In A Holidaze(17)

Andrew was enthusiastically musical, reluctantly athletic, quiet, and unattainable. Generous with time and compliments, selfless with family. Adorably messy hair, shy smile, and the kind of teenage monster who never needed braces. Imagine sleeping in a bunk bed across the room from that every night, with the new awareness that Andrew might have a girlfriend, that he had body parts I hadn’t ever considered before, that he was probably already having S-E-X.

Although it would make sense for the grown-ups to eventually worry that something scandalous would happen between me and one of the Hollis boys down in the secluded basement, no one batted a lash. My mother was normally incredibly strict about boundaries, but we were family, after all. Maybe Andrew was so obviously uninterested in me, and I was so obviously uninterested in Theo, that it never pinged their parental radar, even when we were old enough to drink alcohol and make terrible decisions.

I grew up going to church every Sunday but decided a long time ago that Catholicism wasn’t for me. Now, in the darkness, I’m starting to believe that something has given me a true do-over. A bullet dodged at the most wonderful time of the year. But in this world full of people who need much bigger things than to have avoided a stupid, drunken kiss, I wish I understood why me.

? ? ?

I climb out of bed, careful not to wake Theo or Miles. Cautiously entering the kitchen, I’m not sure what I’ll find.

But everything seems normal. Aside from the missing holly garland that the twins haven’t yet put up in the kitchen, everything looks exactly like it did when we left only five days from now. Or is it two days ago? Who the hell knows.

Ricky shuffles in just after I do. His salt-and-pepper hair is tidy up front but a holy mess in the back. His eyes are still squinty, but he beams so brightly at me it causes an actual ache in my chest. I give myself a second to celebrate that I’m really here, in this kitchen. I thought I’d lost this.

“Maelyn Jones,” he says hoarsely, “you and me are two peas in a pod.”

Inside, I am glowing, waiting.

He sits down with a groan. “We both wake up with the sun.”

Ahhhhh. There it is.

“You know the worst thing in the world would be never hearing you say that again?” I kiss the top of his head and then pour him a cup of coffee in his favorite reindeer mug.

“Why would you even worry about that?”

I don’t answer. Hard to explain, Ricky.

But the thought lands again, heavier now, like a stone in a river: I thought I’d lost this. I thought I would never have this moment again with Ricky, in this kitchen, and here I am. Does he have any idea what a gift this place is to all of us? The cabin makes me more than happy, it makes me feel grounded. Am I getting a chance to keep them from selling?

He takes a long sip and sets his mug down. “How’re you feeling this morning, Noodle?”

Me? How I’m feeling is suddenly the least of my worries. With clarity about a possible purpose comes an exhilaration so profound it can only mean that I’m on the right track. After all, the ceiling didn’t fall and the floor didn’t open up to send me back to the plane.

“I’m fine.” I lean back against the counter. I’m smiling at Ricky over my coffee, but my thoughts are a cyclone of recollecting, plan making, playing it cool. “Better than ever, actually.”

I turn to the sound of feet on the stairs to see a sleep-rumpled Benny peeking around the corner. He holds a finger up to his mouth and motions for me to come toward him. A glance over my shoulder shows Ricky happily sipping his coffee and already at least three cookies deep into the shortbread tin, so I push off the counter and quietly make my way into the hall.

With a hand on each shoulder, Benny bends at the knees, peering into my eyes.

I wait for an explanation. None comes. “Yes?”

“Just looking.”

“For?”

“Not sure. Trying to remember the signs of a concussion.”

I roll my eyes and pull him up. His cardigan is shockingly soft. “Is this cashmere?”

He stares down at it like he doesn’t remember putting it on. “Maybe?” He looks back up at me. “Focus, Mae.”

Blinking my eyes, I remember why we’re here. “Do you remember our conversation last night?”

“Yes?”

I exhale, relieved. “Okay,” I say, mentally working this out. “We’re doing this over again, but I’m the only one who realizes it. I haven’t been sent back, so I must be doing something right?”

“Is there another explanation?”

I chew on my lip. “That I’m crazy? That this is all random? That I’m actually in a coma in a hospital in Salt Lake?”

“I don’t like any of those options,” he admits.

“Uh, yeah,” I scoff, grinning wryly. “I’m not wild about them, either.”

“I’m here,” he reasons. “I mean—I’m real. I’m in this with you, and so it can’t just be happening to you, right?”

A thought occurs to me: “Quick. Tell me something I wouldn’t possibly know about you—other than your stash of mushrooms, too obvious. Just in case I reboot all over again.”

“You know about the mushrooms?”

“Benny.”

He frowns as he thinks. And then he leans in and whispers a rushed string of words.