In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter twenty

At five thirty in the morning, two and a half hours after Andrew walked me back to the house, I give up on sleep and shuffle upstairs to the kitchen. I am a sewer creature emerging into daylight; a woman who very definitively needs eight full hours of sleep. Today should be interesting.

Ricky stumbles in about the same time I do, and we both freeze at the sight of his son at the end of the table, bent over a bowl of cereal. My heart falls into my stomach, and I watch in horror as Andrew lifts an arm and casually wipes away a drip of milk from his chin.

He hasn’t heard us approach, I know, but the view of him bowed over the table, the silence that seems to stretch like a canyon across the otherwise warm, inviting space . . . it’s so similar to that horrible morning with Theo that I am instantly queasy with dread.

Is this the catch? The surprise ending? Gotcha! You’ve made the same mistake with Andrew. Did you really think the point of all this was for you to be happy?

A sound creaks out of me, something between an inhale and a groan, and Andrew’s eyes shoot up, and then back over his shoulder to his dad, before returning to me.

His sleepy gaze immediately shifts into twinkling happiness. “Well, good morning, fellow early risers.”

He’s looking at me like I’m exactly who he wanted to find this morning, but my doubt takes a beat to wear off and the feeling keeps me from moving deeper into the room.

Ricky looks at me, then the coffeepot, and then me again meaningfully before he eventually gives up and walks over to it himself. “What’re you doing up so early, Drew?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Behind his father’s back, Andrew winks mischievously at me, and my insides all turn into a heated tangle. An echo of his groan, a flash of his throat arched back in pleasure snaps my thoughts clean of anything else.

“Too cold out there in the Boathouse?” Ricky turns to smile at me, too, like he’s really got Andrew where he wants him now.

“Actually, I was toasty as a bear in a den,” Andrew says, poking at his cereal. “Just stayed up too late and then couldn’t shut off my brain.”

“Something worrying you? Work stuff?” Ricky pulls down three mugs as the coffee starts to slowly dribble into the carafe.

“Work was the last thing on my mind, actually.” Andrew gives his dad an easy shrug and takes another bite of cereal. “Just wide awake and buzzing.”

I look down at the linoleum, faking a yawn to smother my delirious grin.

“Well, you’ll be tired after today,” Ricky says, sitting at the table, “that’s for sure.”

Today: December 23. Scavenger Hunt Day. We pair up in teams pulled out of a hat and disperse around Park City to collect photo evidence of a long list of random things Ricky and Lisa dream up for us—a silver ornament, a giant candy cane, a dog wearing a sweater, things like that. Occasionally video evidence is needed, like last year when we had to get video of a group of people doing the cancan. Permission is required, and asking strangers to do weird things can be mortifying, but mostly it’s a blast.

The hunt also gives us the chance to do any last-minute Christmas shopping we might need—Theo and Miles never have their shopping done beforehand—and is usually a much-needed break from the confines of the cabin. Mom, Kyle, and Aaron usually stay back to start cooking tomorrow’s feast. They prepare the same, beloved menu every Christmas Eve: ham, scalloped potatoes, roasted vegetables, macaroni and cheese, homemade bread, and about ten different pies we all look forward to every year.

The rest of us are unleashed and turn ruthlessly competitive. One year, Dad even bought a woman a new shirt so no one else would have the chance to cross off the “someone wearing a Broncos jersey” item on their list.

My feet finally unlocked, I walk across to the table, pull out a seat, and sit shoulder to shoulder with Ricky.

“What about you, Mae?” he says, nudging me. “You sleep okay?”

I should probably lie, but I’m too tired to be coy. “Not really.”

Andrew puts on a mask of dramatic concern. “Oh no. You too?”

Ricky bolts up as soon as the coffeemaker beeps that it’s done brewing, and I use the opportunity to give Andrew a warning expression that I can’t seem to hold; it immediately cracks into a smile that feels like sunlight on my face. In my head, Julie Andrews sings and spins on an Austrian mountainside. Confetti bursts from a glittery cannon. A flock of birds take glorious flight from the top of an enormous tree. I am silvery, glimmering happiness.

Ricky slides a mug in front of me and lets out a tiny sound from the back of his throat. “You don’t look tired, Maelyn.”

“You actually look a little flushed.” Andrew innocently slides another bite of cereal into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows, adding, “If you need a nap in the Boathouse later, it’s quiet and really warm in the sleeping bags.”

Well, now I’m sure my cheeks are hot and my eyes are gleaming. I lean over my mug, inhaling the warm, nutty scent. “I think I’m good.”

“In any case, we’ll get you to bed extra super early tonight,” Andrew says, and catches my eye over the lip of his own mug. “Scout’s honor.”

• • •

A half hour later, he catches me in the hallway with my shower bag, preparing to climb the long staircase to the upstairs bathroom with the best water pressure. Andrew tugs me into the dark, secluded dining room and hides us behind one of the thick velvet curtains, burying his face in my neck.

“Hi.” He pulls in a deep inhale. “Don’t shower yet.” His mouth opens, teeth press into the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder. “You smell like the Boathouse.”

“Your flirting was very subtle back there,” I tease.

Laughing silently, he pulls me right up tight against him, a stand-up cuddle. “Kiss me.”

So I do.

“You want to know why I couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I laugh. “Why?”

“Because I kept thinking about all your little sounds last night.”

“My sounds.”

His mouth comes up my neck. “Yeah. Right in my ear.” His voice goes quiet. “‘Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.’ ”

I honestly have few recollections of anything that concrete—just blurry flashes of him moving over me, of this spiraling, back-bending pleasure, and of his own breathy, gravelly noises when he came. “I don’t think I realized I was saying anything coherent.”

“Not all of it was coherent.” He laughs. It turns into a groan. “How are we going to hide this? I’m sure I won’t be able to keep it off my face. Maybe we shouldn’t try to keep it quiet.”

Is he serious? He can’t really think we’ll announce this today, after one day of togetherness? Does he not know our families at all?

But I don’t actually want to think about any of them right now. I wind my arms around his shoulders, and he starts to feel me up. “You know, it might look suspicious from the outside when the curtain starts to wiggle.”

He pulls back in feigned shock. “What are you thinking we’re going to do in here?” Even so, his palm comes over my breast.

I still feel the rhythmic echo of last night all over. In a twist I can only blame on my semi-uptight upbringing, guilt casts a shadow over my elation. Mom has left a lot of her own mother’s prudishness behind, but her biggest conservative holdover is her preference that sex not happen casually. She knows I’m not a virgin, but I’m also sure she wouldn’t love to know I was having sex with Andrew in his parents’ cabin. I don’t regret it, but I don’t want to flaunt it, either.

Andrew sees the shadow fall over my thoughts; his hand slides back down to my waist.

“What’s wrong?”

It’s also more than just the reality that I had sex with Andrew so quickly—which, frankly, is shocking enough. But in the past several hours, I’ve let myself forget that I’m actually on a wild, cosmic trip, that I might be living on a timer. I’ve been in this exact day and hour before and I don’t know what might propel me backward all over again. Do I feel more firmly rooted here than I did last time, when the branch fell on my head? Maybe? I made it through day three without returning to the plane, but I also didn’t make any new declarations or have any heavy realizations yesterday. I was just . . . happy.

And being happy was the only thing I asked for.

So what happens when I’m not happy? What happens when this vacation is over, and Andrew heads back to Denver, and I return to Berkeley, and I’m devastated to be away from him, and jobless and broke? What if I can’t keep up this trajectory? Will I fail this particular test? Will I find myself back at the beginning of the game, tasked with reliving all these moments again and finding a way to keep the balloon in the air eternally?

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, and hope I wasn’t quiet too long. “Just processing it all.”

“Oh, shit.” His face falls. “We’re moving too fast.” He runs a hand down his face. “We should have taken it slower last night. It was so good, though, and I was just—”

“It wasn’t only you. It was fast,” I admit, and his admission that it was good makes me hot all over again. “But it wasn’t too fast. I’d wanted to do that with you since I knew what sex was.”

A wicked smile pulls up one half of his mouth.

Sobering, I add, “I mean, it’s only too fast if . . .” I swallow. “If it’s just an over-the-holidays thing.”

He pulls back and looks genuinely hurt. “Is that a serious concern?”

“I don’t actually know, because you’re more private than Theo is about these things. But I’m definitely not like that.”

He toys with the strap of my tank top. “I would never do that with you, Mae. That’s not what this is.”

“This is complicated by a lot of things, but let’s start with the fact that our parents are best friends and we live hundreds of miles apart.” I chew my lip. “Sorry. I don’t mean to get all intense.”

“Are you kidding?” He bends at the knee so we’re eye to eye. “The only way to do this is to be open about it. Even if you feel like we didn’t move too fast last night, we definitely went from zero to sixty. Talk to me.”

I guess there’s no point delaying this conversation. “I know you want to tell everyone about us, but are you sure about that?” I slide my hand under the hem of his T-shirt, seeking warmth. He swallows a groan, and distracts me momentarily with a deep, searching kiss that makes an ache drop from my pounding heart into my navel. “I don’t want everyone to get overly invested before we even know what this is.”

From Andrew’s nod, I know I don’t have to explain myself. I grew up with a prime example of a relationship that didn’t work. Even the simplest of breakups can get messy, and I don’t want anyone here to feel forced to choose sides if this doesn’t work out perfectly right out of the gate.

Resting his lips just at the corner of my mouth, he says, “Then why don’t we just keep following this for a bit before we say anything to anyone? I’m so happy right now I feel hammered. But I’ll try to play it cool.”

The problem is, I don’t know how to do that, either. I’ve essentially handed my heart over to the person who’s had it on reserve for half my life, and I’m terrified that he doesn’t realize what he’s holding.

Footsteps come to a stop just a few feet away from where we’re hiding in the curtains, and Andrew goes still, eyes wide. My lungs turn to concrete.

“Hello, whoever is there,” Andrew says, wincing. “Was just, uh, checking this window lock.” As he reaches past me to rattle the lock, we stare wide-eyed at each other, probably both praying that it’s Kennedy or Zachary and we can pretend to be playing Sardines again.

But then a throat clears, and I have to admit neither of the twins would clear their throat and sound like a grown man.

“I know a good locksmith.”

Benny.

Andrew throws back the curtain, blowing out an enormous breath. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Benny laughs. “Should I even ask? What were you two doing in the curtain?”

I put a hopeful shine on my words: “Fixing locks?”

But Benny’s not having it. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Making out,” Andrew says with a shrug. “But you are sworn to secrecy.”

“I feel like I’m carrying a lot of secrets lately.” Benny eyes me sideways.

Andrew notices and looks back and forth between the two of us. “What’s going on?”

I shrug like, Benny said it, not me.

“Mae’s going through some stuff.”

“Good or bad?” Andrew asks, turning to me, immediately concerned that I’m hiding something from him.

“Oh . . . I’d wager good,” Benny says, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at me.

Over Andrew’s shoulder, I give Benny the thumbs-up. Behind Andrew’s back, Benny does a dorky little dance of celebration. He stops abruptly when Andrew turns back to him. “But I was coming to warn you guys that Miles is looking for Mae.”

“And you knew to find us in the curtains?” I ask him.

Benny turns to leave and grins at us over his shoulder. “It was pretty easy to follow the giggles.”

• • •

I find my brother on the porch, sitting on the swing, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears my footsteps and drops it into his jacket pocket, tucking his hands between his knees. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

It’s freezing out here, and fresh out of the shower, I feel like I’ve just stepped into a walk-in freezer. Teeth chattering, I cup one hand around my warm mug of coffee and use the other to zip my parka up to my chin.

“Benny said you were looking for me.”

Miles pauses, blushing, and in an instant I know what this is about. Why didn’t I see this coming?

I sit down next to him on the swing, bumping his shoulder with mine. “What’s up?”

“I was right last night, wasn’t I?” he asks, and then looks at me. My brother got our mother’s enormous eyes and he knows how to use them. He can make them round with innocence or narrow them in mischief. Right now, he winces a little, looking mortified to be asking me this but also, I know, hoping I won’t lie to him.

“Right about what?” I ask, wanting to be sure.

“That you and Andrew are hooking up.”

“Yes,” I say simply.

“Does Theo know?”

A defensive wave sweeps briefly over me. “No. And please don’t tell him. If we decide this is going anywhere, we’ll tell everyone ourselves.”

Miles nods at this and turns his eyes out to the snow-covered front yard. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

“Not really.”

“Because you know Mom will have no chill about this.”

The thing about moving home is that I went from independent adult back into kid mode. Mom still does most of the cooking because she loves it. She does most of my laundry because she uses the activity to unwind while she’s thinking about how to fix one of her paintings. Of course, I love these perks but they mean I can’t complain that she also never thinks twice before giving me her two cents on every aspect of my life.

“Trust me,” I say, “that is reason number one why I’m not saying anything yet.”

Miles takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think Theo is in love with you.”

“What? No, he isn’t,” I say.

“How do you know?”

I laugh dryly. “Theo is used to everyone wanting him. I don’t. He’s the kind of guy who wants what he can’t have.”

I watch Miles absorb this information, and then he seems to understand, nodding slowly. “Okay. I just—I don’t want him to be upset.”

Kissing my brother’s temple, I tell him, “You’re a good boy.”

He pretends to be grossed out by this, pushing me away, but turns back before leaving. “Hang out with him today.”

“Why?”

“Because I think he misses you.”