In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren
epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Oi,” Benny calls from the porch. “I could spot you a mile away.”
I don’t have to ask which of us he’s talking to. It definitely isn’t me, in a muted heather-gray tank top and faded cutoffs.
“Oh, yeah?” Andrew runs his hands down his obnoxious sweater. “Are you saying I wear it well?”
“You’re not sweltering?” Benny asks, and it’s so hot out, I swear I can see his voice cut through the wavy air.
Andrew shakes his head. “Perfectly comfortable.”
I glance at my boyfriend and witness the fine droplets of sweat pebbling on his brow in the ninety-degree heat. He’s still an adorable liar. I wouldn’t even hold his hand on our walk down the driveway, it’s too clammy. We all know he’ll sacrifice great personal comfort to make a point, and he’s decided his “thing” at the cabin is festive sweaters. Any holiday is worthy. His cornflower-blue, cherry-red, and pristine-white number is a loving ode to our founding fathers, I guess. I give him until lunch before he rips it off.
“Happy Fourth!” he calls out.
“Happy Fourth. Get up here.” Benny waves us on.
Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I jog toward the front steps and my favorite uncle. Our car is down on the main road, parked out of the way of the construction vehicles currently cluttering the driveway to the cabin—or The Hollow, as Benny has named it. I can already see the work that’s been put in; it’s astounding. The porch is new. The entire cabin has been repainted; it’s the same shade of brown with green shutters, but it’s impressive what a power wash and fresh coat of paint can do to a place. All of the windows have been replaced, the eaves rebuilt. New roof, new landscaping, and a screened-in side porch are underway on the western side of the house, facing the mountain. I’m dying to see what it looks like inside.
Benny’s hug engulfs me, and I surprise myself by immediately tearing up. He smells like his regular herby shampoo, but he also smells like pine and aspen, like soil and wood varnish. His rumbling laugh vibrates through me and the feeling of being back here with Andrew, for the first time since the holidays, is a lot like climbing into a bubble bath overlooking the ocean at sunset. It is heaven.
Benny pulls back, holding me at arm’s length to inspect me. “Looking good, Noodle.”
I’m sure he’s right—happiness does put a glow in our complexion and a bounce in our step—but Benny’s one to talk. He’s tanned, and his hair is sun-bleached and dusty from what I can only assume is constant work on this house. His smile crinkles in a new way at the corners of his eyes, and I can see in an instant that he isn’t just content here, he’s out-of-his-mind happy.
Andrew gets his hug next, a back-slapping man-clasp, and when my eyes get their fill of the new porch, and their small talk and greetings make me impatient, bouncing on my feet, Benny finally leads us inside.
I am awestruck. The banister is the same as the one we grew up with, but refurbished, gleaming honeyed brown in the afternoon sun streaming in the front door. The stairs have been refinished, as have all of the floors downstairs. Benny has kept much of the old furniture, but polished, treated, and cleaned it all so that it is both bright and cozy inside. With the fresh coat of indoor paint, the space seems so much lighter.
“I can’t believe you’ve done all this in six months,” Andrew says, turning in a slow circle. “It hasn’t looked this good since . . . well, probably before I was born, actually.”
“Just wait.” Benny leads us to the kitchen, where new flooring shines bright in the afternoon sunshine and stainless steel appliances have replaced all of the originals. The fridge is a behemoth with so much technology on the doors I suspect it could do Miles’s calculus homework. Mom, Aaron, and Kyle are going to start their own cooking show in here when they see it. A new wood-slab kitchen table sits in the middle of the broad space, with seating for sixteen.
Benny has turned the never-used dining room into a sitting room with impressive built-in bookshelves stuffed with books. The basement has been finished and fresh drywall has segmented it into four separate rooms: a broad family room at the bottom of the stairs, where Benny tells us he’ll put a pool table, Ping-Pong table, and pinball machine, and three bedrooms opening off the main room, with a shared bathroom toward the back of the house.
“No more bunk beds,” Andrew says with glee.
“Donated them to a family down the road, that stone house on Mountain Crest.” Benny reaches for a stray screwdriver on the shelf. “Both of their daughters are having twins. How wild is that?”
Andrew catches my wide-eyed gaze; his is sparkling. He knows, as I do, exactly which house Benny is talking about. He knows I walked down along that road and to that house while he was out getting candy to profess his love for me in a closet. The universe sure works in mysterious ways.
Benny scans the room, nodding to himself. “Now we’ve got plenty of room for everyone, and some to grow.”
The bedrooms upstairs are largely the same, except for the attic, which is being renovated into Benny’s master bedroom. It isn’t done—it’s still a cluttered construction zone— but I can see the bones of it in the mess. The stained-glass window is still there. The sharply sloping ceilings won’t change. In fact, it looks much like it always has, just better.
A voice calls for Benny from downstairs, leaving Andrew and me to wander alone. The furniture in his old room is all here, and eucalyptus lingers in the bedding, the walls, the clothing in the dresser. I run a finger along the nightstand just as a pair of arms wraps around my waist from behind, pulling me—giggling—into the closet. The door seals behind us, and Andrew turns into Mr. Grabby Hands, half tickling, half groping.
“I truly believe you have some sort of closet kink.”
He hums into my neck. “To think of all the years we wasted not doing this.”
I squeal, playfully batting him away, and he reaches for me, pulling me into a hug.
“Come here,” Mandrew says, and buries his face in my neck. He groans his you feel good groan, asking, “How does it feel to be back?”
“Amazing.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, digging my fingers into his hair. “And weird. But good weird.”
“Christopher Walken weird.”
“Exactly.” I pull back, kissing his chin. “Where do you want to sleep this weekend?”
“Probably in here,” he guesses, shrugging. “The beds downstairs are all singles, and the Boathouse will be too hot.”
Honestly, I’m not sure how it’ll feel to go out there. Nostalgic, of course, but maybe also bittersweet? I know Benny has big plans for it, but as far as I know, work on it hasn’t started yet. I’d be fine sleeping out there the way it was, for old times’ sake, but it’s un-air-conditioned. Andrew’s right, in the peak of summer it’s unlikely to be very comfortable.
“Have you ever had a girl sleep with you in here?”
“Once,” Andrew says, stepping back and cupping my face, smooshing my cheeks. “Liz.” One of Andrew’s longer-term girlfriends from several years ago. We met her and her new husband for drinks a couple of months back and she was a riot. “But we didn’t fool around.”
I laugh at this nonsense. I can’t imagine being in a bed with Andrew Hollis and not getting him naked. “You liar.”
“No, I’m being serious,” he says. “Mom and Dad were, like, five feet away. I was way too self-conscious to get the job done.”
“Well, your parents won’t be here this time,” I remind him. “And Benny’s things were in one of the finished rooms downstairs so . . . game on.”
Andrew growls, pressing his face to my neck again.
This weekend is just us and Benny; everyone else had conflicts. Mom and Dad are getting Miles moved into UCLA, where he’s already started soccer practice. Kyle has chorus-line rehearsals for what everyone is hoping will be the new Broadway sensation. Theo is in the midst of building his own house near Ogden Canyon, an hour and a half away, and Ricky and Lisa decided to take a summer cruise from Seattle to Alaska. But Andrew and I could easily make the drive from our place in Denver. We both have the long weekend off and have been dying to see what Benny’s done with the place.
There’s a soft knock, and Andrew and I share a we’re busted grimace before he opens the door, letting in a bright slice of light and a view of Benny’s amused face.
Benny laughs. “I figured you two would be in here.”
“Because, Bentley,” I whisper, “this closet is our sacred space.”
“I promise not to change it.” He lifts his chin. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
We follow him downstairs, and I try to puzzle out what’s next. I already feel overwhelmed with the perfect blend of new and old that he’s managed. What haven’t we seen? The backyard? A cool feature of the new front porch? Andrew shrugs when I give him a questioning look, wiping his palms on the front of his thighs. He looks flushed, and I wonder if there’s a part of him that struggles to see how much this house has changed. For the better, but still.
We turn at the bottom of the stairs, heading down the hall to the kitchen, through the mudroom, and out the back door.
The backyard hasn’t changed, but I pull up short anyway. Andrew keeps walking, but I can’t follow him, can’t make my feet work because the structure I’m seeing only barely resembles the Boathouse that I grew up with. What’s in front of me is a beautiful, rustic retreat. It is a little log cabin, with a giant window still facing the mountain. It has a chimney, it has steps, it has a tiny porch with two bright yellow Adirondack chairs and a small table.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Andrew turns back and reaches for my hand, laughing at me with love in his smile, wiping my face with his free hand. “Come on.”
He’s shaking.
“Did you know?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer, only tugs me forward and inside. It’s still one room—well, except for the new bathroom—but there’s a four-poster bed in the back corner, a love seat and comfy chair toward the front, framed around a coffee table atop a gorgeous rug. The fireplace is obviously not in use, but the new A/C unit whirs valiantly, keeping the air inside breezy and comfortable.
My eye is drawn to all of the framed photos decorating the walls; there are at least twenty of them, some small, others at least eight-by-ten, and we’re all together in various combinations: Me and Dad on a sled. Andrew, Ricky, Theo, and Lisa on the porch of the main cabin. Benny and Mom holding cocktails and toasting the photographer. Miles and the twins playing checkers on the floor in the living room. Kyle holding five-year-old me upside down near a snowman. Aaron and Mom wearing aprons and cooking. Benny with teenage me, Theo, and Andrew in the summer, hiking Iron Canyon Trail.
“These are unreal.” I turn to see how Andrew is absorbing all of this, but he’s not standing to my right anymore, he’s—
He’s kneeling.
Do I have the slowest brain in all of the universe? Maybe. But it’s a full five seconds or so before I can put letters together into a word, and the word is only: “Oh.”
“Maisie,” he says, and opens his palm to reveal a gold ring with a perfect oval sapphire. He stares at me for several silent seconds, overcome.
“We’ve had our share of adventure these past six months,” he continues, voice hoarse. “Your move to Denver, your new job, our new apartment. There’s nothing I love more than making dinner with you, talking about our day, dreaming up what we’re going to do next.” He swallows, eyes focused on my face. “I haven’t spent a night without you since we were here last. I don’t know how we managed that, except that we’ve made this relationship our priority. You are my priority, Mae. I am so in love with you. It feels impossible to imagine belonging to anyone else. Please,” he says, quieter now, “will you marry me?”
• • •
Only a fool would do anything other than shout YES and— once it’s been confirmed that Benny has left us to ourselves out here—pounce on this man. Andrew spends approximately ten seconds half-heartedly trying to convince me that we should go tell Benny the good news before he gives up and lets me push him toward the bed and rip his horrible sweater from his body.
I’ll never get tired of the smooth heat of his torso, the way his hands roam hungrily over me like he wants to touch everything at once, the way he digs his fingers into my hair when I kiss down his body. His abdomen tenses beneath my hand, hips arching, and then pulls me up and under him, taking his time, pressing his sharp exhales and playfully dirty words into my ear.
We’ve gotten good at this—we practice diligently—but I’m still surprised at the depth of emotion that rocks me whenever I sense that he’s close, when I feel him start to grow tense and a little wild. He teases me about the way I watch him, but I think he secretly loves it because I swear watching his eyes drift closed right at the second he falls is the hottest thing that I’ve ever witnessed.
I don’t let him get up, not yet. I hold my arm out in front of us and we stare up at the ring on my finger, laughing at how foreign the words husband and wife sound in our voices.
Where are we going to do it? I wonder. Andrew looks at me like I’m thick. Here, of course.
We populate the small wedding party with our chosen family. We decide Tahiti is a good honeymoon spot. Dog before kids.
Sweet kisses turn slow, and then deeper, and then I’m over him and he’s watching with adoring focus, playing with the ends of my hair, skipping fingertips over my curves, guiding my hips until he’s sweaty and urgent beneath me.
I collapse on the bed beside him. The sheets are soft, smooth cotton, cool against my back, and Andrew coughs out a sharp, satisfied laugh. “How do you expect me to walk after that?”
“I hope Benny meant for us to sleep out here,” I say, slowly catching my breath.
• • •
But we’ll need water and food, and we’ve still got several hours before sleep.
He looks at me and laughs. “Do you want to pull a brush through your hair?”
A glance in the bathroom mirror tells me my hair is a wild tangle, my lips are swollen and kiss-bruised. My smile is love-drunk and lopsided. I do the best I can with my fingers to fix the hair situation before giving up.
“My stuff is in the car,” I say. “Benny doesn’t care what my hair looks like.”
It’s only when we walk into the kitchen to the cacophonous “SURPRISE!” yelled by seven excited voices that I get why Andrew wanted us to go inside and tell Benny, why he suggested I brush my hair, and why he’s beet red and doubled over in laughter now. Ricky and Lisa are not on a cruise. Theo is not down in Ogden working on his new house, and although Kyle is still in Manhattan, Aaron and the twins are not. I’m not sure when they got here, or how long they’ve been waiting for us to come back inside so they can congratulate us on our engagement.
“Were you wrestling?” Zachary asks in a lisp, now missing his two front teeth, and Aaron struggles valiantly to not burst out laughing.
“Yes,” Andrew answers earnestly. “And look! Mae won a ring.”
I am engulfed by hugs from my future in-laws(!) and Aaron and the twins. Benny takes the opportunity to laugh at the telling disaster of my hair before pulling me in for a tight squeeze. Although this is the best surprise ever, it feels oddly quiet without my parents and Miles.
Slipping my phone from where I left it on the kitchen counter, I take a picture of my left hand, texting it to my mom:
I stare at the phone, waiting for the indication that she’s read the text, but my message sends slowly, the bar inching across the top.
“I hear you’re loving your new gig,” Aaron says, pulling my attention up.
“I am!” I tell him, grinning. I am now the lead graphic designer for Sled Dog Brewing, an up-and-coming microbrewery only a half mile from Red Rocks and the hottest biergarten in town. I have a team of two who run the website and social media, and I design all of the gear—T-shirts, pint glasses, hats, beanies, and all kinds of fun merchandise. The owner has been so impressed with my work he’s asked me to redesign all of their labels, which means my artwork may someday be in refrigerated cases all over the country. So far, Sled Dog has been the most fun and rewarding job I’ve ever had.
“I got a bottle of that imperial stout,” he says.
“How’d you manage that?” The imperial stout just won an international gold medal; it’s nearly impossible to find it locally, let alone in New York.
“One of the dads at school is a distributor. He hooked me up.”
“I love you.” Stretching, I kiss Aaron’s cheek. Even across the country in Manhattan, he’s staying connected to what we’re doing out west. I follow the kiss with a hand ruffling his newly natural salt-and-pepper hair. “And I love this, too.”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me. “Shortest midlife crisis on record.”
“Hopefully Lisa got some documentation of the dye job.”
“Or at least half of the dye job,” he jokes.
Lisa protests, laughing, “Hey.”
I don’t even notice Andrew had slipped outside to the car and come back in with my bag until he hands it to me. “I hate to ruin the surprise, but you might want this.”
“The surprise?”
He winces. “Your parents’ flight was delayed. They’re almost here.”
“Really?” I squeal, and quickly pull my brush out, tying my hair into a bun on top of my head.
Just in time, because my mom is already singing my name before she’s even reached the porch. “Mae! Where’s my girl?”
Behind her, Dad is carrying his bag and hers, and grinning ear to ear.
Andrew comes up behind me as Mom jogs up the steps, and she throws her arms around both of us. “I knew it!” she sings. “I knew, I knew, I knew!”
“How long have you known he was going to do this?” I ask her.
“Well, let’s see.” She looks to Andrew, calculating back, and Dad comes to give us each a hug. “Maybe two months?”
“We got the tickets in April . . .” Dad says. “So, longer than that.”
“I asked your permission in February,” Andrew says, laughing. “On our two-month anniversary.”
Lisa comes out, and she and my mom turn high-pitched and animated with their shared happiness. Ricky, Dad, and Aaron give each other a here we go look and head inside, presumably to find beer in Benny’s fancy new fridge. Benny greets my parents before heading down the steps with Kennedy, who’s holding a book about leaves. Theo wrestles with Zachary in the living room. I miss Kyle, and I miss my brother, but I bet there’s a tiny electric zap in their mood, even in the middle of their busy lives.
I catch a small tidbit of what Mom is saying: “. . . here, but before or after Christmas?” and assume that our wedding is being planned without us, that the pressure for grandchildren will start almost immediately, and that we’ll have our hands full with busybodies for the rest of our days. All of that will have to be discussed, but after the moment we exchange our vows—whenever that is—luckily, we won’t have to negotiate how to blend our families. They were blended long before we came along.
When we step out of the sun and back into the house, my eye is caught by a framed picture on the wall in the new sitting room. From far away it’s hard to tell what it is, but up close, I realize it’s an aerial photograph. Andrew puts his arm around me and then leans in, studying the photo. Finally, he reaches forward, putting the tip of his finger right in the middle. “There we are.”
“What?”
He moves his finger to the side, and I see what he’s showing me. It’s the cabin, in the center of a cluster of other buildings, in the midst of a busy swirl of streets, in an even busier stretch of mountains. Beyond that, the world stretches out in both directions, and every single point on Earth’s surface is the center of someone’s universe, but this picture gets it right.
The center of my world is right where I’m standing.
