Iamawareofthefresh,clearairinside,ofthehumandvibrationofhundredsofbodiesallaroundme.WithMomechoingmywishbacktome,Ihaveanidea.
???
Milesshouldersuptomeaswecrunchourwaybackupthedrivewaytowardthecabin.“Yougood?”
It’sthefirsttimewe’vetalked,really,sincethatmorningontheporch,andthere’snodoubtinmymindthatmyseventeen-year-oldbrotherissuperconfusedaboutwhatthehellhashappenedtohisboring,levelheadedsister.
“I’mokay.”Iblowoutacontrolledbreath.“Hadaweirdweek.”
“Soundslikeit.”
Istopafewfeetfromthebaseoftheporchsteps,lookingupatthecabin.Withaconspiratoriallittlenodtome,MomfollowsLisaupthesteps,stompingherbootsontheporchanddisappearingintothewarmindoors.ButeventhoughIknowthatpartofmyfix-itplanforthedayissetinmotion,dismayslidescoollyfrommythroatintomygut
Milesdragshisshinyshoesacrossthewetpathtothehouse.Momwon’tbehappyabouttheslushandsaltthat’ssoakingintothehemsofhisbestchurchpants,butI’mnotreadytogoinyet,either.Ifmybrotherwantstodawdle,sobeit.
“Theosaidhewisheshedidn’tloseitwithyoutheotherday,”hesays.
Oh.
Hiswordspullmyattentionawayfromthecabinandbacktohim.MilesisalreadytallerthanDad.It’ssoeasytoseehimasaneternalkid,butinonlyafewmonthshe’sgoingtoleavehomeforcollege.He’lllaunch,andhewillbejustfine.
Isquintfromthesunreflectingoffthesnow-coveredyard.“Theosaidthat?”
Henods.“Lastnight.Sortofoutoftheblue.Whathappenedbetweenyouguys?”
“That’sbetweenmeandTheo.”
Heblinkspastme,shiftingonhisfeet.
“Whatelseisbuggingyou,cutie?”Iask.
“IsittrueRickyandLisaaresellingthecabin?”
Ichewonthis,unsurehowmuchtosaybeforetheycantellusallthemselves.“Ithinkso.That’stherumor,atleast.Who’dyouhearitfrom?”
“Dadsaidsomething.”Hestaresupatthecabin,frowning.“Sucks.IwishMomorDadwouldbuyit.”
There’sacreakinmymind,theslowopeningofatreasurechest.Ikissmybrotheragainandjogupthestairs,chasingaftermysecondgoodideainasinglemorning.
???
“BenitoMussolini,”Isay,sweepingintotheblessedlyquietlivingroom.“Fancymeetingyouhere.”
TheChristmastreeglimmerslikeadisplayofjewelsinthecorner;thefireplacecracksandpopsnearby.UpstairsIcanhearthetwinsracingaround,probablystillintheirpajamasandhighonallofthesugartheyfoundintheirstockings.
“Well.”Bennylooksupfromhisbookandtuckshisthumbintoholdhisspot.“Whatanunexpectedlychippergreeting.”
“Iaminanunexpectedlychippermood.ItisChristmas,afterall.”Ipointtothehallway.“Cometalktome?”
Hestands,followingme,andwemakeourwayupstairs,andthenupstairsagainintotheattic.Idon’tseeTheoanywherealongtheway,andAndrewisprobablyoutintheBoathousewithhisguitarandregret.Butit’sforthebest:Ican’thavethisconversationifhe’saround.
It’scolduphererelativetothecracklingheatofthelivingroom,andBennypullsablanketfromthebedformetowraparoundmyshoulders,andthengrabshisgreencashmeresweater.ThisisaPeakBennymoment—havingenoughmoneytobuycashmerebutusingittobuyasweaterthatlooksidenticaltotheonehe’salwaysworn.
Sittinginaricketychairnearthewindow,hemotionsformetotakeaseatinthesturdieroption—awoodenstool—andpusheshishairoutofhisface.“How’reyoudoing,Noodle?”
“Inthegrandschemeoflife,Iamgreat.Unemployedbuthealthy,andhaveaprettyamazingcommunity,ifyoudosaysoyourself.”Ipause,watchingabirdlandonabranchoutsidethesmallatticwindow.“Butintherealmofromanticlove,Iam—howdoIsayit?Quiteshitty.”
Helaughsdespitethedarktruthofthis.“Wasitgoodwhileitlasted?”
“TheblipofmyromanticlifewithAndrewPolleyHollis?Yes,Benny,itwastrulyblissful.”
Benny’ssmiletiltsdownattheedgesandbeforeIrealizeit,it’sturnedintoafull-blownfrown.Foryearshe’slistenedtomepinehopelesslyoverAndrew.Thesummerbeforeninthgrade,BennycaughtmewritingournamestogetheronareceiptfromParkCityMountain,andIwassoembarrassed,IattemptedtoburntheevidenceinoneofLisa’sscentedcandles.Iendedupsettingapillowcaseonfire.BennysatwithmethroughfourhoursoftheonlinefiresafetyclassmyparentsmademedosoIdidn’thavetobealoneallday.
WhenIwasnineteen,BennywasthefirsttorunintotheroomafterI’dgougedmyforeheadbecauseIwassupposedtobeunloadingthedishwasher,butinsteadwaswatchingAndrewstrumhisguitaratthekitchentable.Istoodupwithoutlooking,crackingmyheadonanopencabinetdoor.Thereareprobablyahundredstorieslikethis,andBennyhaswitnessednearlyallofthem.
“I’msadforyou,”hesaysnow.
“I’msadforme,too,”Isay,butswallowpastthelumpofgenuinegriefinmythroat,“butIguessthere’sagoodlessonhere:Youcan’terasemistakes.Youjusthavetofigureouthowtofixthem.”
“Isthatwhatwe’redoinguphere?”
“Actually,”Isay,slidingmyhandsbetweenmyknees,“yes.ButI’mnotheretobrainstormtheAndrewproblem.”
Hisbrowsfurrow,andhereachesintohisbagforhisone-hitter.“What’sup?”
“YousaidsomethinginthedineraboutSpotify.”
Henods,flickinghislighter.Thesparkleavesafireworkoflightonmyretinasthat’sslowtofade.Heinhalesdeeplyandexhalestothesidesoitdoesn’tcloudbetweenus,beforesittingback.“Ididsaysomethingaboutthat,didn’tI?”
“Irealizethisisincrediblyintrusive,butitwasasurprisetohearthatyoucanpayahundreddollarsformycoffeewhenyoudon’thavesmallerbills.”
“Yeah,”hesays,noddingwithhisattentionfixedtosomethingjustpastmyshoulder,“it’sbeenasurprise.Aniceone.”
“Whendid—?”Istart,andthentryagain,fumbling.“Imean,wehadnoidea.”
“Well,tobefair,Iwasn’tbeingsecretive;wedon’tusuallysullytheholidaywithtalkofcoin,”hesays,grinningatme.“Buttruthbetold,Ionlyrecentlysoldachunkofmyshares.Youknowme.”Hegesturestohisrippedjeans.“Idon’tcareaboutstuffsomuch.I’dratheruseitupandwearitout.I’vereallyhadnoideawhattodowithallthismoney.Gotaguyadvisingmenow.He’sgood.Smart.Trustworthy,Ithink.”
“Well,”Isay,andmystomachgetsalltwistyandnervousevenapproachingthis,“I’mworriedaboutbeingaterriblefriendclichébydoingthis,butIwaswonderingifIcouldtalktoyouabouthelpingmedosomething.”
Bennygivesahintofasmile.“IthinkIknowwherethisisgoing.”
Iblink.“Whereisthisgoing?”
Heliftshischin.“Goahead.”
Myshouldersareslowlyhunchinghigherandhigheronmyneckinpreemptiveregret,butIwinceitout:“Iwasthinkingmaybeyoucouldcosignaloanformetobuythecabin?”Hisexpressionshifts.I’veclearlysurprisedhim,soIrushtoadd,“Icanprobablycoverthedownpayment—I’vesaved.AndonceIhaveanewjob,Icanpaythemortgage.Iliveathome,Idon’thaveanyexpensesreally.I’msureI’llfindajobrelativelyquickly,anditwouldjustbecosignature,Iswear.”
He’sstillfrowning,andIammortifiedbutpushon.“YoucouldlivehererentfreeandjustdoyourBennything.Playyourguitar.Putzaround.I’dpaythemortgageandasIsave,maybeIcanpayforlargerthings,too.Itwouldbeaninvestment.Ialsorealizethisisdependentonwhatthey’reasking—okay,it’sdependentonalotofthings…”Ipausetofinallytakeabreath.“Ijustdon’twantustolosethisplace.”
“Idon’twantustoloseit,either.”Hestudiesmeforafewquietseconds.“Itmatterstoyouthatyouownit?”
Ishakemyhead.“Imean,Iknowthatowningahome—especiallyanoldone,andespeciallyinanotherstate—isn’teasy.Butifyoulivedhere,maybeitwouldbeeasier?Idon’tknow.Irealizethissoundscrazy,andtobehonestthedetailsonlyoccurredtomeaboutahalfhourago.It’snotsomuchaboutmeowningitasitisaboutallofushavingthisplacetocometogether.IdoultimatelythinkthisisoneofthethingsIwassentbacktofix.”
Henodslikeheunderstands.“Isee.”
“Thinkaboutit,”Isay,quicklyadding,“Ordon’t.Imean,IhavenoideaifI’veinsultedyou,or—”
“Youhaven’tintheslightest.”
“—orwhetherthisisevensomethingpeopledo?”Igrimaceapologetically.“Ifeelreallynaiveallofasudden.”
“I’msorry,”hesayswithasmile,andthenleansforward,takingmyhands.“Youhaven’tinsultedme,andyoudon’tsoundnaiveatall,honey.Iwasn’ttryingtoletyouflounder;IwastryingtofigureoutyourmotivationsandwhetherIwouldbetakingsomethingawayfromyouthatIhadn’tconsidered.”
“Taking—?”Ishakemyhead.“Idon’tunderstand.”“Takingyouropportunitytoownthisplace.I’vealreadymadeanoffertoRickyandLisa.”
Mymouthopens,butnothingcomesoutexceptforawheezyzombiecreak.Finally,“Anofferonthecabin?”
Hesqueezesmyhands.“Thefirsttimeyoulivedthroughthisweek,youdidn’tknowuntilthelastdaythatRickyandLisaweresellingit.AndImean,whoknows?MaybeIwouldhavesteppedinlaterandmadeanoffer,butIknowmyself.I’mhesitanttomakecommitmentstobigthings.MaybeIwouldhavejustbeensadliketherestofus,andbrieflyconsideredbuyingit,butbythetimeIgotbacktoPortlandIbetI’dhavetalkedmyselfoutofit.Butyoutoldmetheveryfirstday.So,”hesays,andsmilesagain,“Iwashereallweek,thinkingabouthowmuchIlovethisplaceandtryingtoimagineneverbeingherewithallofyouagain.Knowingwhatwascomingmadeiteasierformetogetusedtotheideaoftakingthatleap.AnditalsoletmepryalittlewithRicky.”Hissmileturnswolfish.“Subtly,ofcourse.Justaquestionhereorthere.”
“I’msorry.”Iholdmyhandsout,unwillingtounleashtheeuphoria.“Whatareyousaying?”
“I’msayingthatI’mbuyingthecabin.”
Iboltoutofmyseat,tacklinghiminahug.Hischaircracksandbreaks;wefallinadustytumbletothewoodfloor.
“Itakeitthat’sokaywithyou?”Bennylaughsbeneathme.
???
I’mconfidentthatmynextconversationcannottoptheperfectionofhowthingsjustwentwithBenny,butI’mrelievedthatwhenTheoseesmecomedownintothebasement,hedoesn’tstanduptoimmediatelyleave.
Infact,hesmiles.
Hesitsupatthesmallcardtable,wearingaCaptainAmericaChristmassweaterthatlooksatleastonesizetoosmallandcuppinghishandsaroundamugofcoffee.“Iwaslookingforyouearlier.”
“Thatwouldmakeoneofyou,”Isay,laughingasIsitdown.“MostpeopleinthishouseseemtoturntheotherwaywhenIwalkin.”
“Aw,itisn’tthatbad,isit?”
Ishakemyhead.“I’mjustkidding.Everyonehasbeenamazinglypatientwithmymentalcalamity,asexpected.”
“Exceptme.”
Ilaughatthis,unexpectedlyloud.“Exceptyou.”
“Look,”hesays.“Iwasajerkyesterday.I’msorry.Youknowme—sometimesIjustneedadaytocoolmyhead.”
Idon’tthinkIrealizedhowupsetI’vebeenaboutthefissureinourrelationshipuntilhesaysthat,andIfeelthetearsrisinglikeawaveinmythroat.OfcourseIknowthatabouthim.I’vealwaysknownthatheisslowtoangerandevenslowertodefuse.Sowhydidn’tIevergivehimthebenefitofthedoubtthefirsttimearound?Inhindsight,hejustneededtobeleftalonethemorningafterwekissed,tobeallowedtodigoutfromhisownmortifi-cation.AllthistimeI’vebeenupsetwithhimforsimplybeingexactlythepersonIalwaysknewhewas.
ButbeforeIcanswallowthemdown,thetearsarepouringover.Heimmediatelyjumpsupandrushesaroundthetable,kneelingtohugme.I’msurehe’sbewilderedbymyreaction,buthehasnowayofknowinghowbadlyIneededtohearthisapology—forsomethingthisversionofTheodidn’tevendo.It’slikebeingangryatsomeoneaftertheybehavedbadlyinadream;itisn’tTheo’sfaultthatIneededdaysofemotionalspacefromhim.
Hisquestionisalowrumbleagainstmyshoulder.“Areyougoingtotellmewhat’sgoingon?”
Eventheideaofgoingthroughitallagainfeels,mentally,likerunningintoabrickwall.Ialsoknowthatitwon’thelpmatters:IfTheowasstrugglingwiththeideaofmewithAndrew,thelastthingheneedstoheariswhathappenedinsomealternateversionofreality.Tellinghimwon’tmakemefeelbetter,won’thelpTheofeelbetter,anditwon’thelpanythingbetweenmeandAndrew.
“Doyoumindifweskipthewholedownload?”Isay.“I’mrealizingthat,inthisparticularsituation,Ishouldprobablyjustmoveforward.”
Hepullsbackandliftshischin,studyingmesweetly.“Okay.I’llletitgo.Butifyouchangeyourmind,youknowI’malwaysheretogiveyoubadadvice.”
Ilaugh.“Thanks.”
Afteralongbeatofcontemplativesilence,heasks,“Soyouwerereallyintomybrotherallthistime?”
Inod.“SinceyouandIwerethirteen.”
Hewhistles,lowandsympathetic.“That’salongtime,Mae.Holyshit.”
“IsitweirdtoadmittoyouthatIdon’tknowwhatitwouldfeelliketonotbeinfatuatedwithAndrew?”
“It’snotweirdatall,”hesays.“Imean,it’scoolyou’retalkingaboutitwithme,youknow?”
“Yeah.”
“DidImessthingsupwithyoutwo?”
Thismakesmelaugh.“Fearnot.Ididthatentirelyonmyown.”
“Doyouthinkyoucanfixit?”
Ichewmylip.“I’mgoingtogiveitatry.”
Theorisesfromhiskneestositinthechairbesidemine.“Idon’treallyknowwhathappenedwithyoutwo,butAndrewissuperprivate.Sothefactthathewasimmediatelysoupfrontaboutwhatwasgoingonwasprettycrazy.”Herunshisthumbnailalongascratchinthetable.“Ithinkthat’swhatIwasprobablyreactingtoyesterday.Thefamiliarity.Itmademethinkyouguyshadbeenathingforalongtime.”
Iletoutadrylaugh.“Nope.”
“Hewasactingsettled,youknow?So,takethatforwhatit’sworth,butIthinkifyoureallyhavefeelingsforhim,it’sworthfightingalittlelongerbeforeyougiveup.”
IlookatthetimeonmyphoneandrealizethatifI’mgoingtogrand-gesturethisthing,I’dbettergetstarted
“Itwouldbeeasiertocutoffmyownarmthangetoveryourbrother,soI’mnotgivingup.”Istand,andthenbendtokisshischeek.“I’vegotsomeplansupmysleeve.Wishmeluck.”chaptertwenty-six
Inthefirstversionofthisholiday,Andrewwasn’toutintheBoathousealoneatallonChristmasDay.Aroundthistime—almostfiveintheevening—hewasinthekitchenwithZacharyandKennedy,hangingmetallicgarlandsandtissuepaperholly,singingChristmascarolsinMuppetvoice,andmakingthetwinsgigglehysterically.
Butthistime,thekitchenisquiet.Presentsareunwrappedandthediscardedpaperhasbeenstuffedintotherecyclingbin.There’snogarlandondisplay,notinyscissorsonthetableorpaperscrapslitteringthefloor.We’lleatleftoversinaboutanhour,butfornoweveryoneisusingthedowntimetonap,read,orsipacocktailbythefireplace,savoringthelastofourtimetogether.Exceptforme:inBenny’sattic,Igettowork.
Andthen,withmyheartinmythroat,ItakethepackageMomhelpedmecomplete,andtrompthroughthefreshsnowouttoAndrew’slittleFortressofSolitude.
Hedoesn’tanswerwhenIknock,soIstanduselesslyoutsideforabouttwominutes—debatingwithmyselfwhattodo,panickingbecausehe’signoringme,lettingmyhysteriarisetoaboilingpoint—beforefiguringoutthatmaybeIjustneedtoknocklouder.
“Comein,”hecallsthistime.“It’sopen.”
Ipushopenthedoorandstepinside
Andrew’sduffelbagispacked,andthesleepingbagsarerolledupandleaningagainstthefarwall.Hesitsonthebarecot,onelegbentandtuckedbeneaththeother,strumminghisguitar.
I’dplannedtostartwithmylittlepreparedspeech,buttheviewofhispackedbagthrowsme.I’mnotsurehewasevenplanningtosaygoodbye.“You’redrivingbacktoDenvertonight?”
“Iam,yeah.”Helooksupandtriestosmile.Evenwithallthestrainbetweenushedoesn’thaveitinhimtobeunkind.“Afterdinner.”
Iflounder,unabletothinkofasuitablefollow-up.“DidyouhearaboutBennyandthecabin?”Iinwardlywince,rememberingwhathesaidaboutmysaviorcomplexwiththisplace.
“Dadmentionedittomelatelastnight.”Hisvoiceisuncharacteristicallyquiet.“Goodnews.”
“Yeah.”I’msinkinginquicksand;Ihavenoideawheretogofromhere.
“Ibroughtyouapresent,”Isay,andhefrownsinsurprise,watchingmecrosstheroom.
“Mae,youdon’thavetogivemeanything.”
“It’snotaChristmasgift,”Iexplain,anddecidetopushonwardintomypreparedspeech.“Look,Andrew,Iknowyou’remadatm—”
“I’mnotmadatyou,”hesaysgently.“I’mmadatmyself.”Heshakeshishead,strummingabsentlyashethinks.“Idon’tusuallydiveintothingssoimmediately,andI’vejustconfirmedformyselfwhy.”
Ican’thelpasking,“Why?”
Helooksatme,eyespainedlikeheknowswhathe’sgoingtosayisgoingtohurt.“BecauseIcanspendmywholelifegettingtoknowsomeoneandstillbewrongabouther.”
Wow.Thatonehitslikeapunch.Buthe’swrong:we’vespentourlivesgettingtoknoweachother,sure,butIwasmoremyselfwithhimthanI’deverbeenbefore.
“Youweren’twrongaboutme.”Itakeanotherstepintotheroombutstopwithabouttenfeetbetweenus.“Imean,maybewehitaspeedbumprightoutofthegate,butyouweren’twrongaboutme.Anditwasgood,Andrew.Ifithadn’tbeensogood,youwouldn’tbesoupsetrightnow.”
Heholdsmygazeforanotherlongmoment,andthenblinksdown,returningtohisquietstrumming.
“Afewyearsago,”Isay,“Iaskedmymomwhatitwaslikewhenshefirstmetmydad,andshebasicallysaidthattheymetintheirdorm,andstarteddating,andfromthatpointon,justfellintothisroutineofbeingtogether.”
Hedoesn’treply,buthe’slistening,Iknow.Eventhoughhe’splayinghisguitar,he’scompletelyherewithme.
“Iaskedher,‘Youjustknew?’andinsteadofexplaininghowitfeltlikefateoranythingremotelyromantic,shesaid,‘Iguess?Hewasniceandwasthefirstpersonwhoencouragedmetopaint.’Iknowthey’redivorcedandit’sprobablydifferenttolookbackonitnow,butshewastalkingtome—theproductofthismarriage—andtherewasnomentionoffallinginloveorhowshecouldn’timagineherselfwithanyoneelse.Theyjusthappened.”
Iwaitforhimtoreacttothis,buthedoesn’t.Inthesilence,thewordstothesonghe’sabsentlyplayinghitmelikeawarmburstofair.
Don’tknowmuchabouthistory..
Andifthisonecouldbewithyou.
Hismovementsaresoabsentminded,Ican’ttellifheregisterswhathe’splaying.
“Imean,obviously,”Icontinue,“thatwasincrediblyunsatisfying.”Apause.“Asmuchasnoneofuswanttoimagineourparentsactuallyhookingup,wewanttothinktherewasatleastsomefireorpassionorsomethingfated.”
“Yeah.”Heclearshisthroatandfidgetswiththetuningpegssomemore.
“Iknowthis—us—hasgoneupinflames,”Isay,“butevenso,Ican’thelpbutfeelliketherewasagoodstorythere.I’vewantedthisforsolong,andyouhadnoidea,andthenwhenyoufoundout,itwaslike…itclickedsomethingoninyou.”Ipause,searchingfortherightwords.“Whathappenedbetweenuswasreallyromantic.”
Hefalters,butafterabeat,headjustshisfingersonthefretsandcontinues.
“Anditwasn’tjustromanticintheory;itwasromanticinreality.Everysecondwithyouwasperfect.”Ishiftonmyfeet.“Pickingoutourtree,snowflakesinyourhair,sledding,thecloset—ournighthere.IgotthosemomentsbecauseofawishImade.Awish!Whoactuallybelieveswishescometrue?TheworldisatotallydifferentplacethanIeverthoughtitwas—Imean,there’sactualmagichappening—butthat’snoteventhehardestthingformetobelieve.ThemostunbelievablepartofallofthisisthatIgottobewithyou.Mydreamperson.”
Andrewtiltshisheadbacktoleanagainstthewall,eyesclosed,andsetshisguitaronthecotbesidehim.Helookstired,andtakesalong,deepbreath.Icantellhe’snottuningmeout.He’salsonotjustpassivelyhearingme,he’sabsorbingeveryword.Itgivesmetheconfidencetopushon.
“AndeventhoughIwishedforit,Iworkedforit,too.Icouldhaveneversaidawordtoyouaboutwhatwashappeningtome,orhowI’dmessedupwithTheo.”Iholdmychinup.“ButI’mproudofmyselffortellingyou.DoIwishI’dexplaineditbetter?Sure.ButItoldyouthetruthbecauseIwantedtostartwhateverwehavebybeinghonest.
“Iwashonestaboutmyfeelings,”Isay.“Iwashonestaboutmymistakes.Iwashonestinmybestandworstmomentsthisweek.”ItakeasteadyingbreathbecauseI’mstartingtogetchokedup.“Andifthere’sonethingthatwedidperfectly,itwastalkingandbeingtransparentandhonestwitheachotherrightfromthestart.Rightaway,wetalked.Ican’tthinkofanyoneelseintheworldI’veeverfeltthatcomfortablewith.”
Thisgetstohim,Icantell.Hisjawclenches;hisAdam’sapplebobsasheswallows.
“There’ssomethingsointimateaboutsharingthingsoutloudyoucouldneversaytoanotherperson,”Isay.“Lettingsomeonereallyseeyou—minusthefilters.So,I’msorrythatthiswholesituationissuchabummer,andI’msorryiftheintensityofmyfeelingsforyoumadeyoumovefasterthanmaybeyouwouldhaveotherwise.ButI’velovedyousinceIknewwhatlovewas,andIcan’tundothat.Iwouldneverwishtotakethataway.LovingyouisalltheproofIneededthatlovecanlastdecades.Maybeevenalifetime,whoknows.”Clearingmythroat,Iaddwithoutthinking,“Butlet’shopeIgetoveryou,becauseotherwisethatwouldsuckforbothofusandyourfuturewife.”
Ilaughoutanawkwardha-ha,buttheroomgoesdeathlysilent…untilIveryaudiblyswallow.Iwanttobeeatenbythefloor.
ButIcan’tstopnow.Witharushofbravery,Iwalktherestofthewayacrosstheroomtohandhimthegiftwrappedinheavy,glossedgreenpaperwithamatteredbow.AfterIfinishedmakingit,Momwrappeditforme,handingittomewithtearsinhereyesandasinglekisstothepalmofmyhand.
“Iwantedtogiveyouthis,”Isay.“It’scalledHappiness.”
Finally,hetiltshisheadbackdownandopenshiseyes,buthedoesn’tlookatme.Hewarilystudiesthewrappedpackageinmyhands.“Whatisit?”
“Justopenit.”
Attheconfusedflickerofhiseyestomine,Iadd,“It’saMaelynJonesoriginal.InanEliseJones–paintedframe.Wedidittoday.”
Tentatively—reverently—hetakesit.Withfingertipsthathavetouchednearlyeveryinchofmyskin,heeasilypullsfreethesilkenbow.Theripofthethickpapertearsthroughtheroom.Thegifthasn’tbeenputinabox,it’swrappedas-is:aframeddrawing,charcoalonpaper.
IwonderbrieflywhereMomfoundthesimplewoodenframetodecoratelovinglywithbrilliantlypaintedquakingaspen—whetherLisapulledsomethingoldandunsentimentalouttomakeroom,orwhetherBennyhelpedMomdigthroughtheattic—butIdon’treallyhavetimetodwellonthequestion,becauseAndrewsucksinabreathandthenbecomesaninflatabledollwithalloftheairsuckedout.He’ssweetlydeflated.
Inmysketch,thefigureiseasilyinhiseighties,butclearlyAndrew.Iworkedtocapturethewarmkindnessofhiseyes,thewilddisobedienceofhishair,theplayfulcurveofhismouth.Andthewomanathissideisveryclearlyme.Itriedtoage-softenmycheekbones,tocapturetheroundswellofmybottomlipandthewidedepthofmysmilingeyes.
We’resittingontheporchswingofthecabin,sidebyside,fingersinterlaced.Mylefthandrestsonmylapandisdecoratedwithasimpleweddingband.Andrewhasclearlysaidsomethingthatmademelaugh;mymouthisopen,headtiltedbackinglee,andhiseyesshinewithadelighted,cockypride.Wearen’thammingitupforanyone;don’tevenseemawaretheremightbesomeonenearby,capturingthismoment.
Whoknowswhatwe’vebeenthroughinthepastsixtyyears,butwe’restillundeniablyhappy.
“MandrewandMaisie,”Itellhimquietly,voicethick.“Ididn’thavetimetodoafullpainting,butIthinkIlikeitlikethis.Thisway,it’sonlyasketch,justapossibility.Evenifitneverturnsintomore,youaretheonlyonewhomakesmethathappy,andIamsogratefulforit.”
Leaningforward,Iquicklykisshisforehead,andturntoleavebeforeIburstintotears.
IsavethatforthemomentIstepoutside,alone,intothesnow.
???
Idon’tfeellikegoingbacktothecabin.Indoorssoundsoddlyclaustrophobicrightnow.I’vehadsomanybigrevelationsoverthepastfewdaysthatitalmostseemslikeIneedsomequiettimetodigestthem,leteverythingconsolidatesoIcanfigureoutwheretogofromhere.
Thedrivewayleadingawayfromthecabinisaboutaquartermilelongandisfreshlyplowed.Mybootscrunchoverthethin,packedsnow,butit’sanunseasonablywarmafternoonandIcanhearicemeltingfromtreebranchesinalivelycacophonyofdripsandsplatters.Outatthemainroadandsuddenlyunshelteredfromthewind,Izipupmycoatandveerleft,walkinganotherquartermileorsotoastreetthatisnearlyasfamiliarasmystreetbackhome.
Andrew,Theo,andIusedtotakethiswalkallthetimewhenourparentswantedusoutofthehouse.We’dpickupsticksandusethemasswords,walkingsticks,ormagicwands.We’dtaketurnspointingoutwhichofthecabinswewouldeachbuywhenwewereolderandwhatwewoulddoeachdayoftheweekoncewewerepermanentneighbors.We’dcutintothetreesandsearchunsuccessfullyforbeardensorhunters’traps.Overtheyearssomeofthehouseshavesoldandbeenremodeledorevencompletelyrenovated.ButthesmallstreetlackssomeoftheostentatioussheenofotherpartsofritzyParkCity;eventherenovatedhouseskepttheshelteredwoodlandvibe.Inthemiddleofsummer,ifyousquintdownthestreetyoucanstillseethewinterwonderlandreadytoemerge.
Smokepuffsupfromchimneysandanoverlappingmedleyofholidaymusicfiltersouttotheroad.Atmyfavoritehomeonthisstreet—anivy-coveredstonebuildingthatfeelslikeagnome’shouseinthewoods—Istop,lookinguptothewidebaywindowfacingthestreetfrominside.Twoshadowedbodiesmovearoundinthefrontroom,nearthebrightlylitChristmastree.Anotherisbusyinthekitchen.EvenouthereIsmellroastingturkeyandthebutterysaltofpiescooling,mingledwiththesharpcleanscentofcoldpinetrees.IfI’dthoughttobringmysketchbookwithme,Iwoulddrawthisscene,righthere.
IfI’msohappyhereinthesnow,Ithink,whydon’tIlivesomewhereitsnows?It’sasuddenmentalrealignment,therealizationthatIdon’tneedtostayinCalifornia,andIdon’thavetotrytoshoehornmylifeintothecurrenttemplate.Icanmove.Icandigaroundinthetunnelsofmythoughtstoimaginemydreamjob.IcanfigureoutwhothehellMaelynJonesreallyis.ItookmyshotwithAndrew,andit’soutofmyhandsnow,butitdoesn’tmeanIhavetolettheotherthreadsofbraveryfallaway.
???
Mymood,brightfromepiphany,dipsassoonasIwalkbackinsidethecabinandrealizeAndrew’sisnotoneofthebodiesinthelivingroom.
“Hey,guys,”Isay.
Theboisterouschattercomestoanabruptstopatmyentrance.Milesboltsupright.“Hi,Mae.”
Everyonestaresatmeexpectantly.Iwasnotanticipatingmyreturntobesocarefullyclocked.“Hi…”
Zacharyrollsoverfacedownontotherug,giggling.
“What’sup?DoIhaveabird’snestonmyhead?”
Aaronrunshisfingersthroughhisblack-holehair,saying,“No.Youdon’t,”likeImighthavebeenaskingseriously.
Finally,Lisaasks,“Didyoucomeinthroughthemudroom?”
Ishakemyhead.“Thefrontdoor.Why?”
Theycontinuetostareatmelikethey’rewaitingformetosaysomethingelse.
“Okay.Um…isAndrewstilloutintheBoathouse?”
“He’s—”KennedybeginsatthesametimeRickyblurts,“Wasitcoldoutside?”
Blinkinginconfusion,Igivehimadrawnout“Yes?”
IlookdownatmynewwatchandrealizeIwasgonefornearlytwohoursanddidn’tlooktoseeifAndrew’scarwasstillinthedriveway.I’daskifhe’shere,butI’mnotsureIwanttoknow.
Iturnawkwardlyinplace,unsurewhattodowithmyself.“Well,you’reallactinglikeweirdos,soI’llbedowninthebasementforabit.LetmeknowwhenIcanhelpwithdinner.”
“Youshouldgoupstairs,”Zacharysingsintothefloor.
“Ishould?”
Everyheadintheroombobsinagreement.
Istareatthemquizzicallyforabeatbeforesaying,“Okaaaay.I’lldothat.”Atleastitgivesmeanexcusetoescape.Ishuffledownthehall,roundingthebanistertobeginclimbingthestairs,butmyfootlandsonsomethinganditcrunchesbeneaththesoleofmysock.Iliftmyfoot,picktheitemoffthebottom,andstudythesilverobject.
It’saflattenedpeppermintkiss.I’mlostinbewildermentforabreath,butthenmyeyesfocusbackonthefloor,andIrealizethere’sanotheroneonlyafootawayineitherdirection:oneleadingupstairs,andoneleadingbacktothekitchen,whereIwouldnormallycomeinfromawalk.
Hopeglimmerssilveryattheedgesofmythoughts.Ijogupthestairsandfollowthetrailofcandydownthehallandaroundthecorner.ItleadsdirectlytoAndrew’sbedroom,andstopsjustoutsidehiscloset.
MyheartisanabsolutemaniacinmyribcageasIpullopenthedoor,andAndrewsquintsintothelight.
“Thatwasamonsterwalk,Maisie.I’vebeenwaitingtohideforlikeahalfhour.”
I’mnearlytoostunnedtospeak,butapparentlynottoostunnedtoburstintotears.“Andrew?”
Fromthebaseofthestairscomesaburstofapplauseandcheers.
“Itoldyoutogoupstairs!”Zacharyshoutsbeforeitsoundslikesomeoneclapsahandoverhismouthandcarrieshimoutofyellingrange.
Witharaspylaugh,Andrewpullsmeforwardintothecloset.
IwonderifI’mshouting,butmyheartbeatissoloudinmyearsit’sthunderous.“What’sgoingon?”
Hisvoiceisgentle,andthetiniestbitsuggestive:“Whatdoesitlooklike?”
Itlookslikehe’ssweetlyluredmehere,likehe’sstaringatmymouth,likehe’sabouttokissme.Butgivenmyfragile,blown-sugaremotionalstate,itwouldprobablybeaverybadideatoassumeanythingrightnow.
“Well.”Ibitemylipandlookaroundthesmall,dimspace.Statingthefactsseemslikeasafeplacetostart.“ItlookslikeyouleftatrailofmyfavoritecandysoI’dfindyouinthiscloset.”
Hegivesmeabrightflashofteethwhenhesmiles.Ifeelhishandasitcarefullycomesovermywaistandslidesdowntomyhip,fingerspressing,coaxingmecloser.“Anyideawhy?”
I’monthevergeofreplyingthat,tobesafe,he’dbettersayit,butthewordsfeeltiredanddustyinmythroat.Whatcomesoutsurprisesme:“YouwantedtogetmealoneinthespotwherewefirstkissedsoyoucouldadmitthatIwasrightallalong.”
Andrewbendsandpresseshislipstomineonce,gently.“Youwererightallalong,Maisie.”
Iknowhe’stalkingaboutus,andwhatIsaidintheBoathouse,butthesmellofpeppermintlingersonhisbreath.“IknowIwas:peppermintkissesaredelicious.”
Helaughs,exhalingawarmpuffofairacrossmyneck.“Didyouknowthattheyareinfactcalled‘Hershey’sKissesCandyCaneMintCandies,’andthey’re‘whitecremeandtherefreshingcrunchofpeppermint’?”Hekissesmythroat.“Whichmeans,ofcourse,theyaren’ttechnicallywhitechocolate.Idon’thavetoshameyouforlovingthemanymore.”
“Wow,thankyou.”
Hissmilestraightens.“YouboltedoutoftheBoathousesofast,Ididn’tgetachancetosayanything.”
“Ifeltlikeyouneededspace.”
“IwishIcouldcomeupwiththewordsfaster,”headmits.“I’mjustnotbuiltthatway.”
“Butifyoucameupwithwordsfaster,”Isay,“thenyouwouldn’tbeabletogrand-gestureinyourfavoritekindofspace:acloset.”
“Withyourfavoritething:terriblecandy.”
“Don’tbecoy,AndrewPolleyHollis,youknowyou’remyfavoritething.”
Hisplayfulsmiledissolvesandhisexpressiongoesslackinreliefaswedropthegame.Andrewcupsmyfaceandplantsalingeringkissonmymouth.Itdeepens,andhepullsmecloser,exhalingaquietmoanwhenhistonguetouchesmine.“CanIsayitnow?”heasks,pullingbackafewinches.
“Saywhat?”
“ThatIloveyou?”
Myearspopsubtly,likeadoorhasclosed,sealingoutthewind.Andrew’sattentionfixesonmycheek-splittingsmile.“Iloveyou,too.”
Hetwirlsastrandofmyhairaroundhisfinger.“Andyoudon’thavetobebackinCaliforniatomorrow?”
“Idonot.I’monacollisioncoursewithadventureandreadyforanything.”
“Thisisgoodnews.”
“Yeah,nokidding.ThelastthingIwanttodoisgetonaplane.”
Helaughs.“Ijustsohappentohaveatruck,andDenverisonlyeighthoursaway.Maybewecouldtakealittleroadtrip.”
Istretchtomeethimjustashebendstokissme,andthereliefissopowerfulitfeelslikearaveinmybloodstream.Steponeintakingchargeofmyadultlife:I’msleepingintheBoathousewithAndrewtonight.Andeverynight,ifIhavemyway.Electricity?Runningwater?Overrated.
Hehumsinhappiness,slowlypullingawayafterastringofkissesthatfeellikesugaredraindrops.Ittakeshimabeattoopenhiseyes,andIswear,withthatsmallsignthathe’sindeep,too,Ifallinlovewithhimalloveragain.
“GuessI’mgladwegotourfirstfightoutoftheway.”
Ipullbackinalarm.“Thatwasourfirstfight?”
Helookssimilarlytakenaback.“Didyouthinkitwastheend?”
“Uh,yeah?Youbasicallysaidyoudidn’tknowmeatall.”Ilaughincredulously,watchinghiseyesfillwithasmilethatslowlybreaksandtakesoverhisentireface.“What?Whyareyoulaughingatme?”
“Becauseyou’reright,Iguess,butyougaveupprettyeasilyafterthirteenyears.”
Ishovehimplayfully,buthecan’tgoveryfar.“WhatwasIsupposedtothink?”
“You’veknownmefortwenty-sixyears!Onedayisadropinthebucket.”
“Wewereonlytogetherforthirty-sixhours!Adayis,like,two-thirdsofourromance.”
Helaughsdelightedlyatthis,andthenthemomentstills,andAndrewwatchesmewithamusedfondness.Istarttofidget,defensivenesscrawlingupmyneck.
“Myparentsdon’tfight,”Iremindhim.“Theynag,andarepassive-aggressive,andaftertheonebigfighttheyhad,Dadmovedout.”
“Okay,well,you’regoingtolearnhowtomanageconflictbecausesmartpeoplelikeusinrelationshipsdon’tagreewitheachotherallthetime.It’sscience.”
“Isthatwhatthisis?”Iask,grinning.“Arelationship?”
Heisameltinglysweetcombinationofamusedandnervous.“Ihopeso?”
“Thirteen-to-twenty-six-year-oldMaeisdoingtheRunningManinhererightnow.”Itapmytemple.
Hisansweringlaughslowlystraightens.“So…arewe…?”
“Thatdepends.”Pushingthewordsoutfeelslikeswallowingglassbecauseit’stherealmomentoftruth.“Doyoubelieveme?”
“Aboutthewish?”
It’sbeenatoncethemostclarifyingandbewilderingexperienceofmylifetime,andasmuchasIlovehim,I’mnotsurehowI’dmoveforwardwithAndrewifhethoughtitwasalladream.“Yeah.”
“OfcourseIbelieveyou.”
Thetensioninmyshoulderscrumpleslikewaxpaper.“And…you’reokaywith…allofit?”
“Letmeaskyouthis,”Andrewcounters.“InthisversionofyourChristmas,didyourdadbreakatoothonacookiebar?”
“Hesuredidnot.”
“AnddidKennedyskinherknee?”
Iseewherehe’sgoingwiththis,andgrin.“Nope.”
“See?Youknewaboutthesleepingbagsinstorage.YoureassuredDadaboutthegin.YousomehowgotBennytobuythecabin.AndifI’dlistenedtoyouaboutMiso,Iwouldstillhavemyfavoriteterribleholidaysweater,wouldn’tI?”
“That’llteachyoutolistentoyourtime-traveling…”Mysmilebreaks,andIflounderastherestofmysentencehangslikearibboninthewind.
Andrew’seyesnarrowwithaknowingsmirk.“Mytime-travelingwhat?”
Andhere,forjustabreath,myconfidencefalters.Withmyhopebuoyantenoughtoliftthecabinoffitsfoundation,wouldn’titjustbeperfectiftheuniversepulledthechairoutfromundermeonelasttime?
Butthistime,I’mnotgoinganywhere.“Yourtimetravelinggirlfriend.”
Andrew’ssmilelightsuptheinsideofthecloset.“Finally,Maisie.Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”epilogueSIXMONTHSLATER
“Oi,”Bennycallsfromtheporch.“Icouldspotyouamileaway.”
Idon’thavetoaskwhichofushe’stalkingto.Itdefinitelyisn’tme,inamutedheather-graytanktopandfadedcutoffs.
“Oh,yeah?”Andrewrunshishandsdownhisobnoxioussweater.“AreyousayingIwearitwell?”
“You’renotsweltering?”Bennyasks,andit’ssohotout,IswearIcanseehisvoicecutthroughthewavyair
Andrewshakeshishead.“Perfectlycomfortable.”
Iglanceatmyboyfriendandwitnessthefinedropletsofsweatpebblingonhisbrowintheninety-degreeheat.He’sstillanadorableliar.Iwouldn’tevenholdhishandonourwalkdownthedriveway,it’stooclammy.Weallknowhe’llsacrificegreatpersonalcomforttomakeapoint,andhe’sdecidedhis“thing”atthecabinisfestivesweaters.Anyholidayisworthy.Hiscornflower-blue,cherry-red,andpristine-whitenumberisalovingodetoourfoundingfathers,Iguess.Igivehimuntillunchbeforeheripsitoff.
“HappyFourth!”hecallsout.
“HappyFourth.Getuphere.”Bennywavesuson.
GravelcrunchesundermysneakersasIjogtowardthefrontstepsandmyfavoriteuncle.Ourcarisdownonthemainroad,parkedoutofthewayoftheconstructionvehiclescurrentlyclutteringthedrivewaytothecabin—orTheHollow,asBennyhasnamedit.Icanalreadyseetheworkthat’sbeenputin;it’sastounding.Theporchisnew.Theentirecabinhasbeenrepainted;it’sthesameshadeofbrownwithgreenshutters,butit’simpressivewhatapowerwashandfreshcoatofpaintcandotoaplace.Allofthewindowshavebeenreplaced,theeavesrebuilt.Newroof,newlandscaping,andascreened-insideporchareunderwayonthewesternsideofthehouse,facingthemountain.I’mdyingtoseewhatitlookslikeinside.
Benny’shugengulfsme,andIsurprisemyselfbyimmediatelytearingup.Hesmellslikehisregularherbyshampoo,buthealsosmellslikepineandaspen,likesoilandwoodvarnish.HisrumblinglaughvibratesthroughmeandthefeelingofbeingbackherewithAndrew,forthefirsttimesincetheholidays,isalotlikeclimbingintoabubblebathoverlookingtheoceanatsunset.Itisheaven.
Bennypullsback,holdingmeatarm’slengthtoinspectme.“Lookinggood,Noodle.”
I’msurehe’sright—happinessdoesputaglowinourcomplexionandabounceinourstep—butBenny’sonetotalk.He’stanned,andhishairissun-bleachedanddustyfromwhatIcanonlyassumeisconstantworkonthishouse.Hissmilecrinklesinanewwayatthecornersofhiseyes,andIcanseeinaninstantthatheisn’tjustcontenthere,he’sout-of-his-mindhappy.
Andrewgetshishugnext,aback-slappingman-clasp,andwhenmyeyesgettheirfillofthenewporch,andtheirsmalltalkandgreetingsmakemeimpatient,bouncingonmyfeet,Bennyfinallyleadsusinside.
Iamawestruck.Thebanisteristhesameastheonewegrewupwith,butrefurbished,gleaminghoneyedbrownintheafternoonsunstreaminginthefrontdoor.Thestairshavebeenrefinished,ashaveallofthefloorsdownstairs.Bennyhaskeptmuchoftheoldfurniture,butpolished,treated,andcleaneditallsothatitisbothbrightandcozyinside.Withthefreshcoatofindoorpaint,thespaceseemssomuchlighter.
“Ican’tbelieveyou’vedoneallthisinsixmonths,”Andrewsays,turninginaslowcircle.“Ithasn’tlookedthisgoodsince…well,probablybeforeIwasborn,actually.”
“Justwait.”Bennyleadsustothekitchen,wherenewflooringshinesbrightintheafternoonsunshineandstainlesssteelapplianceshavereplacedalloftheoriginals.ThefridgeisabehemothwithsomuchtechnologyonthedoorsIsuspectitcoulddoMiles’scalculushomework.Mom,Aaron,andKylearegoingtostarttheirowncookingshowinherewhentheyseeit.Anewwood-slabkitchentablesitsinthemiddleofthebroadspace,withseatingforsixteen.
Bennyhasturnedthenever-useddiningroomintoasittingroomwithimpressivebuilt-inbookshelvesstuffedwithbooks.Thebasementhasbeenfinishedandfreshdrywallhassegmenteditintofourseparaterooms:abroadfamilyroomatthebottomofthestairs,whereBennytellsushe’llputapooltable,Ping-Pongtable,andpinballmachine,andthreebedroomsopeningoffthemainroom,withasharedbathroomtowardthebackofthehouse.
“Nomorebunkbeds,”Andrewsayswithglee.
“Donatedthemtoafamilydowntheroad,thatstonehouseonMountainCrest.”Bennyreachesforastrayscrewdriverontheshelf.“Bothoftheirdaughtersarehavingtwins.Howwildisthat?”
Andrewcatchesmywide-eyedgaze;hisissparkling.Heknows,asIdo,exactlywhichhouseBennyistalkingabout.HeknowsIwalkeddownalongthatroadandtothathousewhilehewasoutgettingcandytoprofesshisloveformeinacloset.Theuniversesureworksinmysteriousways.
Bennyscanstheroom,noddingtohimself.“Nowwe’vegotplentyofroomforeveryone,andsometogrow.”
Thebedroomsupstairsarelargelythesame,exceptfortheattic,whichisbeingrenovatedintoBenny’smasterbedroom.Itisn’tdone—it’sstillaclutteredconstructionzone—butIcanseethebonesofitinthemess.Thestained-glasswindowisstillthere.Thesharplyslopingceilingswon’tchange.Infact,itlooksmuchlikeitalwayshas,justbetter.
AvoicecallsforBennyfromdownstairs,leavingAndrewandmetowanderalone.Thefurnitureinhisoldroomisallhere,andeucalyptuslingersinthebedding,thewalls,theclothinginthedresser.Irunafingeralongthenightstandjustasapairofarmswrapsaroundmywaistfrombehind,pullingme—giggling—intothecloset.Thedoorsealsbehindus,andAndrewturnsintoMr.GrabbyHands,halftickling,halfgroping.
“Itrulybelieveyouhavesomesortofclosetkink.”
Hehumsintomyneck.“Tothinkofalltheyearswewastednotdoingthis.”
Isqueal,playfullybattinghimaway,andhereachesforme,pullingmeintoahug.
“Comehere,”Mandrewsays,andburieshisfaceinmyneck.Hegroanshisyoufeelgoodgroan,asking,“Howdoesitfeeltobeback?”
“Amazing.”Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisshoulders,diggingmyfingersintohishair.“Andweird.Butgoodweird.”
“ChristopherWalkenweird.”
“Exactly.”Ipullback,kissinghischin.“Wheredoyouwanttosleepthisweekend?”
“Probablyinhere,”heguesses,shrugging.“Thebedsdownstairsareallsingles,andtheBoathousewillbetoohot.”
Honestly,I’mnotsurehowit’llfeeltogooutthere.Nostalgic,ofcourse,butmaybealsobittersweet?IknowBennyhasbigplansforit,butasfarasIknow,workonithasn’tstartedyet.I’dbefinesleepingouttherethewayitwas,foroldtimes’sake,butit’sun-air-conditioned.Andrew’sright,inthepeakofsummerit’sunlikelytobeverycomfortable.
“Haveyoueverhadagirlsleepwithyouinhere?”
“Once,”Andrewsays,steppingbackandcuppingmyface,smooshingmycheeks.“Liz.”OneofAndrew’slonger-termgirlfriendsfromseveralyearsago.Wemetherandhernewhusbandfordrinksacoupleofmonthsbackandshewasariot.“Butwedidn’tfoolaround.”
Ilaughatthisnonsense.Ican’timaginebeinginabedwithAndrewHollisandnotgettinghimnaked.“Youliar.”
“No,I’mbeingserious,”hesays.“MomandDadwere,like,fivefeetaway.Iwaswaytooself-conscioustogetthejobdone.”
“Well,yourparentswon’tbeherethistime,”Iremindhim.“AndBenny’sthingswereinoneofthefinishedroomsdownstairsso…gameon.”
Andrewgrowls,pressinghisfacetomyneckagain.
ThisweekendisjustusandBenny;everyoneelsehadconflicts.MomandDadaregettingMilesmovedintoUCLA,wherehe’salreadystartedsoccerpractice.Kylehaschorus-linerehearsalsforwhateveryoneishopingwillbethenewBroadwaysensation.TheoisinthemidstofbuildinghisownhousenearOgdenCanyon,anhourandahalfaway,andRickyandLisadecidedtotakeasummercruisefromSeattletoAlaska.ButAndrewandIcouldeasilymakethedrivefromourplaceinDenver.WebothhavethelongweekendoffandhavebeendyingtoseewhatBenny’sdonewiththeplace.
There’sasoftknock,andAndrewandIshareawe’rebustedgrimacebeforeheopensthedoor,lettinginabrightsliceoflightandaviewofBenny’samusedface.
Bennylaughs.“Ifiguredyoutwowouldbeinhere.”
“Because,Bentley,”Iwhisper,“thisclosetisoursacredspace.”
“Ipromisenottochangeit.”Heliftshischin.“Comeon.Iwanttoshowyousomething.”
Wefollowhimdownstairs,andItrytopuzzleoutwhat’snext.Ialreadyfeeloverwhelmedwiththeperfectblendofnewandoldthathe’smanaged.Whathaven’tweseen?Thebackyard?Acoolfeatureofthenewfrontporch?AndrewshrugswhenIgivehimaquestioninglook,wipinghispalmsonthefrontofhisthighs.Helooksflushed,andIwonderifthere’sapartofhimthatstrugglestoseehowmuchthishousehaschanged.Forthebetter,butstill.
Weturnatthebottomofthestairs,headingdownthehalltothekitchen,throughthemudroom,andoutthebackdoor.
Thebackyardhasn’tchanged,butIpullupshortanyway.Andrewkeepswalking,butIcan’tfollowhim,can’tmakemyfeetworkbecausethestructureI’mseeingonlybarelyresemblestheBoathousethatIgrewupwith.What’sinfrontofmeisabeautiful,rusticretreat.Itisalittlelogcabin,withagiantwindowstillfacingthemountain.Ithasachimney,ithassteps,ithasatinyporchwithtwobrightyellowAdirondackchairsandasmalltable.
Idon’trealizeI’mcryinguntilAndrewturnsbackandreachesformyhand,laughingatmewithloveinhissmile,wipingmyfacewithhisfreehand.“Comeon.”
He’sshaking.
“Didyouknow?”Iaskhim.
Hedoesn’tanswer,onlytugsmeforwardandinside.It’sstilloneroom—well,exceptforthenewbathroom—butthere’safour-posterbedinthebackcorner,aloveseatandcomfychairtowardthefront,framedaroundacoffeetableatopagorgeousrug.Thefireplaceisobviouslynotinuse,butthenewA/Cunitwhirsvaliantly,keepingtheairinsidebreezyandcomfortable.
Myeyeisdrawntoalloftheframedphotosdecoratingthewalls;thereareatleasttwentyofthem,somesmall,othersatleasteight-by-ten,andwe’realltogetherinvariouscombinations:MeandDadonasled.Andrew,Ricky,Theo,andLisaontheporchofthemaincabin.BennyandMomholdingcocktailsandtoastingthephotographer.Milesandthetwinsplayingcheckersonthefloorinthelivingroom.Kyleholdingfive-year-oldmeupsidedownnearasnowman.AaronandMomwearingapronsandcooking.Bennywithteenageme,Theo,andAndrewinthesummer,hikingIronCanyonTrail.
“Theseareunreal.”IturntoseehowAndrewisabsorbingallofthis,buthe’snotstandingtomyrightanymore,he’s—
He’skneeling.
DoIhavetheslowestbraininalloftheuniverse?Maybe.Butit’safullfivesecondsorsobeforeIcanputletterstogetherintoaword,andthewordisonly:“Oh.”
“Maisie,”hesays,andopenshispalmtorevealagoldringwithaperfectovalsapphire.Hestaresatmeforseveralsilentseconds,overcome.
“We’vehadourshareofadventurethesepastsixmonths,”hecontinues,voicehoarse.“YourmovetoDenver,yournewjob,ournewapartment.There’snothingIlovemorethanmakingdinnerwithyou,talkingaboutourday,dreamingupwhatwe’regoingtodonext.”Heswallows,eyesfocusedonmyface.“Ihaven’tspentanightwithoutyousincewewereherelast.Idon’tknowhowwemanagedthat,exceptthatwe’vemadethisrelationshipourpriority.Youaremypriority,Mae.Iamsoinlovewithyou.Itfeelsimpossibletoimaginebelongingtoanyoneelse.Please,”hesays,quieternow,“willyoumarryme?”
???
OnlyafoolwoulddoanythingotherthanshoutYESand—onceit’sbeenconfirmedthatBennyhasleftustoourselvesouthere—pounceonthisman.Andrewspendsapproximatelytensecondshalf-heartedlytryingtoconvincemethatweshouldgotellBennythegoodnewsbeforehegivesupandletsmepushhimtowardthebedandriphishorriblesweaterfromhisbody.
I’llnevergettiredofthesmoothheatofhistorso,thewayhishandsroamhungrilyovermelikehewantstotoucheverythingatonce,thewayhedigshisfingersintomyhairwhenIkissdownhisbody.Hisabdomentensesbeneathmyhand,hipsarching,andthenpullsmeupandunderhim,takinghistime,pressinghissharpexhalesandplayfullydirtywordsintomyear.
We’vegottengoodatthis—wepracticediligently—butI’mstillsurprisedatthedepthofemotionthatrocksmewheneverIsensethathe’sclose,whenIfeelhimstarttogrowtenseandalittlewild.HeteasesmeaboutthewayIwatchhim,butIthinkhesecretlylovesitbecauseIswearwatchinghiseyesdriftclosedrightatthesecondhefallsisthehottestthingthatI’veeverwitnessed.
Idon’tlethimgetup,notyet.Iholdmyarmoutinfrontofusandwestareupattheringonmyfinger,laughingathowforeignthewordshusbandandwifesoundinourvoices.
Wherearewegoingtodoit?Iwonder.AndrewlooksatmelikeI’mthick.Here,ofcourse.
Wepopulatethesmallweddingpartywithourchosenfamily.WedecideTahitiisagoodhoneymoonspot.Dogbeforekids.
Sweetkissesturnslow,andthendeeper,andthenI’moverhimandhe’swatchingwithadoringfocus,playingwiththeendsofmyhair,skippingfingertipsovermycurves,guidingmyhipsuntilhe’ssweatyandurgentbeneathme.
Icollapseonthebedbesidehim.Thesheetsaresoft,smoothcotton,coolagainstmyback,andAndrewcoughsoutasharp,satisfiedlaugh.“Howdoyouexpectmetowalkafterthat?”
“IhopeBennymeantforustosleepouthere,”Isay,slowlycatchingmybreath.
???
Butwe’llneedwaterandfood,andwe’vestillgotseveralhoursbeforesleep.
Helooksatmeandlaughs.“Doyouwanttopullabrushthroughyourhair?”
Aglanceinthebathroommirrortellsmemyhairisawildtangle,mylipsareswollenandkiss-bruised.Mysmileislove-drunkandlopsided.IdothebestIcanwithmyfingerstofixthehairsituationbeforegivingup.
“Mystuffisinthecar,”Isay.“Bennydoesn’tcarewhatmyhairlookslike.”
It’sonlywhenwewalkintothekitchentothecacophonous“SURPRISE!”yelledbysevenexcitedvoicesthatIgetwhyAndrewwantedustogoinsideandtellBenny,whyhesuggestedIbrushmyhair,andwhyhe’sbeetredanddoubledoverinlaughternow.RickyandLisaarenotonacruise.TheoisnotdowninOgdenworkingonhisnewhouse,andalthoughKyleisstillinManhattan,Aaronandthetwinsarenot.I’mnotsurewhentheygothere,orhowlongthey’vebeenwaitingforustocomebackinsidesotheycancongratulateusonourengagement.
“Wereyouwrestling?”Zacharyasksinalisp,nowmissinghistwofrontteeth,andAaronstrugglesvaliantlytonotburstoutlaughing.
“Yes,”Andrewanswersearnestly.“Andlook!Maewonaring.”
Iamengulfedbyhugsfrommyfuturein-laws(!)andAaronandthetwins.Bennytakestheopportunitytolaughatthetellingdisasterofmyhairbeforepullingmeinforatightsqueeze.Althoughthisisthebestsurpriseever,itfeelsoddlyquietwithoutmyparentsandMiles.
SlippingmyphonefromwhereIleftitonthekitchencounter,Itakeapictureofmylefthand,textingittomymom:
Istareatthephone,waitingfortheindicationthatshe’sreadthetext,butmymessagesendsslowly,thebarinchingacrossthetop.
“Ihearyou’relovingyournewgig,”Aaronsays,pullingmyattentionup
“Iam!”Itellhim,grinning.IamnowtheleadgraphicdesignerforSledDogBrewing,anup-and-comingmicrobreweryonlyahalfmilefromRedRocksandthehottestbiergartenintown.Ihaveateamoftwowhorunthewebsiteandsocialmedia,andIdesignallofthegear—T-shirts,pintglasses,hats,beanies,andallkindsoffunmerchandise.Theownerhasbeensoimpressedwithmyworkhe’saskedmetoredesignalloftheirlabels,whichmeansmyartworkmaysomedaybeinrefrigeratedcasesalloverthecountry.Sofar,SledDoghasbeenthemostfunandrewardingjobI’veeverhad.
“Igotabottleofthatimperialstout,”hesays.
“How’dyoumanagethat?”Theimperialstoutjustwonaninternationalgoldmedal;it’snearlyimpossibletofinditlocally,letaloneinNewYork.
“Oneofthedadsatschoolisadistributor.Hehookedmeup.”
“Iloveyou.”Stretching,IkissAaron’scheek.EvenacrossthecountryinManhattan,he’sstayingconnectedtowhatwe’redoingoutwest.Ifollowthekisswithahandrufflinghisnewlynaturalsalt-and-pepperhair.“AndIlovethis,too.”
“Yeah.”Hesmilesatme.“Shortestmidlifecrisisonrecord.”
“HopefullyLisagotsomedocumentationofthedyejob.”
“Oratleasthalfofthedyejob,”hejokes.
Lisaprotests,laughing,“Hey.”
Idon’tevennoticeAndrewhadslippedoutsidetothecarandcomebackinwithmybaguntilhehandsittome.“Ihatetoruinthesurprise,butyoumightwantthis.”
“Thesurprise?”
Hewinces.“Yourparents’flightwasdelayed.They’realmosthere.”
“Really?”Isqueal,andquicklypullmybrushout,tyingmyhairintoabunontopofmyhead.
Justintime,becausemymomisalreadysingingmynamebeforeshe’sevenreachedtheporch.“Mae!Where’smygirl?”
Behindher,Dadiscarryinghisbagandhers,andgrinningeartoear.
AndrewcomesupbehindmeasMomjogsupthesteps,andshethrowsherarmsaroundbothofus.“Iknewit!”shesings.“Iknew,Iknew,Iknew!”
“Howlonghaveyouknownhewasgoingtodothis?”Iaskher.
“Well,let’ssee.”ShelookstoAndrew,calculatingback,andDadcomestogiveuseachahug.“Maybetwomonths?”
“WegottheticketsinApril…”Dadsays.“So,longerthanthat.”
“IaskedyourpermissioninFebruary,”Andrewsays,laughing.“Onourtwo-monthanniversary.”
Lisacomesout,andsheandmymomturnhigh-pitchedandanimatedwiththeirsharedhappiness.Ricky,Dad,andAarongiveeachotheraherewegolookandheadinside,presumablytofindbeerinBenny’sfancynewfridge.BennygreetsmyparentsbeforeheadingdownthestepswithKennedy,who’sholdingabookaboutleaves.TheowrestleswithZacharyinthelivingroom.ImissKyle,andImissmybrother,butIbetthere’satinyelectriczapintheirmood,eveninthemiddleoftheirbusylives.
IcatchasmalltidbitofwhatMomissaying:“…here,butbeforeorafterChristmas?”andassumethatourweddingisbeingplannedwithoutus,thatthepressureforgrandchildrenwillstartalmostimmediately,andthatwe’llhaveourhandsfullwithbusybodiesfortherestofourdays.Allofthatwillhavetobediscussed,butafterthemomentweexchangeourvows—wheneverthatis—luckily,wewon’thavetonegotiatehowtoblendourfamilies.Theywereblendedlongbeforewecamealong.
Whenwestepoutofthesunandbackintothehouse,myeyeiscaughtbyaframedpictureonthewallinthenewsittingroom.Fromfarawayit’shardtotellwhatitis,butupclose,Irealizeit’sanaerialphotograph.Andrewputshisarmaroundmeandthenleansin,studyingthephoto.Finally,hereachesforward,puttingthetipofhisfingerrightinthemiddle.“Thereweare.”
“What?”
Hemoveshisfingertotheside,andIseewhathe’sshowingme.It’sthecabin,inthecenterofaclusterofotherbuildings,inthemidstofabusyswirlofstreets,inanevenbusierstretchofmountains.Beyondthat,theworldstretchesoutinbothdirections,andeverysinglepointonEarth’ssurfaceisthecenterofsomeone’suniverse,butthispicturegetsitright.
ThecenterofmyworldisrightwhereI’mstanding.acknowledgments
Justalittlebitofmagic,wesaid.Wecantotallydoit,wesaid.It’llbeeasy!
Itmaynothavebeeneasy,butwritingthisnovelwascertainlyfun.Wewrotethisonebefore2020arrived,beforeallhellbrokeloose,andtheideaoffallingintoaromancetimeloopfeltlikeaperfect,seasonalescape.
Itfeelsevenbetternowwhenwegettogobackandreadit.Maeissafeatthiscabin,withlovedonesandonlytherequirementthatshefigureoutwhatpathshe’smeanttotake.Ifweallhadsomethingthissimpletofocuson,lifewouldbesomucheasier.
Weguessthat’swhatromancegivesus—yes,it’saspirationalandwishfulfillment;it’sfunanduplifting—butthisyear,itisalsoamuch-neededescape.Romanceisheredoingwhatromancedoes,andweneeditnowmorethanever.Sowehavetostartthisoffbythankingsomespectacularromancecreatorswhoseworkhaspulledusoutofrealityandintotruejoythisyear:ParkJi-eun(CrashLandingonYou),AlexisHall(BoyfriendMaterial),ScarlettPeckham(TheRakess),RebekahWeatherspoon(Xeni),MarthaWaters(ToHaveandtoHoax),KateClayborn(LoveLetteringandalsoyourTwitterfeed),LisaKleypas(hi,goddess),andNoraEphronfor,well,everything.Wearedeeplyinspiredbyyou,andsogratefultobeabletoturntoyourcreativityandentertainmentintheseweird,wildtimes.
Ourcoreteamisthebestcoreteam:AgentHollyRootistheconsistentvoiceofcalm,wisdom,anddelightfullytimedsnark.OureditoratSimon&Schuster/Gallery,KateDresser,putsupwithalot,andwemeanalot,ofU-turns.Thankyou,Kate,forbeingtheCLoenthusiastwhenwestart,thesoundingboardwhenwe’restuck,thegentleredflagwhenwe’reediting.KristinDwyerisourPRrepandPrecious,andevenwhentimestoppedandwenolongerknewwhattheworldlookedlikepastourownwindow,itwasokay.Wedidit,wegotitdone:peoplefoundourbooks.Youalwaysdosogood,girl.
ThankyoutotheS&S/Galleryteamforhustlingtheirhardest,asalways:JenBergstrom(wetrulyadoreyou),AiméeBell,JenLong,RachelBrenner,MollyGregory,AbbyZidle,AnneJaconette,AnabelJimenez,SallyMarvin,LisaLitwack,JohnVairo,andtheentireGallerysalesforceandsubrightsgroups.Inthemidstofapandemic,thelossofCarolynReidyhiteveryonehard.Shewillbegreatlymissed.ItmakesusdoublygratefultoeveryoneatS&Sforalwaysbeingamazingandforeverbeingonourteam.
ThankyoutoMarionArcherforreading,andrereading,andrereading.Yournotesandfeedbackarealwayssospot-onandappreciated.ErinService,makingyouswoonisouronlygoal.TothereadersinCLoandFriends,thankyouformakinguslaughandkeepinguscompany(and,ofcourse,forlovingourbooks).Weadoreeachandeveryoneofyou.
Toeveryreaderoutthere,wehopethisbookfindsyousafeandhappy.Thankyouforpickingitup.ItisourgreatestwishtotheuniversethatMaeandAndrew’sstorygivesyouanescapethatyouchoose,but(foryoursake)onethatyoudon’tneedtoodesperately.It’sbeenahardyear,andweareheresendingloveand—wehope—arollickingdoseofmagicalfun.
Withmassiveaffection,
Christina&LaurenKeepreadingforasneakpeekatthenext‘delightful’(People)novelfrom
NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorChristinaLauren.
ComingsoonfromPiatkus!CHAPTERONE
JessicaDavisusedtothinkitwasanhonest-to-Godtragedythatonlytwenty-sixpercentofwomenbelievedintruelove.Ofcourse,thatwasnearlyadecadeago,whenshecouldn’timaginewhatitfeltliketobeanythingbutdeeplyandpassionatelyobsessedwiththemanwhowouldonedaybeherex.Tonight,though,onherthirdfirstdateinsevenyears,shewasastoundedthenumberwaseventhathigh.
“Twenty-sixpercent,”shemumbled,leaningtowardtherestroommirrortoapplymorelipstick.“Twenty-sixwomenoutofonehundredbelievetrueloveisreal.”Poppingthecapbackon,Jesslaughed,andherexhaustedreflectionlaughedback.Sadly,hernightwasfarfromover.Shestillhadtomakeitthroughtheentréecourse;appetizershadlastedfouryears.Ofcourse,someofthatwasprobablyduetoTravis’stendencytotalkwithhismouthfull,oversharinghighlyspecificstoriesaboutfindinghiswifeinbedwithhisbusinesspartnerandtheensuingmessydivorce.Butasfarasfirstdateswent,Jessreasoned,itcouldhavebeenworse.Thisdatewasbetter,forsure,thantheguylastweek,who’dbeensodrunkwhenheshowedupattherestaurantthathenoddedoffbeforethey’devenordered.
“Comeon,Jess.”Shedroppedthetubebackintoherbag.“Youdon’thavetomake,serve,orcleanupafterthismeal.Thedishesaloneareworthatleastonemorebitterstoryabouthisex-wife.”
Astalldoorclickedopen,startlingher,andawillowyblondeemerged.SheglancedatJesswithbaldpity.Tothiswoman,shemustlooklikeawetdogoutintherain.
“God,Iknow,”Jessagreedwithagroan.“I’mtalkingtomyselfinabathroom.Tellsyouexactlyhowmynightisgoing.”
Notalaugh.Notevenacourtesysmile,letalonecamaraderie.Insteadshemovedasfarawayaspossibletotheendoftheemptyrowofsinksandbeganwashingherhands.
Well.
Jesswentbacktorummagingthroughherpursebutcouldn’thelpglancingtowardtheendofthecounter.Sheknewitwasn’tpolitetostare,buttheotherwoman’smakeupwasflawless,hernailsperfectlymanicured.Howonearthdidsomewomenmanageit?Jessconsideredleavingthehousewithherzipperupavictory.Once,sheexplainedanentireseason’sworthofdataanalysistoaroomfulofmarketingexecutiveswithmakeuponlyononeeye.Thisgorgeousstrangerprobablyhadn’tbeenforcedtochangeoutfitsaftercleaningglitteroffbothasix-month-oldcatandaseven-year-oldchild.Sheprobablyneverhadtoapologizeforbeinglate.Sheprobablydidn’tevenhavetoshave.Shewasjustnaturallysmootheverywhere.
“Areyouokay?”
Jessblinkedbacktoawareness,realizingthewomanwasspeakingtoher.Therewasreallynowaytopretendshehadn’tbeenstaringdirectlyatthisstranger’scleavage.
Resistingtheurgetocoverherownless-than-impressiveassets,Jessofferedasmall,embarrassedwave.“Sorry.Iwasjustthinkingthatyourkittenprobablyisn’tcoveredinglitter,too.”
“Mywhat?”
Sheturnedbacktothemirror.JessicaMarieDavis,getyourshittogether.Ignoringthefactthatshestillhadanaudience,JesschanneledNanaJo:“Youhaveplentyoftime.Gooutthere,eatsomepasta,gohome,”shesaidaloud.“There’snotickingclockonanyofthis.”
“I’mjustsaying,theclockisticking.”FizzywavedvaguelytowardJess’sbutt.“Thatbootywon’tbehighandtightforever,youknow.”
“Maybenot,”Jesssaid,“butTinderisn’tgoingtohelpmefindaqualityguytoholditup,either.”
Fizzyliftedherchindefensively.“I’vehadsomeofthebestsexofmylifefromTinder.Iswearyougiveuptooquickly.Weareintheeraofwomentakingpleasureandnotapologizingforgettingtheirsfirst,second,andonemoretimefortheroad.Travismightbeex-wife-obsessed,butIsawhisphotoandhewasfineashell.Maybehewouldhaverockedyourworldforanhourortwoaftertiramisu,butyou’llneverknow,becauseyouleftbeforedessert.”
Jesspaused.Maybe…“Goddammit,Fizzy.”
Herbestfriendleanedback,smug.IfFelicityChendecidedtostartsellingAmway,Jesswouldsimplyhandoverherwallet.Fizzywasmadeofcharisma,witchcraft,andbadjudgment.ThosequalitiesmadeheragreatwriterbutwerealsopartlythereasonJesshadamisspelledsonglyrictattooedontheinsideofherrightwrist,haddisastrousnot-even-close-to-Audrey-Hepburnbangsforsixdepressingmonthsin2014,andhadattendedacostumepartyinLAthatturnedouttobeaBDSMsceneinadungeonbasement.Fizzy’sresponsetoJess’s“Youbroughtmetoasexpartyinadungeon?”was“Yeah,everyoneinLAhasdungeons!”
Fizzytuckedastrandofglossyblackhairbehindherear.“Okay,let’smakeplansforyournextdate.”
“No.”Openingherlaptop,Jessloggedontoheremail.Butevenwithherattentionfixedelsewhere,itwashardtomissFizzy’sscowl.“Fizz,it’shardwithakid.”
“That’salwaysyourexcuse.”
“BecauseIalwayshaveakid.”
“Youalsohavegrandparentswholivenextdoorandaremorethanhappytowatchherwhileyou’reonadate,andabestfriendwhothinksyourkidiscoolerthanyouare.Wealljustwantyoutobehappy.”
Jessknewtheydid.Thatwaswhyshe’dagreedtotesttheTinderwatersinthefirstplace.“Okay,letmehumoryou,”shesaid.“Let’ssayImeetsomeoneamazing.WhereamIgoingtohookupwithhim?ItwasdifferentwhenJunowastwo.NowIhavealight-sleeperseven-year-oldwithperfecthearing,andthelasttimeIwenttoaguy’splaceitwassomessy,apairofhisboxersstucktomybackwhenIgotuptousethebathroom.”
“Gross.”
“Agreed.”
“Still.”Fizzyrubbedathoughtfulfingerbeneathherlip.“Singleparentsmakeitworkallthetime,Jess.LookattheBradyBunch.”
“Yourbestexampleisafifty-year-oldsitcom?”TheharderFizzytriedtoconvinceher,thelessJessactuallywantedtogetbackoutthere.
“Mrs.Bradydidn’tgiveup.AllI’msaying.”
“In1969onlythirteenpercentofparentsweresingle.CarolBradywasatrailblazer.Iamnot.”
“Vanillalatte!”thebarista,Daniel,shoutedoverthedinofthecoffeeshop.
Fizzymotionedthatshewasn’tdonebeingapaininJess’sassbeforestandingandmakingherwaytothecounter
JesshadbeencomingtoTwiggscoffeeshopeverydayforalmostaslongasshe’dbeenfreelancing.Herlife,whichessentiallyexistedinafour-blockradius,wasexceedinglymanageableasitwas.ShewalkedJunotoschooljustdownthestreetfromtheirapartmentcomplexwhileFizzygrabbedthebesttable—intheback,awayfromtheglareofthewindowbutneartheoutletthathadn’tyetgonewobbly—atseventhirtyeverymorning.JesscrunchednumberswhileFizzywrotenovels,andinanefforttonotbeleeches,theyorderedsomethingeveryninetyminutes;thetreatshadtheaddedbenefitofincentivizingthemtoworkmore,gossipless.
Excepttoday.ShecouldalreadytellFizzywasgoingtobeunrelenting.
“Okay.”Herfriendreturnedwithherdrinkandablueberrymuffinandtookamomenttogetsituated.“WherewasI?”
Jesskepthereyesontheemailinfrontofher,pretendingtoread.“Ithinkyouwereabouttosaythatit’smylifeandthatIshoulddowhatIthinkisbest.”
“Webothknowthat’snotsomethingIwouldsay.”
“WhyamIyourfriend?”
“BecauseIimmortalizedyouasthevillaininCrimsonLace,andyoubecameafanfavoritesoIcan’tkillyouoff.”
“SometimesIwonderifyou’reansweringmyquestionsorjustcontinuinganongoingconversationinyourhead.”
Fizzybeganpeelingthepaperoffhermuffin.“WhatIwasgoingtosayisthatyoucan’tthrowinthetowelbecauseofonebaddate.”
“It’snotjusttheonebaddate,”Jesssaid.“It’stheexhaustingandalienprocessoftryingtobeappealingtomen.IfreelancedatasetalgorithmsandconsidermysexiestoutfittobemyoldBuffyshirtandapairofcutoffs.Myfavoritepajamasareathreadbaretanktopandsomematernityyogapants.”
Fizzywhimperedoutaplaintive“No.”
“Yes,”Jesssaid,emphatically.“Ontopofthat,IhadakidwhenmostpeopleouragewerestilllyingaboutenjoyingJ?germeister.It’shardtopolishmyselfforadatingprofile.”
Fizzylaughed.
“Plus,IhatetakingtimeawayfromJunoforsomeguyI’mprobablynevergoingtoseeagain.”
Fizzyletthatsinkinforabeat.“So,you’re…done?Jessica,youwentontwodateswithtwohot,ifdull,men.”
“UntilJunoisolder,yeah.”
SheregardedJesswithsuspicion.“Howmucholder?”
“Idon’tknow.”Jesspickeduphercoffee,butherattentionwassnaggedwhenthemantheyreferredtoas“Americano”steppedintoTwiggs,stridingtothefrontpreciselyoncue—8:24inthemorning—alllonglegsanddarkhairandsurly,gloweringvibes,notmakingeyecontactwithasingleperson.“Maybewhenshe’sincollege?”
WhenJess’seyesleftAmericano,horrorwasripplingthroughFizzy’sexpression.“College?”Sheloweredhervoicewhenpracticallyeveryheadinthecoffeeshopswiveled.“You’retellingmethatifIsatdowntowritethenovelofyourfuturelovelife,I’dbewritingaheroinewhoishappilyshowingherbodytoadudeforthefirsttimeineighteenyears?Honey,no.Notevenyourperfectlypreservedvaginacanpullthatoff.”
“Felicity.”
“LikeanEgyptiantombinthere.Practicallymummified,”Fizzymumbledintoasip.
Upfront,Americanopaidforhisdrinkandthensteppedtotheside,absorbedintypingsomethingonhisphone.“Whatishisdeal?”Jessaskedquietly.
“YouhavesuchathingforAmericano,”Fizzysaid.“Doyourealizeyouwatchhimeveryday?”
“MaybeIfindhisdemeanorfascinating.”
Fizzylethereyesdroptohisass,currentlyhiddenbyanavycoat.“We’recallingithis‘demeanor’now?”Shebent,writingsomethingintheIdeaNotebookshekeptnearherlaptop.
“Everyday,hecomesinhereandemitsthevibethatifanyonetriedtotalktohim,hewoulddoamurder,”Jessquipped.
“Maybehe’sahitman.”
Jess,too,inspectedhimtoptobottom.“Morelikeasociallyconstipatedmedievalartprofessor.”Shetriedtorememberwhenhe’dstartedcominginhere.Maybetwoyearsago?MondaytoFriday,sametimeeverymorning,samedrink,samesullensilence.Thiswasaquirkyneighborhood,andTwiggswasitsheart.Peoplecameintolinger,tosip,tochat;Americanostoodoutnotforbeingweirdoreccentricbutforbeingalmostentirelysilentinaspacefullofboisterous,lovableweirdos.“Niceclothes,butinsidethemhe’sallgrouchy,”Jessmumbled.
“Well,maybeheneedstogetlaid,kindoflikesomeoneelseIknow.”
“Fizz.I’vehadsexsincebirthingJuno,”Jesssaidinexasperation.“I’mjustsayingIdon’thavealotleftoverforcommitment,andI’mnotwillingtoendureboringoroutrightterribledatesjustfororgasms.Theymakebattery-operatedappliancesforthat.”
“I’mnottalkingjustaboutsex,”Fizzysaid.“I’mtalkingaboutnotalwaysputtingyourselflast.”ShepausedtowavetoDaniel,whowaswipingdownatablenearby.“Daniel,didyoucatchallofthat?”
HestraightenedandgaveherthesmilethathadmadeFizzywritetheheroofDestiny’sDevilwithDanielinmind,anddoallmannerofdirtythingstohiminthebookthatshehadn’tdareddoinreallife.
Andwouldneverdo:DanielandFizzywentoutoncelastyearbutquicklyendedthingswhentheyranintoeachotheratafamilyreunion.Theirfamilyreunion.“Whencan’twehearyou?”heasked.
“Good,thenpleasetellJessthatI’mright.”
“YouwantmetohaveanopinionaboutwhetherJessshouldbeonTinderjusttogetlaid?”heasked.
“Okay,yup.”Jessgroaned.“Thisiswhatrockbottomfeelslike.”
“Orwhicheverdatingsiteshelikes!”Fizzycried,ignoringher.“Thiswomanissexyandyoung.Sheshouldn’twasteherremaininghotyearsinmomjeansandoldsweatshirts.”
Jesslookeddownatheroutfit,readytoprotest,butthewordsshriveledinherthroat.
“Maybenot,”Danielsaid,“butifshe’shappy,doesitmatterwhetherornotshe’sfrumpy?”
ShebeamedatFizzyintriumph.“See?DanielissortofonTeamJess.”
“Youknow,”Danielsaidtohernow,ballingthewashraginhishands,smugwithinsiderknowledge,“Americanoisaromantic,too.”
“Letmeguess,”Jesssaid,grinning.“He’sthehostofanLA-basedsexdungeon?”
OnlyFizzylaughed.Danielgaveacoyshrug.“He’sabouttolaunchsomecutting-edgematchmakingcompany.”
Bothwomenwentsilent.Awhatnow?
“Matchmaking?”Jessasked.“ThesameAmericanowhocomesinhereeverydayandneversmilesatanyone?”Shepointedbehindhertothedoorhe’dexitedonlyaminuteago.“Thatguy?Withhisintensehotnessmarredbythemoody,antisocialfilter?”
“That’stheone,”Danielsaid,nodding.“Youcouldberightthatheneedstogetlaid,butI’mguessinghedoesjustfineforhimself.”
AtleastthisparticularFizzytangenthappenedonaMonday—PopspickedupJunofromschoolonMondayafternoonsandtookhertothelibrary.JesswasabletogetaproposaltogetherforGenentech,setupameetingwithWholeFoodsfornextweek,andbashthroughafewspreadsheetsbeforeshehadtowalkhomeandstartdinner.
Hercar,tenyearsoldwithbarelythirtythousandmilesloggedonit,wassorarelyusedthatJesscouldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dhadtofillthetank.Everythinginherworld,Jessthoughtcontentedlyonherwalkhome,waswithinarm’sreach.UniversityHeightswastheperfectofblendofapartmentsandmismatchedhousesnestledbetweentinyrestaurantsandindependentbusinesses.Frankly,thesolebenefitoflastnight’sdatewasthatTravishadagreedtomeetatElZarapejusttwodoorsdown;theonlythingworsethanhavingtheworld’smostboringdinnerconversationwouldhavebeendrivingtotheGaslamptodoit.
Withabouttwohoursuntilsunset,theskyhadgoneaheavilybruisedgray-blue,threateningrainthat’dsendanySouthernCaliforniandriverintoaconfusedturmoil.AsparsecrowdwasgettingMonday-levelsofrowdyonthedeckofthenewKiwi-runbrewerydownthestreet,andtheubiquitouslineatBahnThaiwasquicklyturningintoatangleofhungrybodies;threebuttswereattachedtohumanscurrentlyignoringthesignforcustomersnottositontheprivatestoopnextdoortotherestaurant.NanaandPops’stenant,Mr.Brooks,hadinstalledadoorbellcameraforthefrontunits,andalmosteverymorninghegaveJessadetailedaccountingofhowmanymillennialsvapedonhisfrontstepwhilewaitingforatable.
Homecameintoview.Junohadnamedtheirapartmentcomplex“HarleyHall”whenshewasfour,andalthoughitdidn’thavenearlythepretentiousviberequiredtobeacapital-HHall,thenamestuck.HarleyHallwasbrightgreenandstoodoutlikeanemeraldagainsttheearth-tonestuccooftheadjacentbuildings.Thestreet-facingsidewasdecoratedwithahorizontalstripofpinkandpurpletilesformingaharlequinpattern;electric-pinkwindowboxesspilledexuberantflowersyear-round.Jess’sgrandparentsRonaldandJoanneDavishadboughtthepropertytheyearPopsretiredfromthenavy,whichwasaroundthesametimethatJess’slong-termboyfrienddecidedhewasn’tfathermaterialandwantedtoretaintheoptiontoputhispenisinotherladies.Jesshadpackeduptwo-month-oldJunoandmovedintotheground-floortwo-bedroomunitthatfacedNanaandPops’sbungalowatthebackendoftheproperty.Giventhatthey’draisedJessdowntheroadinMissionHillsuntilshe’dgonetocollegeatUCLA,thetransitionwasbasicallyzero.Andnow,hersmallandperfectvillagehelpedherraiseherchild.
Thesidegateopenedwithatinysqueak,thenlockedclosedbehindher.Downanarrowpath,JesssteppedintothecourtyardthatseparatedherapartmentfromNanaJoandPops’sbungalow.ThespacelookedlikealushgardensomewhereinBaliorIndonesia.Ahandfulofstonefountainsgurgledquietly,andtheprimarysensationwasbright:honesttoGod,themostdramaticmagenta,coral,andbrassypurplebougainvilleadominatedthewallsandfences.
Immediately,asmall,neatlyFrench-braidedchildtackledJess.“Mom,Igotabookaboutsnakesfromthelibrary,didyouknowthatsnakesdon’thaveeyelids?”
“I—”
“Also,theyeattheirfoodwhole,andtheirearsareonlyinsidetheirheads.Guesswhereyoucan’tfindsnakes?”Junostaredupather,blueeyesunblinking.“Guess.”
“Canada!”
“No!Antarctica!”
Jessledtheminside,calling“Noway!”overhershoulder.
“Way.AndrememberthatcobrainTheBlackStallion?Well,cobrasaretheonlykindofsnakesthatbuildnestsandtheycanlivetobetwenty.”
ThatoneactuallyshockedJessica.“Wait,seriously?”Shedroppedherbagonthecouchjustinsidethedoorandmovedtothepantrytodigaroundfordinneroptions.“That’sinsane.”
“Yes.Seriously.”
Junowentquietbehindher,andunderstandingdroppedlikeaweightinJess’schest.Sheturnedtofindherkidwearingtheenormous-eyedexpressionofpreemptivebegging.“Juno,baby,no.”
“Please,Mom?”
“No.”
“Popssaidmaybeacornsnake.Thebooksaysthey’re‘verydocile.’Oraballpython?”
“Apython?”Jesssetapotofwateronthestovetoboil.“Areyououtofyourmind,child?”Shepointedtothecat,Pigeon,asleepinthedyingstretchofdaylightstreamingthroughthewindow.“Apythonwouldeatthatcreature.”
“Aballpython,andIwouldn’tletit.”
“IfPopsisencouragingyoutogetasnake,”Jesssaid,“Popscankeepitoverathishouse.”
“NanaJoalreadysaidno.”
“Ibetshedid.”
Junogrowled,collapsingontothecouch.Jesswalkedoverandsatdown,drawingherinforacuddle.Shewassevenbutsmall;shestillhadbabyhandswithdimplesontheknucklesandsmelledlikebabyshampooandthewoodyfiberofbooks.WhenJunowrappedherlittlearmsaroundJess’sneck,shebreathedthelittlegirlin.Junohadherownroomnow,butshe’dsleptwithhermomuntilshewasfive,andsometimesJesswouldstillwakeupinthemiddleofthenightandexperienceasharpstaboflongingforthewarmweightofherbabyinherarms.Jess’sownmotherusedtosaysheneededtobreakJunoofthehabit,butparentingadvicewasthelastthingJamieDavisshouldbegivingtoanyone.Besides,itwasn’tlikeanyoneelseeveroccupiedthatsideofthemattress.
AndJunowasamastercuddler,agold-medalOlympianinthesnuggle.ShepressedherfacetoJess’sneckandbreathedin,wigglingcloser.“Mama.Youwentonadatelastnight,”shewhispered.
“Mm-hmm.”
Junowasexcitedforthedate,notonlybecausesheadoredhergreat-grandparentsandgotNanaJo’scookingwhenJesswasout,butbecausethey’drecentlywatchedAdventuresinBabysitting,andFizzyhadtoldheritwasaprettyaccuratedepictionofwhatdatingwaslike.InJuno’smind,JessmightendupmarryingThor.
“Didyougodowntown?Didhebringyouflowers?”Shepulledback.“Didyoukisshim?”
Jesslaughed.“No,Ididnot.Wehaddinner,andIwalkedhome.”
Junostudiedher,eyesnarrowed.Sheseemedprettysurethatmorewassupposedtohappenonadate.Poppinguplikeshe’drememberedsomething,shejoggedtoherrollerbackpacknearthedoor.“Igotyouabook,too.”
“Youdid?”
Junowalkedbackoverandcrawledintoherlap,handingitover.
MiddleAgedandKickin’It!:AWoman’sDefinitiveGuidetoDatingOver40,50andBeyond
Jessletoutasurprisedlaugh.“DidyourAuntyFizzputyouuptothis?”
Juno’sgigglerolledoutofher,delighted.“ShetextedPops.”
Overthetopofherhead,Jesscaughtaglimpseofthedry-eraseboardnexttothefridge,andatinglingspreadfromherfingertipsuptoherarms.ThewordsNEWYEARSGOALSwerewritteninJuno’sbubblyhandwriting.
NANA&POPS
Getapersonaltrayner
Takeawockevryday
JUNO
Lerntolikebrocooli
Makemybedevrymornning
TrySomethingNewSunday!
MOM
TrySomethingNewSunday!
Nanasesbemoreselfish!
Domorethingsthatskareme
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‘Lauren(TheUnhoneymooners)deliversabreezy,tongue-incheekrom-comasinsightfulasitisirreverent.Readerswilllaughoutloud’
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