His question is a low rumble against my shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Even the idea of going through it all again feels, mentally, like running into a brick wall. I also know that it won’t help matters: If Theo was struggling with the idea of me with Andrew, the last thing he needs to hear is what happened in some alternate version of reality. Telling him won’t make me feel better, won’t help Theo feel better, and it won’t help anything between me and Andrew.
“Do you mind if we skip the whole download?” I say. “I’m realizing that, in this particular situation, I should probably just move forward.”
He pulls back and lifts his chin, studying me sweetly. “Okay. I’ll let it go. But if you change your mind, you know I’m always here to give you bad advice.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
After a long beat of contemplative silence, he asks, “So you were really into my brother all this time?”
I nod. “Since you and I were thirteen.”
He whistles, low and sympathetic. “That’s a long time, Mae. Holy shit.”
“Is it weird to admit to you that I don’t know what it would feel like to not be infatuated with Andrew?”
“It’s not weird at all,” he says. “I mean, it’s cool you’re talking about it with me, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Did I mess things up with you two?”
This makes me laugh. “Fear not. I did that entirely on my own.”
“Do you think you can fix it?”
I chew my lip. “I’m going to give it a try.”
Theo rises from his knees to sit in the chair beside mine. “I don’t really know what happened with you two, but Andrew is super private. So the fact that he was immediately so up front about what was going on was pretty crazy.” He runs his thumbnail along a scratch in the table. “I think that’s what I was probably reacting to yesterday. The familiarity. It made me think you guys had been a thing for a long time.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Nope.”
“He was acting settled, you know? So, take that for what it’s worth, but I think if you really have feelings for him, it’s worth fighting a little longer before you give up.”
I look at the time on my phone and realize that if I’m going to grand-gesture this thing, I’d better get started.
“It would be easier to cut off my own arm than get over your brother, so I’m not giving up.” I stand, and then bend to kiss his cheek. “I’ve got some plans up my sleeve. Wish me luck.”
chapter twenty-six
In the first version of this holiday, Andrew wasn’t out in the Boathouse alone at all on Christmas Day. Around this time—almost five in the evening—he was in the kitchen with Zachary and Kennedy, hanging metallic garlands and tissue paper holly, singing Christmas carols in Muppet voice, and making the twins giggle hysterically.
But this time, the kitchen is quiet. Presents are unwrapped and the discarded paper has been stuffed into the recycling bin. There’s no garland on display, no tiny scissors on the table or paper scraps littering the floor. We’ll eat leftovers in about an hour, but for now everyone is using the downtime to nap, read, or sip a cocktail by the fireplace, savoring the last of our time together. Except for me: in Benny’s attic, I get to work.
And then, with my heart in my throat, I take the package Mom helped me complete, and tromp through the fresh snow out to Andrew’s little Fortress of Solitude.
He doesn’t answer when I knock, so I stand uselessly outside for about two minutes—debating with myself what to do, panicking because he’s ignoring me, letting my hysteria rise to a boiling point—before figuring out that maybe I just need to knock louder.
“Come in,” he calls this time. “It’s open.”
I push open the door and step inside.
Andrew’s duffel bag is packed, and the sleeping bags are rolled up and leaning against the far wall. He sits on the bare cot, one leg bent and tucked beneath the other, strumming his guitar.
I’d planned to start with my little prepared speech, but the view of his packed bag throws me. I’m not sure he was even planning to say goodbye. “You’re driving back to Denver tonight?”
“I am, yeah.” He looks up and tries to smile. Even with all the strain between us he doesn’t have it in him to be unkind. “After dinner.”
I flounder, unable to think of a suitable follow-up. “Did you hear about Benny and the cabin?” I inwardly wince, remembering what he said about my savior complex with this place.
“Dad mentioned it to me late last night.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “Good news.”
“Yeah.” I’m sinking in quicksand; I have no idea where to go from here.
“I brought you a present,” I say, and he frowns in surprise, watching me cross the room.