The Unhoneymooners(62)

My uncertainty is all about what waits for us at home—specifically, what sort of rift any drama between Dane and Ami will cause between us all.

So then I have to ask myself: Is it worth saying anything to my sister? Should I let bygones be bygones? Should I take a novel approach and not leap to the worst conclusion but have a little faith instead? I mean, maybe she knows all this already, anyway, and they’ve worked through it. Maybe finding out that I know Dane wasn’t monogamous early on would only embarrass her and make her constantly self-conscious or defensive when I’m around them both.

I look up at Ethan, who’s still asleep, and it hits me that just because I think I know what’s going on, it doesn’t mean I really do. This guy right here is the perfect example. I thought I knew exactly who he was, and I was completely wrong. Is it possible there are sides to my twin I don’t know at all, too? I gently shake him awake, and he inhales, stretching, before looking down at me. It’s like a punch to the chest how much I like his face.

“Hey,” he says, voice gravelly. “What’s up? You okay?”

“I like your face,” I tell him.

“I’m glad you wanted to tell me that this very moment.”

“And,” I say, smiling nervously, “I know we don’t like this topic, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to not say anything to Ami about Dane. I’m not even going to ask her whether she knew.”

Ethan’s face relaxes, and he leans forward, kissing my forehead. “Okay, cool.”

“Things are going so great for all of us right now—”

“I mean, yes,” he cuts in with a laugh, “except for the ciguatera toxin that caused them to miss their honeymoon.”

“Except for that.” I wave a faux-casual hand. “Anyway, things are going well, and I should just let the past be in the past.”

“Totally.” He kisses me once and leans back, smiling with his eyes closed.

“I just wanted to let you know.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Okay, go back to sleep.”

“I will.”

? ? ?

THE PLAN: ONCE WE LAND, we’ll grab our bags, share a cab back to Minneapolis, and each spend the night at our respective home. We’ve already agreed the cab will drop me off at my apartment building in Dinkytown—so he can see me get in safely—before taking him to Loring Park. I’m sure it will be weird to sleep alone, but we agreed to meet up for breakfast, at which point I am positive that I will maul him instead of doing what we’d planned to do: figure out how and when to tell Ami and Dane about us.

Everything about this end of the trip stands out for how starkly different it is from the beginning. We aren’t uncomfortable. We’re holding hands, walking through the airport terminal, bickering lightly about which one of us is going to give in first and show up at the other’s doorstep.

He bends at the luggage carousel, planting a kiss on my mouth. “You could just come over now and save yourself the trip later.”

“Or you could.”

“But my bed is really great,” he argues. “It’s big, firm but not hard . . .”

I immediately see where all our future problems lie: we are both stubborn homebodies. “Yeah, but I want to get in my own bathtub and use every single bath product I own and have missed for these past ten days.”

Ethan kisses me again and pulls back to say more, but his eyes flitter over my shoulder and his entire demeanor changes. “Holy shit.”

The words sound echoey, from a distance, multiplied. I turn to see what he’s gaping at and my stomach absolutely plummets: Ami and Dane are standing only a few yards away, holding a WELCOME HOME FROM OUR HONEYMOON! sign. Now I understand what I’ve heard; Ami and Ethan spoke the same words, at the same time.

There is a riot in my brain: just my luck. I’m temporarily unable to decide what to process first: the fact that my sister is here, that she saw me kissing Ethan, that Dane saw me kissing Ethan, or the reality that—even eleven days after they were knocked down by a toxin—they both still look positively horrible. I think Ami has lost over ten pounds, and Dane has likely lost more. The gray sheen to Ami’s complexion hasn’t entirely gone away, and her clothes sag on her frame.

And here we are, tanned, rested, and making out in baggage claim.

“What am I seeing?” Ami says, dropping her half of the sign in shock.

I’m sure I’ll examine my reaction later, but given that I can’t tell whether she’s excited or angry right now, I let go of Ethan’s hand and take a step away from him. I wonder how it looks to her: I left for her honeymoon, paid almost nothing, suffered not at all, and came home kissing the man I was supposed to hate—and never once mentioned any of this to her on the phone or in texts. “Nothing, we were just saying goodbye.”

“Were you kissing?” she asks, brown eyes saucer-wide.

Ethan tosses out a confident “Yes” just as I state an emphatic “No.”

He looks down at me, smirking at how easily that lie came out of me. I can tell he is more proud of my smoothness than he is annoyed by my answer.

“Okay, yes,” I amend. “We were kissing. But we didn’t know you were going to be here. We were going to tell you guys tomorrow.”