In a Holidaze

“Mae, you don’t have to give me anything.”

“It’s not a Christmas gift,” I explain, and decide to push onward into my prepared speech. “Look, Andrew, I know you’re mad at m—”

“I’m not mad at you,” he says gently. “I’m mad at myself.” He shakes his head, strumming absently as he thinks. “I don’t usually dive into things so immediately, and I’ve just confirmed for myself why.”

I can’t help asking, “Why?”

He looks at me, eyes pained like he knows what he’s going to say is going to hurt. “Because I can spend my whole life getting to know someone and still be wrong about her.”

Wow. That one hits like a punch. But he’s wrong: we’ve spent our lives getting to know each other, sure, but I was more myself with him than I’d ever been before.

“You weren’t wrong about me.” I take another step into the room but stop with about ten feet between us. “I mean, maybe we hit a speed bump right out of the gate, but you weren’t wrong about me. And it was good, Andrew. If it hadn’t been so good, you wouldn’t be so upset right now.”

He holds my gaze for another long moment, and then blinks down, returning to his quiet strumming.

“A few years ago,” I say, “I asked my mom what it was like when she first met my dad, and she basically said that they met in their dorm, and started dating, and from that point on, just fell into this routine of being together.”

He doesn’t reply, but he’s listening, I know. Even though he’s playing his guitar, he’s completely here with me.

“I asked her, ‘You just knew?’ and instead of explaining how it felt like fate or anything remotely romantic, she said, ‘I guess? He was nice and was the first person who encouraged me to paint.’ I know they’re divorced and it’s probably different to look back on it now, but she was talking to me— the product of this marriage—and there was no mention of falling in love or how she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else. They just happened.”

I wait for him to react to this, but he doesn’t. In the silence, the words to the song he’s absently playing hit me like a warm burst of air.

Don’t know much about history . . .

And if this one could be with you . . .

His movements are so absentminded, I can’t tell if he registers what he’s playing.

“I mean, obviously,” I continue, “that was incredibly unsatisfying.” A pause. “As much as none of us want to imagine our parents actually hooking up, we want to think there was at least some fire or passion or something fated.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and fidgets with the tuning pegs some more.

“I know this—us—has gone up in flames,” I say, “but even so, I can’t help but feel like there was a good story there. I’ve wanted this for so long, and you had no idea, and then when you found out, it was like . . . it clicked something on in you.” I pause, searching for the right words. “What happened between us was really romantic.”

He falters, but after a beat, he adjusts his fingers on the frets and continues.

“And it wasn’t just romantic in theory; it was romantic in reality. Every second with you was perfect.” I shift on my feet. “Picking out our tree, snowflakes in your hair, sledding, the closet—our night here. I got those moments because of a wish I made. A wish! Who actually believes wishes come true? The world is a totally different place than I ever thought it was—I mean, there’s actual magic happening— but that’s not even the hardest thing for me to believe. The most unbelievable part of all of this is that I got to be with you. My dream person.”

Andrew tilts his head back to lean against the wall, eyes closed, and sets his guitar on the cot beside him. He looks tired, and takes a long, deep breath. I can tell he’s not tuning me out. He’s also not just passively hearing me, he’s absorbing every word. It gives me the confidence to push on.

“And even though I wished for it, I worked for it, too. I could have never said a word to you about what was happening to me, or how I’d messed up with Theo.” I hold my chin up. “But I’m proud of myself for telling you. Do I wish I’d explained it better? Sure. But I told you the truth because I wanted to start whatever we have by being honest.

“I was honest about my feelings,” I say. “I was honest about my mistakes. I was honest in my best and worst moments this week.” I take a steadying breath because I’m starting to get choked up. “And if there’s one thing that we did perfectly, it was talking and being transparent and honest with each other right from the start. Right away, we talked. I can’t think of anyone else in the world I’ve ever felt that comfortable with.”