In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter five

Ilag behind my family from the Jetway to baggage claim. It earns me more than one impatient look, but everything seems to grab my attention. A crying baby at the adjacent gate. A middle-aged businessman speaking too loudly on his phone. A couple bickering in line for coffee. A young boy wrestling to get out of his heavy blue coat.

I can’t shake the feeling of déjà vu, like I’ve been here before. Not just here in the airport, but here—in this exact same moment. At the base of the escalator to baggage claim, a man drops his soda in front of me, and I stop just in time, almost like I knew it was going to happen. A family with a WELCOME HOME banner passes by, and I turn to watch them for several paces.

“I swear I’ve seen that before,” I say to Miles. “The family back there with the sign?”

His attention moves past me briefly and disinterestedly back ahead. “This is Utah. Every family down here has a ‘Welcome Home’ sign. Missionaries, remember?”

“Right,” I say to his retreating form. Right.

Because I’ve been so slow on our trek from the arrival gate to baggage claim, our suitcases are the only ones left, patiently circling around and around the carousel. Dad collects them, stacking them onto a cart while Mom cups my face.

Her dark hair is curled into waves and pulled back on one side. Her eyes are tight with worry. “What’s with you, honey?”

“I don’t know.”

“You hungry?” She searches my eyes. “Need an Advil?”

I don’t know what to tell her. I’m not hungry. I’m not anything. I half feel like I’m floating through the terminal, staring at things I swear are already memories inside my head.

• • •

My stomach drops when I see everyone already on the porch at the cabin, waving us down the driveway. I’m sure I saw this same view only six days ago, on December 20. I remember being the last to arrive. Flight schedules had been tricky, so Kyle, Aaron, and their twins came in on Friday night. Theo and Andrew, I remember, drove up earlier than usual, too.

Our tires come to a crunching stop beside Theo’s giant orange truck, and we clamber out of the same Toyota RAV4 that was most certainly totaled in the Car Crash That Didn’t Happen. We are immediately engulfed by hugs from all sides. Kyle and Aaron make a sandwich out of me. Their twins, Kennedy and Zachary, gently wind themselves around my legs. Lisa finds a window of space and wiggles in close. In the distance, Benny waits patiently for his hug, and I send him a nonverbal cry for help.

My brain can’t seem to process what’s going on. Have I lost a year somehow? Honestly, what are the odds that I’m actually dead? My version of heaven would be at the cabin, so how would I know? If I was in a coma, would I feel the frigid winter air on my bare face?

I peek past Lisa into the trees, searching for a hidden camera crew. Surprise! they’ll shout in unison. Everyone will laugh at the elaborate prank. We totally had you fooled, didn’t we, Mae?

All this mental fracas means that I’ve barely considered what it will be like to see Theo before I’m lifted off my feet in a bear hug. I experience this like I’m watching from a few paces away.

“Smile!” Bright light momentarily blinds me as Lisa snaps a picture. “Oh shoot,” she mutters, frowning down at the image on the tiny screen. I’m sure only half of my face ended up in the photo, but she seems to think it’s good enough because she tucks her phone back in her pocket.

When Theo puts me down, his grin slowly straightens. Did the mudroom make-out even happen? And what is my expression doing right now? I want to reach up and feel my face just to know.

“What’s up, weirdo?” he says, laughing. “You look like you forgot my name.”

Finally, a small smile breaks free. “Ha. Hi, Theo.”

“She’s probably in shock about your hair.” My attention is pulled over Theo’s shoulder to where Andrew stands, waiting patiently for his own hug. Oh yes. This is definitely my version of heaven.

But then Andrew’s words sink in, and I realize everyone else is seeing Theo’s haircut for the first time. I saw it nearly a week ago.

“Yeah, wow,” I stammer, “look at you. When did you cut it?”

Absently, I pull Andrew into my arms, squeezing. My head is spinning so hard that at first I don’t register the bliss of having his body pressed against mine. Andrew is all long limbs and hard, sinewy muscle. His torso is a flat, firm plane, but it molds to me as he squeezes closer, giving me a hit of eucalyptus and laundry soap.

“Hey.” He laughs quietly into my hair. “You okay?”

I shake my head, holding on longer than is strictly necessary for a greeting, but he doesn’t seem to fight it, and I can’t locate the correct brain-to-muscle command to loosen my grip.

I need this warm, physical anchor.

Slowly, my chest relaxes, my pulse steadies, and I release him, narrowing my eyes in surprise when he steps back and I see splotches of pink on his cheeks.

“Last week.” Theo runs a palm over the top of his head, grinning his wide, big-toothed smile.

“Last week what?” I drag my gaze away from Andrew’s blush.

“My hair,” Theo says, laughing at me. “I cut it last week. You like?”

And there’s zero trace of weirdness in his voice. Zero awareness in his expression that we, you know, had our tongues down each other’s throats. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great.” I am doing a terrible job being convincing here. “Totally great.”

Theo frowns. He runs on praise.

I glance up at Benny, who is drawing something with Zachary in the snow with a branch. My voice wobbles: “Hey, Benny Boo.”

He grins, jogging over to me and sweeping me up in his arms. “There’s my Noodle.”

Yes. Benny. This is who I need. I grip him like he’s a deeply rooted vine and I am dangling over a cliff, whispering urgently into his ear, “I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” His hair brushes my cheek, and it’s soft and smells like the herby hippie shampoo he’s used my entire life.

“Yeah, now.”

Benny puts me down and disorientation spins at the edges of my vision, making me dizzy. I don’t realize I’m leaning to the side until he catches me. “Hey, hey. You all right?”

Mom rushes over, pressing a palm to my forehead. “You’re not hot.” She gently touches beneath my jaw, searching for swollen glands. “Have you had any water today?”

Lisa moves closer and they share a look of concern. “She’s lost all her color.”

My brother glances up from his phone. “She was being weird on the plane, too.”

“She had a nightmare on the plane,” Dad corrects, admonishing. “Let’s get her inside.” He comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist.

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not standing right here?”

As we make our way up the broad front steps, I look back over my shoulder at Andrew. Our eyes snag and he gives me a half-playful, half-worried grin. He’s wearing that terrible silver sparkly sweater he loves so much, the one he wears on the first day of the holidays every year.

The one Miso ruined only a couple of days ago.

Just as I have the thought, Miso races forward. In a flash of déjà vu, I shout, “Watch out, Kennedy!” But I’m too late: the dog barrels between her feet, knocking her over the threshold and into the entryway. Kennedy bursts into tears.

I stare numbly down, watching Aaron and Kyle check her chin, her elbow. This happened before. My ears ring. Just this morning, I stared at Kennedy at the kitchen table with a well-worn Care Bears Band-Aid covering her cut knee.

“Her knee.” I am freaking the hell out right now. “She scraped her . . .”

Kyle rolls one pant leg up and then glances over his shoulder at me, impressed. The blood hadn’t soaked through the fabric yet, but the cut erupts with bright red drops. “How’d you even know that?”

The laugh that rolls out of me is bordering on hysterical. “I have no idea!”

We walk into the house. Kyle takes Kennedy to the bathroom to clean her up, and I’m led to a seat at the kitchen table.

“Get her some water,” Lisa whispers to Andrew, who brings me a glass and sets it down like the table might shatter. Staring down, I notice he put extra ice in it, just like I would’ve if I’d done it myself.

I lift it, hand shaking, ice tinkling, and take a sip. “Okay, you guys, stop staring at me.”

No one moves. Mom comes closer and starts massaging my free hand.

“Seriously, you’re freaking me out.” When everyone tries to find something else to do in the small kitchen, I catch Benny’s eye, and then widen my own: We need to talk.

Like a heat-seeking missile, my attention shifts to Andrew when he crosses the room and sneaks chocolate from the Advent calendar. He looks over at me just as he pops a piece into his mouth and offers a faux-guilty shrug. Nearby, Dad leans against the counter, watching me with Worried Parent eyes until his gaze is caught by the plate full of beautiful cookie bars beside him.

My stomach drops. He’s going to get one, and he’s going to bite it, and—

A sickening crack echoes through the room.

“Oh my God,” he says, sticking a finger in his mouth. “I cracked my molar.”

OH MY GOD.

Lisa goes ashen. “Dan! No. Oh no. Was it—?”

Everyone rushes to reassure her that Of course it wasn’t the cookie that broke his tooth and Oh, they’re a little hard, but they’re delicious. Andrew grabs another piece of chocolate. And I use the commotion to sneak out of the kitchen to catch a giant gulp of fresh air outside.