In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren

chapter six

Outside, I can breathe.

Inhale, exhale.

Deep inhale, slow exhale.

It wasn’t a dream.

I traveled through time, backward six days.

I’ve seen things like this in books and movies: Someone has an accident and comes out of it with superpowers. Flight, superstrength, super-vision.

Man, I wish I’d paid attention to lotto numbers last week.

The thought makes me laugh out loud, and my breath puffs in the cold air. Mae, you are losing it.

Staring at the tree line and the glittering snow is nature’s perfect shock absorber. It really is gorgeous up here, in the outskirts of Park City at Christmastime. I should pull out my notebook and sketch it; maybe that would calm these frazzled nerves of mine.

The neighbors’ house is more hidden by foliage than it was when I was younger, and gives the Hollis cabin a lovely feel of wintry isolation. A split rail fence runs down both sides of the property line, and the thicket of pines that were once as tall as Dad now tower over the driveway. Theo dared me to pee in there once, then got so mad when I managed to do it—standing up, I might add—that he stole my pants and ran into the house. That same winter, Andrew and I built an igloo in the side yard and swore we were going to sleep inside, but only made it ten minutes before giving up.

The view helps slow my pulse and clear the fog of my brain until I can take a final deep breath, count to ten, and then exhale in a long, warm puff of fog.

“What the actual fuck,” I whisper to myself, and then burst out laughing again.

“I was just going to say the same thing.”

I startle so violently that when my left arm swings to the side, I manage to launch Andrew’s mug of hot toddy out of his hand, over the side of the porch. We both track it as it arcs and lands in a snowbank; the warm liquid melts the fluffy powder in a puff of steam, causing the white unicorn mug I made him when I was fifteen—his go-to mug at the cabin—to sink out of sight. Little does he know I painted the words Mae + Andrew on the bottom of the mug in white before coating the entire bottom with a bubblegum pink.

“Wow. Okay.” He turns around, leaning back against the porch railing to look at me. “I was coming out here to ask why you were acting so weird, but I see I need to keep things present tense.”

I have so many questions about what the hell is going on that my thought stream has just turned into static white noise.

“You’re staring at me like you don’t know where you are.” Andrew takes a step forward. “I was going to give you some shit, but I’m genuinely worried that you’re suffering some sort of head injury and not telling us.”

“I’m just a little foggy today.”

He grins, and his matching set of dimples make a delightful entrance. Pressing his steepled fingers to his chest, he says, “I’m Andrew Polley Hollis, which was the worst combination of middle and last names for a seventh grader. You call me ‘Mandrew.’ I fiddle with sound equipment at Red Rocks for a living. My little brother is kind of an asshole. I am the one man alive who likes neither scotch nor beer. You and I used to play vampires when we were kids and didn’t realize the marks we were leaving on each other’s necks were hickeys.” He gestures to his body. “Six two. About one eighty. Aries. This”—he points to his head of curls—“is natural, and a constant mess.”

“The hair has a mind of its own?” I grin. Are we flirting? This feels like flirting.

Shut up, brain.

“Inside you’ll find your father, Daniel Jones, obstetrician, owner of a newly broken tooth. He is notoriously uptight about his hands, and tells a lot of very disturbing stories about childbirth. Your mother, the one who keeps feeling your forehead, is Elise—you look a lot like her, I might add. She is a worrier, but actually pretty funny, and someday her paintings are going to sell for more than this place is worth, mark my words.”

I nod, impressed alongside him that Mom’s career is flourishing. He waits for me to say something, but I gesture for him to continue because Andrew’s voice is hypnotic. It has a honeyed depth with just the barest scratch around the edges. Honestly, I’d gladly listen to him read me the dictionary.

“My parents, Ricky and Lisa, are also inside.” He grins wolfishly at me. “Dad is the guy taking your father to the dentist. The most important thing to remember is that none of us should eat anything Mom bakes. My mom, Scandinavian in heritage and temperament, is a brilliant writer. But unlike Elise, who is a cooking goddess, Lisa is not, as we say, skilled in the kitchen.”

I grin. “Or with a camera.”

Andrew laughs at this. “Kyle and Aaron Amir-Liang are the two perfectly groomed gentlemen with the genius five-year-olds. I’m not exactly sure what’s happening with Aaron’s hair this year—it seems to have disappeared and been replaced by a permanent black space above his head.” He pauses, lowering his voice. “And was he wearing leggings?”

A bursting laugh escapes me. “I think he was. I guess we can be glad he’s moved out of the designer sweatpants phase? That was . . . a lot of information about Uncle Aaron that teenage Mae did not need.”

Andrew snaps. “It’s a good sign you remember that, though. Now, I don’t need to tell you that Kyle is an award-winning Broadway performer and used to be a backup dancer for Janet Jackson, because he’ll undoubtedly mention it himself sometime tonight.”

I laugh again, biting my lip. I’m sure I’m exhibiting the wild-eyed bliss of a contestant on a game show who’s just won a million dollars. My memory never gets Andrew right. My brain doesn’t know how to make that green of his eyes, doesn’t believe cheekbones can be so sculpted, dimples so deep and playful. Andrew, in the flesh, is always such a shock to the system.

“Last year Zachary learned about death when his goldfish kicked the bucket. He walked around like a tiny grim reaper telling us we’re all going to die someday. Kennedy knows the capital of every state or country in the world,” he says confidentially. “She says some of the smartest things to ever come out of this group, and we don’t let anyone give that little girl any crap. She’s going to be the first president on the spectrum, mark my words. But hopefully not the first woman.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Let’s see . . . your brother, Miles, though . . .” He winces playfully. “He’s smart, but I’m not sure he’s looked up from his phone in the past two years. If you want to have a conversation with him, you might want to consider strapping his phone to your forehead.” Leaning in, Andrew searches my eyes, and my heart drops through the porch. “Does any of this ring a bell?”

I reach to smack him. “Stop it. I really am fine. I’m sure it’s just the altitude messing with me.”

Andrew looks like he hadn’t considered this, and to be fair I hadn’t, either, before the words came out, so I mentally high-five the handful of remaining neurons that appear to be doing their job up there. Footsteps rumble behind us, and Benny’s shaggy head pokes out onto the porch. He steps out to join us, shivering in only a thin bike shop T-shirt.

“Hey, Noodle,” he says, brows up expectantly. “Sorry to interrupt. Can I grab you for a second?”

• • •

I guess I can’t fault Benny for pulling me aside when I’ve given him at least ten pleading SOS looks since our arrival. We head inside, and I melt in pleasure at the heat of the entryway relative to the brilliant chill of the winter twilight. With the voices of everyone filtering down the hall, and Andrew’s proximity fading, reality descends: somehow, I think I’m here again.

My brain screams, This isn’t normal!

Intent on getting us as far away from everyone else as I can, I head for the stairs leading to the upper floor of the house. Turning to Benny, I put my index finger over my lips, urging him to be quiet as we tiptoe upstairs. In silence, we round the banister, shuffle down the hall, and climb the steep, narrow steps to his attic room. When I was little, I was afraid to come up here alone. The stairs creaked, and the landing was dark. But Benny explained that if the stairs leading up to the attic were as pretty as the rest of the house, everyone would find the treasures hidden up there.

With my heart pounding out a thunderstorm in my throat, I jerk him inside and close the door.

His turquoise bracelets rattle together when he comes to a stumbling stop, brows raised. “You all right?” he asks, genuine concern making his accent bleed the words together.

For the second time today—How long is today?—I wonder what my face looks like.

“No, I don’t think so.” I listen for a few seconds, making sure no one has followed us up here. When I’m satisfied we’re alone, I whisper, “Listen. Some crazy stuff is going on.”

He gives me a knowing wink. “I’ll say. You and Andrew seemed pretty flirty out there. Is that what you wanted to talk about? Has something happened?”

“What? No. I wish.” I point to the chair in the far corner by the windows and flap my hand until he takes the hint and sits down.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and fixes his attention on my face. The calm assurance of Benny’s focus is like a numbing salve to my frazzled nerves.

“Okay,” I begin, pulling up another folding chair and sitting across from him, knee to knee. “Have I ever given you the impression that I am—how should I put this? Mentally impaired?”

“Before today?” he jokes. “No.”

“Emotionally unbalanced?”

“A few moments when you were thirteen to fifteen, but since then? No.”

“Okay, then please believe that when I say what I’m about to say, I am being totally serious.”

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “Okay. Hit me.”

“I think it’s possible I’m in the past, repeating the same holiday, and I’m the only one who knows it.”

It sounds even crazier once I say it aloud. His bushy brows push together, and he shoves his too-long hair out of his eyes. “You mean the nightmare your dad mentioned?”

“No, I mean for real.” I look around the room, wishing there was something here that could help me. Lisa’s old Ouija board? Too creepy. Theo’s old Magic 8 Ball? Too desperate. “Things that happened six days ago are happening over again.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a mint, and pops it in his mouth. “Start from the beginning.”

I run a hand down my face. “Okay. So, earlier today for me was December twenty-sixth. Dad, Mom, Miles, and I were in a car headed to the airport—from here. This truck ran a red light—” I pause, piecing the fragments together. “A truck carrying Christmas trees, I think. Everyone was distracted, and it hit us. I woke up on the plane.” I look up, making sure he’s following. “A plane back here, today. December twentieth.”

He lets out a quiet “Whoa.” And then, “I don’t get it.”

I lean closer, trying to sort my words into order. “Maybe I’m not actually talking to you right now. Maybe I’m in a coma in the hospital, or maybe I really am dreaming this. All I know is that I already lived through this Christmas, managed to mess it all up, got creamed by a Christmas tree truck, and now I’m back, and it’s the beginning of the holiday all over again.”

“You sure about this?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He nods slowly. “Cool. Okay. Keep going.”

“Before we left, Ricky and Lisa told us that they were going to sell the cabin.”

Benny’s hazel eyes go wide. “They what?”

“Right?” I nod emphatically. “So obviously we were all really upset when we left. Plus my panic about making out with Theo, and getting busted by Andrew—”

Benny cuts me off. “Uh, back up.”

“You knew about it, don’t worry.” I try to casually wave this detail to the side. “What I—”

He holds up a hand. “I can assure you I did not know that you made out with Theo because this conversation would have started there.”

“Well, I told you this morning, but like everything else— everyone else—you’ve forgotten.” I take a deep, calming breath. “For the record, you were much more helpful last time.”

He considers this. “Was I also high?”

“Actually, yes.”

He holds his hands palms-up as if to say There you go. “Start there, then tell me everything.”

I groan in renewed mortification. “Last night there was eggnog.”

He lets out a little “Ah” of understanding. Benny loves his weed, but, like me, he is easily knocked over by a cup of Ricky’s eggnog. That stuff should come with an octane rating.

“It was brief and awkward,” I tell him. “You told me to go talk to him the next morning, but he totally ignored me. Then I found out that Andrew saw us kissing. Then we found out that the Hollises are selling the cabin, and we left. Boom—car accident. Boom—back on plane. Boom— here we are.”

Benny whistles. “I’m going to have some words with Theo.”

“Seriously, Benny? That’s what you’re taking away from this? The primary redeeming thing about starting this holiday all over again is not having to process any of this with Theo!”

Benny seems to think on this. “I feel like I’m following you down this road pretty easily, friend. Are you sure you’re not having some sort of altitude-poisoning thing?”

I snap my fingers with a memory. “Dad’s tooth? I knew that was going to happen.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you warn him?”

“I was freaking out!” I yell, and then wince, hoping no one downstairs heard me. Lowering my voice, I continue, “And what would he have said? ‘No way, this cookie bar looks delicious’? I’d already seen Theo’s haircut, which is why I acted like a robot. And remember how I knew Kennedy’s knee was bleeding?” I point to the door, like Benny can see the kitchen from here.

“You didn’t, by chance, get into my little blue bag, did you?” he asks.

“No, of course not!”

“Okay, good. Because I had this friend who grows mushrooms in his closet, and he gave me—”

“Benny, I’m not high, I’m not drunk, I’m not on mushrooms! I’m being serious. This is freaking me out!”

“I know it is, Mae. Okay, I’m thinking.”

Downstairs, I hear the faint sounds of everyone making their way to the living room for welcome cocktails. I screw my eyes shut, trying to pull forward all the tiny details that I never expected to be important, but which are the difference now between Benny believing me or not. Kyle’s round, theatrical voice carries upstairs, followed by Ricky’s deep, booming laugh.

“Oh. Oh.” I snap, pointing at the door. “Kyle just showed Ricky his new tattoo.”

Benny stretches, listening. “Did you hear that all the way up here? Wow.”

“No,” I say. “I remembered it.”

I can tell he doesn’t totally buy that.

Zachary’s elated laughter reaches us, and I can’t help it—despite all the chaos in my head, I’m smiling. “Okay. Miso is licking Zacky’s toes. Listen to him laughing.”

“A pretty safe guess,” Benny hedges. “That dog loves the twins.”

I sigh. “Come on. Believe me.”

“I want to, but you know how this sounds.”

The problem is, I do.

“Let’s say you’re right,” he whispers, “and what you’re telling me is really happening. It’s sort of like Back to the Future, except the past. Wait.” He shakes his head. “He went to the past in that one, didn’t he?”

I nod, and then keep nodding because exhaustion drags through me so heavily that I could honestly pass out right now.

“Does that make me Doc?” he asks.

I laugh. “Sure.” But my amusement quickly fades. “But what do I do? Is this happening so I don’t kiss Theo again? This seems like a pretty lame flex, Universe.”

“But without kissing Theo you wouldn’t be here,” he reasons.

“No. Kissing Theo is where I messed things up . . . right?”

“No. It’s like in Avengers, where they want to go back and kill the guy with the stones, but if they had killed him then they wouldn’t be having the conversation to begin with.” He pauses. “Holy shit, time travel is confusing.”

I rub my temples. “Benny.”

He gazes at me, and I stick the tip of my thumb in my mouth, chewing. “I think you should go talk to Dan,” he finally says.

“Dad? He’s the most literal and scientific person I’ve ever met. He would not for a second believe that I’m either a time traveler, a superhero, or clairvoyant.”

Benny laughs. “I mean because he’s a doctor.”

“Yes, a doctor who knows birth canals and umbilical cords.”

His voice is gentler now, because I’m clearly not following along. “I’m sure he remembers the basics enough to check your pupils and reflexes.”

Oh.

“Like for a head injury? That’s really what you think this is?”

Benny squares his hands on my shoulders. “I believe that something’s going on with you. But that’s all I’m qualified to do—believe you. I’m not sure I’m qualified to help. Your dad can tell you if everything seems to be working the way it should.”

Maybe that’s the ideal situation—something neurological happening. I mean, otherwise this is impossible, right?

“Okay.” I kiss Benny’s cheek and step back, nodding. “Plan A: assume I’m injured or crazy.”

Benny’s sweet smile crashes. “I did not say that.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll go talk to Dad.”

With a little wave, I turn to the attic steps but I miss the first one. My leg comes out from under me and instead of falling backward, I pitch forward, slip, and—