“Merry Christmas, Covey,” my mom practically screams at me when she opens the door. She’s wearing a ridiculous sweatshirt covered in sequins, rhinestones, and little pompoms. “Come in, come in.” She grabs the tote bag I have stuffed full of gifts for everyone. Well, everyone except Aidan. The gift I wanted to give him is safely tucked into my dance bag in the trunk of my car. Even though I should probably shove it in a closet or donate it to a kid, I can’t let it go. Not yet.
Once the holidays are over, I’ll figure it out.
“You made it,” Aidan calls as he rounds the corner. It takes all my energy not to stiffen at his presence. I knew he was here, but seeing the bright smile on his face is too much for me this morning. Will it always be like this? Greeting him at parties and bars, seeing him beaming at me while I break into a million pieces?
God, that’s a form of torture I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
“Aidan.” My voice wavers, but if anyone notices, they don’t say anything.
He comes close and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into the best and worst hug I’ve ever had. I try to relax and be natural, but I’m not sure it works. Just as he pulls back, he gives me a quick kiss.
It reminds me of that first kiss, on his couch, our lips barely touching. I remember how he leaned in, chasing after me. If I did that now, would he give me what I want? What I so desperately need?
He takes a step back before I can find out.
“Come save me.” He laughs. “Everyone else is three drinks into their morning.”
Jesus.My mom could at least wait until noon to startserving her deadly cocktails. At this rate, everyone will be drunk or sick before the presents are even opened.
So, exactly how I remember it from childhood.
“Let me put these under the tree first,” I say, motioning toward the tote bag my mom is holding. I need a few minutes to pull myself together before I sit next to him, pretending he’s mine. Pretending that everything I want isn’t some nightmare of my own making.
“I’ve got these. Go keep Aidan company.” My mom holds the tote bag out of my reach. She’s being kind. Thoughtful even.
I hate it.
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s not her fault that I single-handedly destroyed everything good between us. Not her fault that I lied about having a boyfriend or that I pulled Aidan into this web of deceit. It’s not her fault that I’m in love with my best friend.
Aidan takes my hand and leads me to the living room. It’s all I can do not to stare at the point where our bodies connect, wondering if this is the last time he’ll hold my hand.
If it is, I want to savor it. I hold him a little bit tighter, giving him a little squeeze.
“You good?” he asks.
No. “Yeah, just tired.” More lies. These days, it seems like my whole life is one big lie. Even I’m not sure which parts are genuine anymore. Probably a good thing to bring up to my therapist. “Shall we?” I motion toward the living room, afraid the tight leash I have on my emotions will snap if we’re alone for too long.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “You should know that your mom is going hard on the drinks this morning. I’d say I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but I think it’s because they’re all so happy to have you here for Christmas.”
The knot in my throat returns, making it hard to swallow. Maybe I can fake an emergency? Say the artistic director needs me urgently. It’s ridiculous, but I doubt any of them know enough to call me on it.
Aidan grabs my arm and leads me toward the rowdy laughter. The good thing about being with my whole family is that they carry the conversation with ease. Now that Aidan and I are old news, they’re far more interested in discussing the latest gossip than hearing about us.
Exactly what I hoped would happen.
AIDAN
The morning has been slow. Even with all the drinks—most of which I turned down—and the constant barrage of conversation, I keep checking the clock above the mantle. It’s a liar, because there’s no way I’ve only been here for an hour. My phone traitorously says the same thing.
Fiddlesticks.
Now that Covey’s here, I thought things would be better. They’re shockingly worse. He’s physically here, but mentally, he’s somewhere else entirely. It takes me multiple tries to get his attention. “You sure you’re okay? Can I get you anything?” Worry fills my chest when he looks at me. It’s obvious he didn’t get enough sleep last night.
“Not right now.” He gives me a half smile that sends a cold shiver down my spine. Something happened yesterday. All I want is to drag him upstairs and interrogate him until he breaks and tells me the whole story.
Except we’re stuck here, listening to a story about a fight that occurred in a yarn store of all places. Usually, I’d be thrilled to hear all the sordid details, but today I want to go back to the quiet comfort that Covey and I had yesterday morning while watchingElf. Before whatever happened.
“You boys ready for breakfast?” Covey’s mom asks, giving me flashbacks to my childhood. Somehow, I doubt they’ll ever stop calling usboys.
