In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter thirteen

The Park City Nursery is a traditional nursery most of the year, but in the winter it’s transformed into a twinkling, sparkling wonderland. The little green building that usually houses gardening tools is covered in a selection of fresh wreaths and filled with holiday decorations and gifts. Strands of lights stretch overhead, and instead of pots of brightly colored summer blossoms, there are holly garlands, poinsettias, and tiny fir trees everywhere. There’s even a giant firepit ringed with seating, and employees handing out spiced cider.

Usually Dad and Ricky brave the masses, but tonight I needed to get out of the house. Since just doing what I want hasn’t failed me yet, I told Andrew he should come with me. Happy to avoid navigating this mess, the dads dropped us at the curb, headed to a coffee shop, and told us to call them when we had a tree ready to load up.

I can feel Andrew watching me as we maneuver through the crowd, and it has the odd effect of making me feel both overheated and shivery. “I should have asked you about work,” I say, stepping around a couple crouching to check the price of a tree.

“You were too busy starting a snowball war.”

I laugh. “How are things in Denver?”

“I’m in that strange position,” he says, “of having the utterly perfect job, but absolutely no opportunity for advancement. The only other position above mine is lead sound engineer, and the guy in that job is only five years older than me and is never going to leave Red Rocks.”

Andrew has always been what we affectionately refer to as a sound geek. He took every music class he could find in school and went to every show that came through town. I envy his love for what he does; he’d probably do the work for free.

“Have you ever thought about getting into music production?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have the mental intensity for that life.”

“Want me to knock this coworker off? Maybe my career problem is that I haven’t found my true calling as an assassin.”

Andrew grins. “I wanted to say, you will figure things out, Mae. You’re so talented. The artistic apple doesn’t fall far from the artistic tree.”

His perennial confidence in me is bolstering. “Thanks, Mandrew.”

“This is random, but have you ever had your tarot cards read?” he asks.

“Is that a serious question?”

He laughs. “Yes?”

“I haven’t,” I admit, “partly because I never want to hear bad news.”

“I had mine done,” he says, and immediately holds up his hands. “I know, it sounds crazy—believe me, I thought it was a joke—but a woman was reading them at a party. She says only assholes do tragic readings.”

“You think I should have my tarot cards read to find out my true career path?” The last thing I need, I think, is to play with more cosmic energy.

“I’m just saying maybe it’ll shake something in you.” He shrugs sweetly. “I feel like it shook something in me.”

A woman elbows me accidentally as she passes, sloshing my hot cider off the lip of my cup and down my hand. I hiss at the mild burn.

“Is it always like this? I don’t think I realized everyone else in Park City procrastinates as much as we do.” I bend, licking the sweet drink from my finger. I might be imagining it, but I swear Andrew does a double take.

“I bet most of these people don’t live here and are also vacationers getting their own last-minute trees.” He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Dad always complains that it’s a madhouse.”

“Parking must be a nightmare. Why don’t we have them drop us off every year?”

Andrew gives me that look, the one that tells me it’s a silly question. We do it because that’s how we’ve always done it, his eyes say. Tradition, duh. How many things like this do we do without thinking, just because it’s the way we’ve always done it? The same food at every meal; the same games every night, with the same teams. The same songs. I’m the worst of all of us—I’m never willing to give up a single thing.

Being hit with the realization is like having a light turned on in my brain.

Holiday music plays overhead and Andrew bops contentedly along beside me. With these new eyes, I wonder if he’s been suffocating under the predictability of the holidays—if we all have.

“Do you hate the traditions?” I ask. “Snow creatures and sledding and all the games?”

He gives his answer a second of quiet consideration. “I love the sledding and don’t hate the rest. But, yeah, sometimes I want to mix it up a little. We’ve been doing the same thing for our entire lives.” He points as we approach a beautifully symmetrical Douglas fir. “How about that one?”

I scrunch my nose, shaking my head.

“I know Mom and Dad love hosting here,” he says, moving on, “but don’t you ever just want to get on a plane and do something totally wild? Go to Greece or spend New Year’s in London?” Before I can answer, he points to another tree. “That one?”

“No . . .”

“No to the tree, or to doing something totally wild?”

I smile over at him. “Both? And New Year’s in London. Hmm. Would we all be together in this imaginary scenario?”

His eyes sparkle, and sensation zips up my spine. I swear he’s never looked at me like this, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Of course.”

“Okay, then yes, that sounds amazing. Even though the cabin is my favorite place on earth, I’m starting to think that it wouldn’t be so terrible to mix things up. Maybe we should do things because we love them, not because we’ve always done them that way.” I pause, carefully wording the next question in my mind. “Andrew?”

He turns his face up to the sky, admiring a towering tree. Tiny snowflakes have started to drift down, spinning from the clouds. “Mm?”

“The cabin needs a lot of work, doesn’t it?”

His smile fades and he looks back at me. “A fair bit, yeah.”

“Like what?”

“Gotta refinish the floors,” he says. “Paint the interior and exterior. Most of the appliances are as old as I am. New roof.”

“How much is a new roof?” A ball of dread worms its way through my gut.

“The conservative estimate was twelve thousand dollars,” he says. So they’ve looked into it. “If we go with cedar shingles like the original, we’re looking at double that. Not to mention there’s probably some decking up there that will need to be replaced once we start tearing everything off.”

Holy crap.

I just come right out and ask it. “Your parents want to sell, don’t they?”

Andrew doesn’t even seem surprised by this. “I think so.”

“Do you and Theo want to sell it?”

He carefully maneuvers past two kids playing tag around a tree. “I don’t, but I’m in Denver. I don’t really feel like I can urge them to keep it when I’m not here to help out. Theo just bought that land down in Ogden. He’ll be building soon and won’t be around as much. Mom and Dad aren’t as flexible and energetic as they used to be. It’s a lot for them to take on by themselves.”

“But why should they when we’re all here?”

Andrew stops in the path and looks down at me. “You’re in California, and Kyle and Aaron are in New York.”

“I mean, we could come out and help throughout the year.”

His hair pushes out rebelliously from under his knit cap, and when his gaze fixes on me, I’m dizzy with infatuation. “Dad is proud,” he says, glancing briefly over my shoulder, I presume, to make sure that his dad is, in fact, not approaching. “He doesn’t like asking for help, and he’s terrible about accepting help offered. Especially from us kids.”

I know this is true; I can even remember times when I was younger and Ricky would insist that Mom didn’t have to cook when she was at the cabin, like he could ever stop her. But I don’t just mean help from other parents. There’s a beast in me that’s pushing against my skin from the inside, clawing its way out. I don’t want to be a child anymore.

“We aren’t kids, though.”

His gaze sinks lower, and I don’t miss the way it pauses at my mouth. “We haven’t been kids for a long time.”

The effect of his rumbling words is not unlike taking a muscle relaxant. “And your parents like hosting, I know. They love being parents, love taking care of all of us. But it’s time we all stepped up.”

He turns to start walking again. “You say that as if your parents don’t like being parents.”

Instinctively, and even though it’s Andrew asking, I tread carefully here. “You know Mom is amazing, and fiercely protective. But their relationship has always been so messy, it’s hard to push to the front sometimes.”

“We’ve never talked about the fact that your parents are divorced and still come here every year.”

“Mom’s husband, Victor—”

“The husband who does not spend Christmas with his wife?” Andrew says, grinning slyly at me.

“That’s the one. He has two daughters, and they have families of their own. They’re both on the East Coast, so even though he lives for my mother, he’s happy to get time with his girls over the holidays without the complication of stepfamilies. I know this sounds silly, because I’m supposed to be an adult and shouldn’t need my mommy and daddy to be together at Christmas, but this is the one week of the year that we act like a family again.”

“I don’t think that’s silly,” he says. “I used to feel so bad for you.”

I’m a little startled by the track change. “For me?” He nods. “Why?”

Andrew looks at me like this should be obvious.

“No, seriously,” I say. “Why?”

“Because for a few years I saw how much you struggled with your parents being together at the cabin, but it was obvious they weren’t together. You were all here physically, but there were times you looked so . . . sad,” he says. “And then the year they announced their divorce, it was like you could breathe again.”

I stare at him, stunned. He saw all that in me?

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I’m speaking out my ass, I don’t—”

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t apologize. I’m just surprised, I guess. That you saw that.”

“I’ve known you your whole life, Mae. How could I not?” He grins at me again. “And here you are this year, impulsive and taking up space and flipping all expectations. You’re all take-charge and bossy.”

“I’m just seeing things with fresh eyes, I guess. It’s time to grow up.”

Andrew bats at some fluffy snow on a branch. “Coming into this holiday like a wrecking ball.”

A rebellious streak races through me. “It’s more like, I see my life stretching out ahead of me and figure, why not go for what I want?”

“Jam and applesauce on your blintzes,” he jokes. “Cocktails on the porch. Snowball fights.”

The word rockets from me: “You.”

His smile freezes, and then slowly slips away. “Me?” An awkward laugh escapes. “Well, you’ve got me.” He grins and spreads his arms wide, gesturing around us to the trees and snow, the twinkling lights overhead.

“It’s more than wanting your company at the tree farm, and I think you know it.” My heart is racing. “But we can pretend that’s what I meant, so it doesn’t get weird.”

Andrew stares at me, and I’m both proud and horrified to realize I’ve made him speechless. “You mean . . . like . . . ?” His brows rise meaningfully.

Adrenaline spikes my blood. “Yeah. Like that.”

“I sort of assumed you and Theo—”

“No.”

“But he—”

“He may have, but I haven’t.” Guilt flashes coolly through me, and I clarify, “I’ve never felt that way about him, I mean.”

“Oh.” Even in the low light, I can tell he’s blushing hotly. Have I ruined what was burbling between us? Maybe. But all of this is instructive, I realize. At least the next time I reboot, I’ll know what not to say.

“Come on.” I tug on his sleeve. “Let’s find a tree.”

We move forward, but the silence hangs heavily. The crunch of snow between our boots, the audible gulp of Andrew swallowing a sip of cider. I scrape around in my brain for a way to change the subject, but I can’t find anything.

Finally he manages, “Do you, um, have any goals for the New Year?”

God, this is painful. And all of the answers that immediately pop to mind are things I can’t say—I’d like to figure out why I keep time traveling—or most likely impossible: I’d like to kiss you on the mouth. I’d like to quit my job . . .

I stop in the path. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

On an impulse that feels like a damn revelation, I pull out my phone and start a new email to my boss.

Neda, please consider this my 30-day notice. I appreciate all of the opportunities you’ve given me, but I am ready to explore new adventures. Happy to talk more after the holidays.

All my best, Maelyn

Before I can question myself, I hit send. Deep breath in, and another one out. Neda appreciates frank and straight-to-the-point. It’s fine.

Oh my God. I really did that. Relief falls over me like a weighted blanket. “Wow, that felt good.”

“What’s that?” Andrew asks.

I grin over at him. “I quit my job.”

“You—? Just now?” His eyebrows disappear beneath his wild curls. “Wow. Okay. You are figuring things out, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying.” I close my eyes and take another long, slow breath. “It was time. I hope it changes things.”

“How could it not? That’s a huge decision.”

I look up at him. “It’s just hard to know which choice is right until it’s all over, I guess.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Andrew stops in front of another tree, spreading his arms out like he might hug it. “This one.”

But this tree isn’t right, either. My biggest fear in the car before the accident was the prospect of things changing. But isn’t that what I wanted when I threw that wish out to the universe? For everything to change?

“I don’t like any of these,” I admit.

“These are literally perfect trees,” Andrew says.

“I think that’s why.”

Change can be good.

I push through a row toward the back, where they hide the trees that are flat on one side, sparse in obvious places. Too short, too skinny, too crooked.

And there, at the end of the row, is a tree that is all of those things. “That one.”

Andrew laughs. “Dad will have a stroke if we bring that out to the truck.”

“Actually, no.” I stare at it, grinning, and feel Andrew’s stance match my own. “I don’t think he will.”