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Andrew snaps his fingers, and I look over at him. His eyes are wide, but his mouth is smiling. My eternally unflappable hero. “Coming right up, Crazy Maisie.”
Do I want to follow him inside? Do I want to flirt with him on the porch? Yes. But it won’t matter; it will only get my hopes up.
I stare at the sky and let out a long, exhausted groan. “What is even the poooooint?”
A hand comes around my upper arm. “Maelyn?” It’s Dad. “Honey, what’s going on?”
“I’d say it’s a long story, but it’s actually not. I’m stuck here. In time.” I let out an unhinged cackle. “Do I want to visit this cabin every year? Yes. But do I really want to keep reliving December twentieth forever in order to do it? No. No, I do not.”
He and Mom share a worried look. “Maybe we should take her to a doctor,” Mom says.
Dad turns to look at her incredulously. “I am a doctor.”
She sighs. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.”
The tide of guilt rises higher in me—they’re already bickering, and I’m the reason—but I can’t fix that right now. They’ll have to figure this out on their own.
Turning my pleading eyes on Benny, I say, “We need to talk.”
I look back to Mom, sending her a silent Just give me a minute, before Benny and I head up to the porch. I love my mother, but right now I need Benny’s even temper.
I try to undo my turbulent arrival with some quick, gentle kisses to the tops of Kennedy and Zachary’s heads, but they go still and nervous under my touch.
At least Kennedy pays attention to where the dog is when she walks inside.
And Dad doesn’t eat a cookie.
But no one is going to remember this anyway.
• • •
Benny sits next to me on the porch swing, and we rock back and forth in aware silence. I can barely make out the shape of the house next door through the trees but can see the smoke curling from the chimney, the glow of their outdoor Christmas lights through the branches.
The branches.
I look up warily. Across the yard, I think I spot the snow-covered branch that cracked me on the head, and I point at it, growling, “You will not get me tomorrow, you fucker.”
Benny goes still. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“It won’t matter.”
He studies me. “Why not?”
“Because this is the fourth time I’ve been in this day, and no matter what I try to do differently, I keep coming back.”
“Like Groundhog Day?”
“Is that a movie?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re young. I still think it’s one of the weirdest traditions, believing spring is determined by a groundhog’s shadow. Spring starts on the same day every year where I’m from.”
I must be staring at him in bewilderment, because he nods. “Yes, Maelyn, Groundhog Day is a movie.”
“Then yes. No matter what I do, I keep getting clobbered and waking up on the plane.”
“Maybe you should talk to your—”
“My dad?” I say, and shake my head. “Nope. We tried that two go-arounds back, but I fell down the attic stairs, and—” I make a splat motion and he winces. I gesture for him to finish the sentence.
“You started over again?”
“Bingo. Apparently, it’s not my head,” I say, aiming my voice to the sky. “And apparently it’s not about saving the cabin?”
No answer. The universe is profoundly unhelpful.
Benny frowns. “Saving the cabin from what?”
Inhaling deeply, I decide to tell him everything again. Even if I only make it to tomorrow, I need someone here with me who knows. Eggnog. Face licking. Traitor Theo. Adorable Andrew. Regret, regret, regret. Cabin. Accident. Purgatory. Whatever.
“Oh,” I say, “And I asked you to tell me something that only you know so you’d believe me if this happened again.”
“And?”
“And you told me about the club in Sedona.”
His eyes go wide. “I did?”
“Yup.” I shiver. “So I have to live with that information now.”
Benny lets out a quiet “Whoa.”
“As crazy as it sounds, I think this is all happening because I asked the universe to show me what would make me happy and it’s just sending me here over and over again with no instruction booklet,” I shout upward. “Like, yes, I love it here. I get it. And now I shall live here forever. Eternal Christmas. Be careful what you wish for, am I right?” I laugh a little maniacally.
After a long pause, Benny finally asks, “Okay, but let’s say that you have no limits on what you can wish for, what—in this whole enormous world—would make you truly happy?”
As if on cue, footsteps pad quietly from the front door across the porch. And there, walking outside holding a sparkling tumbler full of orange juice, vodka, and extra ice, is Andrew. “Screwdriver. Heavy on the juice,” he says with a sweet smile. “Because, no offense, you’re a lightweight, Maisie.”
