In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter eleven

This time I wake up screaming in betrayal, clutching my face and my head, searching for blood or brains, or God knows what. But, of course, there’s nothing.

I don’t have to look to know exactly where I am, and I honestly have no more shits to give.

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT IS GOING ON,” I shout to the plane around me. Sure, 219 other people have to deal with a crazy woman yelling in an enclosed space with them, but hopefully the universe hears me, too, because I have had it.

I didn’t ask my dad if I had a head injury.

I made a pledge to save the cabin.

I was absolutely on track to never kiss Theo Hollis again.

What the hell else am I supposed to be doing?

A hush falls over the entire plane, and I feel the press of my family’s stunned attention on the side of my face. Even Mom woke up for this.

A flight attendant leans over Miles to whisper to me. Tiny silver bells pinned to her sweater jingle in the deafening silence. “Ma’am, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, irritably and clearly not fine at all. But who cares? Nobody! They’re not going to remember this anyway! “Just been living the same freaking day over and over again, but whatever. Let’s just land and get on with it.”

“Can I get you a beverage?” she asks, sotto voce.

“Is that code for ‘You’re scaring other passengers; can I give you some wine?’ ”

She just smiles.

“I’m good. Thanks.” Leaning forward, I catch my father’s eye. “Dad, when we get to the cabin, don’t eat the goddamn cookie.”

• • •

We climb out of the car, and it’s lovely and everyone is excited and yes, this is normally my favorite moment of the year with my favorite people, but Lord, I can’t do it again. I am so tired.

I give advice as I quickly deliver hugs. “Kennedy, watch out for Miso on your way inside. Dad, once again, don’t eat the cookies. Everyone? Kyle has a new tattoo. It’s on his arm—a music note—and it’s very cool but don’t touch it, it’s healing. Ricky,” I continue, “don’t worry about the Hendrick’s, everyone is fine with Bombay—and Aaron isn’t drinking anyway because he’s middle-aged and stressed about getting old. Speaking of hair, Theo, your haircut is great, but your hair wasn’t ever the problem. And Lisa?” I say, and a twinge of guilt worms through me because they’re all staring at me with wide, worried eyes. “I love you—so much—but maybe let Aaron pick the music tonight.” I pause. “And let Mom take the photos.”

If it weren’t so cold out, we’d be able to hear crickets chirping in the confused silence.

“I really don’t mean to sound like an asshole,” I say, adding, “Oops, earmuffs, kids! I’ve just had a day.” This makes me laugh—a day!—and it takes me a few awkward seconds to get the cackling under control. “It’s well established that I’m a terrible drinker, but if anyone is mixing drinks, I’d love something fruity with vodka. No eggnog.”

Andrew snaps his fingers, and I look over at him. His eyes are wide, but his mouth is smiling. My eternally unflappable hero. “Coming right up, Crazy Maisie.”

Do I want to follow him inside? Do I want to flirt with him on the porch? Yes. But it won’t matter; it will only get my hopes up.

I stare at the sky and let out a long, exhausted groan. “What is even the poooooint?”

A hand comes around my upper arm. “Maelyn?” It’s Dad. “Honey, what’s going on?”

“I’d say it’s a long story, but it’s actually not. I’m stuck here. In time.” I let out an unhinged cackle. “Do I want to visit this cabin every year? Yes. But do I really want to keep reliving December twentieth forever in order to do it? No. No, I do not.”

He and Mom share a worried look. “Maybe we should take her to a doctor,” Mom says.

Dad turns to look at her incredulously. “I am a doctor.”

She sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

The tide of guilt rises higher in me—they’re already bickering, and I’m the reason—but I can’t fix that right now. They’ll have to figure this out on their own.

Turning my pleading eyes on Benny, I say, “We need to talk.”

I look back to Mom, sending her a silent Just give me a minute, before Benny and I head up to the porch. I love my mother, but right now I need Benny’s even temper.

I try to undo my turbulent arrival with some quick, gentle kisses to the tops of Kennedy and Zachary’s heads, but they go still and nervous under my touch.

At least Kennedy pays attention to where the dog is when she walks inside.

And Dad doesn’t eat a cookie.

But no one is going to remember this anyway.

• • •

Benny sits next to me on the porch swing, and we rock back and forth in aware silence. I can barely make out the shape of the house next door through the trees but can see the smoke curling from the chimney, the glow of their outdoor Christmas lights through the branches.

The branches.

I look up warily. Across the yard, I think I spot the snow-covered branch that cracked me on the head, and I point at it, growling, “You will not get me tomorrow, you fucker.”

Benny goes still. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“It won’t matter.”

He studies me. “Why not?”

“Because this is the fourth time I’ve been in this day, and no matter what I try to do differently, I keep coming back.”

“Like Groundhog Day?”

“Is that a movie?”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re young. I still think it’s one of the weirdest traditions, believing spring is determined by a groundhog’s shadow. Spring starts on the same day every year where I’m from.”

I must be staring at him in bewilderment, because he nods. “Yes, Maelyn, Groundhog Day is a movie.”

“Then yes. No matter what I do, I keep getting clobbered and waking up on the plane.”

“Maybe you should talk to your—”

“My dad?” I say, and shake my head. “Nope. We tried that two go-arounds back, but I fell down the attic stairs, and—” I make a splat motion and he winces. I gesture for him to finish the sentence.

“You started over again?”

“Bingo. Apparently, it’s not my head,” I say, aiming my voice to the sky. “And apparently it’s not about saving the cabin?”

No answer. The universe is profoundly unhelpful.

Benny frowns. “Saving the cabin from what?”

Inhaling deeply, I decide to tell him everything again. Even if I only make it to tomorrow, I need someone here with me who knows. Eggnog. Face licking. Traitor Theo. Adorable Andrew. Regret, regret, regret. Cabin. Accident. Purgatory. Whatever.

“Oh,” I say, “And I asked you to tell me something that only you know so you’d believe me if this happened again.”

“And?”

“And you told me about the club in Sedona.”

His eyes go wide. “I did?”

“Yup.” I shiver. “So I have to live with that information now.”

Benny lets out a quiet “Whoa.”

“As crazy as it sounds, I think this is all happening because I asked the universe to show me what would make me happy and it’s just sending me here over and over again with no instruction booklet,” I shout upward. “Like, yes, I love it here. I get it. And now I shall live here forever. Eternal Christmas. Be careful what you wish for, am I right?” I laugh a little maniacally.

After a long pause, Benny finally asks, “Okay, but let’s say that you have no limits on what you can wish for, what—in this whole enormous world—would make you truly happy?”

As if on cue, footsteps pad quietly from the front door across the porch. And there, walking outside holding a sparkling tumbler full of orange juice, vodka, and extra ice, is Andrew. “Screwdriver. Heavy on the juice,” he says with a sweet smile. “Because, no offense, you’re a lightweight, Maisie.”

He sits down on the porch swing, sandwiching me between his warm body and Benny’s. My emotions are on fire, and the lust of my life looks back and forth between me and Benny. “So. What were we talking about?”

Don’t trust the universe.

We were talking about what in the whole wide world I’d wish for, and you appeared. Funny, right?

A glance at Benny tells me he’s not coming to my rescue here. Damn him for choosing this moment to make me face my feelings.

“We were talking about my crazy day,” I say, “and Benny asked what would make me happy, and you walked out with a drink.” I take it from him, adding, “So thank you. I am happy now.”

I take a deep drink and wow, Andrew does not mess around—this is not “heavy on the juice.” I’m surprised that flames don’t flicker off my tongue when I exhale. Next reboot, I’ll have to ask him to make one that tastes slightly less like fire.

“That’s strong,” I gasp, handing it to Benny, who sets it down on the table to his right.

“You are in rare form today, Maisie,” Andrew says, laughing.

I cough harshly, wincing through the burn. “Just living my truth.”

“I’m getting that.” I feel him look at Benny over the top of my head. “As long as you’re not upset with us for some reason?”

Guilt pierces through my reckless mood. Whether they’re figments of my imagination or pawns in the universe’s game, I love these people desperately. I’ll have to be kinder next time I lose my mind. “I hope I didn’t hurt your mom’s feelings.”

He laughs. “According to Dad, she’s been playing that Bob Dylan Christmas album for three weeks now and we’ve all told her it’s terrible. Maybe hearing it from someone who isn’t her son or husband will make a difference.” Andrew’s dark brows pull together. “But how did you know Dad forgot the Hendrick’s?”

“Weird hunch,” I say.

Andrew pushes out his bottom lip, sweetly considering this, and then nods like he’s totally satisfied with my non-explanation. He rolls with weird, surreal stuff almost as well as Benny does. “That must have been one hell of a dream you had on the plane. Last week I had a dream I worked at a carnival,” he says conversationally. “For, like, a week afterward I kept feeling like I was constantly late to work at the cotton candy booth. It was crazy stressful.”

This makes me laugh, and the three of us fall silent. The wind whistling through the tree line is the only sound until I can’t help it: “Why the cotton candy booth, though?”

“Are you kidding?” Andrew looks at me, incredulous. “That would be, like, the best carnival job.”

“The stickiest job,” I correct.

Benny hums in agreement. “I’d work the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

I grimace deeply. “That’s a lot of puke to clean up.”Andrew shivers in response, and I look at him. “What? You think people won’t be hurling around the cotton candy booth?”

Benny laughs and closes his eyes, tilting his face to the sky. “What are we even talking about anymore?”

The sun has long since disappeared behind the mountains, and I’m so deeply tired that it feels like gravity’s pulling more heavily on me. “Andrew,” I say, “it’s gonna be really cold out in the Boathouse.”

Beside me, he goes still. “How’d you kn—”

“Another hunch.”

He sits with this for a second, then says, “Still better than a bunk bed.”

“I guess,” I concede. “But let’s beat out those old sleeping bags in the basement before you head out there tonight. I don’t want you to freeze. Let’s save you and the protruding parts of your body.”

“I . . .” He stares at me. “Sleeping bags?” At my silence, he adds quietly, “Another hunch?”

“Yup.”

Two dimples dive into his cheeks. “You worried about me out there, Maisie?”

“I’m always worried about you,” I say.

“And my protruding body parts?”

Next to me, I sense Benny is valiantly trying to disappear into the swing.

“Always,” I say, adding with unbridled honesty: “I love you massively. Let’s get you set up out there, and then I can take a nap.”

When I look over at him, the moment elongates; he isn’t laughing, teasing, or playing. He’s just staring at me. Our gazes don’t break, and for just a breath, Andrew’s attention dips to my mouth and I see his lips make a small, surprised pout. Like he’s seeing something new on my face that wasn’t there before.

If only this were his fuse box moment, a boulder rolling over. A girl can dream.

Still, the sensation of his attention is a drug, and when I try to stand up, I weave in place, nearly falling. Both Benny and Andrew bolt up to catch me. But Andrew has me first and more securely—his hands come up to my forearms, steadying me as I crowd into his space.

I can’t help it; my defenses are down. That Andrew hug I’ve always wanted? It’s happening now. I step forward into his arms.

I only need it for a second. I just want to be held, to be hugged by him in a moment that isn’t about saying hello or goodbye. I can tell he’s surprised at first, but then his arms come around my waist as mine come around his neck, and I pull him closer, so tight.

I crack open an eye, waiting to be jerked back to the plane. I know it’s coming because here I am, being greedy and making this about me instead of something much, much bigger.

But my feet stay rooted on the porch.

“I’m just gonna—” Benny quickly fades into the background, unobtrusively making his way to the front door. Bless you, Benny.

“Hey. You okay?” Andrew asks against my hair.

“Yeah.” I close my eyes and turn my face into his neck. With a hit of the warm, soft smell of him, I try to swallow down the affection swelling in my throat. But it sticks there, like a pill swallowed without water.

“Just needed a hug?” There’s a smile in his scratchy voice, and I nod. The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” filters out from his headphones; the sound is muffled by the press of our bodies, but the melody is clear enough to push an ache of nostalgia between my ribs. I’ve heard Andrew sing this song a hundred times. Music is entwined with his DNA, it is the bedrock of his gentle happiness, and right now this hug feels like a lullaby, like a calming melody hummed at bedtime.

Frankly, I could stay like this forever, but deep inside I know this isn’t what the universe is asking me to do. I squeeze him closer one last time, and then step back. “That was just what the doctor ordered. You give good hug, Mandrew.”

“Well, thanks, ma’am.” His hair falls like wild brambles over his forehead. Eyes so bright and green I’ve always found the color mesmerizing. He licks his lips, and I stare at a mouth that is full and flirty and pointed at me. He pushes his hair off his forehead, only to have it fall forward again.

My filter is momentarily broken. “What is up with you?” I ask quietly.

He laughs. “What’s up with me? What’s up with you? Who is this demanding new Mae who needs drinks and hugs?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say.

“Well, whatever it is, I like her,” he tells me. “You’re making me feel a little drunk, out of the blue. Which isn’t a bad thing, by the way.”

Before I can think too much on what he means, his mouth curves into a grin and Andrew tugs my knit cap over my eyes so all I get of his retreat is a laugh.