In A Holidaze(73)

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.”