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“Oi,” he protests.
Down the hallway, a commotion erupts when Kyle and Mom are caught under the mistletoe, which has apparently been transferred somewhere in the living room. Benny and I take a beat to grin at the sound of my mother laughing hysterically as Kyle plants one on her.
But back to business: “Tomorrow is December twenty-second,” I say. “Day three.”
“Isn’t that good?”
“Well, I’m thinking there might be a pattern here.” I tick off on my fingers: “The first time, I was sent back to the plane on the first night. The second time, I only made it to the second morning. There’s a really good chance I’ll make it to the third day—tomorrow—but then have to start all over again.” Seriously, could anything sound more terrible? Having to live in a time loop over and over, and each time you add just one new day at the end?
Torture.
“I’m not sure that’s the only possibility,” Benny says, and takes my hands in his. “You always hold back so much. Maybe it’s not about making the right choices exactly, but making the right choices because you’re finally being you. Maybe that’s what you needed.”
“Or maybe it has nothing to do with me? I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I’m just tired of being so careful all the time.”
He leans back with a bright smile, pointing at me. “Exactly.”
• • •
With these words echoing in my thoughts, I follow Benny back into the living room, where the twins are directing the tree decoration. Kyle is mixing new drinks for whoever wants them, Aaron is on the couch in a fitted tracksuit, Dad is on his stomach under the tree, futzing with the stand, and Theo approaches, handing me a tumbler with a clear, sparkling liquid—very little ice—and a slice of lime. His expression is tentative and guilty, like he feels the wedge between us but obviously has no idea what’s causing it.
I haven’t given myself a second to mourn the change in our relationship, and how I know that even if everyone else has the luxury of ignorance, I don’t. Our mistake—and Theo’s reaction the next day—would have created a fracture in this weird, wonderful group. There’s no question about that now.
Friends our whole lives, and Theo couldn’t put on a brave face over his denied boner for a single morning? This group survived the awkwardness of my parents’ divorce, so I trust that it can handle something infinitely less dramatic than that, but I never want to take these friendships for granted.
I bend, smelling the drink.
“It’s just sparkling water,” he says, mildly offended.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Wanna hang later?”
I take a sip. “Hang where?”
“Downstairs? Miles and I were talking about playing some games after dinner.”
That sounds decidedly more wholesome than I was expecting. “Board or video?”
I can tell he’s getting annoyed. “Whichever gets you to play. I’ve barely seen you since you got here.”
Are we really only grounded in such childhood habits? In order to spend time together, do we have to find a game to play? It feels so obvious.
Before I can answer, Aaron speaks up from where he’s now squeezing in between Lisa and Mom hanging ornaments. “Interesting choice here.” He’s definitely been working out because he winces as he tries to hang an ornament and finally just . . . weakly tosses it in the direction of his target, hoping it hooks on the landing. “Were they all out of normal trees?”
“It’s the one Mae wanted,” Andrew says from out of sight on the other side of the pine. “I like it.”
My chest fills with warm, glowing embers.
Mom comes up behind me, putting her arms around my waist and her chin on my shoulder. “I agree with Andrew.”
She hums happily, and at the sound of her voice, my stomach drops to my feet with a daughter’s instinctive uneasiness: somehow, in the past hour, I managed to keep from pondering how I’ll tell my mother that I quit my job, that I did it impulsively, and that I have no idea what I’m doing next.
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. None of this is going to stick.
She kisses me, saying, “Love you, Noodle,” against my cheek.
I’ll tell her later. If and when I have to.
Despite the jokes about this wacky, knobby tree, I can tell from their expressions that everyone sort of digs it. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation plays on the TV in the background, and while we watch Clark Griswold attempt to bring his mammoth tree inside, we do our best to fill this tiny one with lights, and ornaments, and the popcorn garland the twins and Mom spent the evening making. By the time we’re done decorating, the room is bursting with joy. It’s nearly impossible to see any bit of actual tree underneath all the everything, but it is, oddly, perfect.
