“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.”
He sits down on the porch swing, sandwiching me between his warm body and Benny’s. My emotions are on fire, and the lust of my life looks back and forth between me and Benny. “So. What were we talking about?”
Don’t trust the universe.
We were talking about what in the whole wide world I’d wish for, and you appeared. Funny, right?
A glance at Benny tells me he’s not coming to my rescue here. Damn him for choosing this moment to make me face my feelings.
“We were talking about my crazy day,” I say, “and Benny asked what would make me happy, and you walked out with a drink.” I take it from him, adding, “So thank you. I am happy now.”
I take a deep drink and wow, Andrew does not mess around—this is not “heavy on the juice.” I’m surprised that flames don’t flicker off my tongue when I exhale. Next reboot, I’ll have to ask him to make one that tastes slightly less like fire.
“That’s strong,” I gasp, handing it to Benny, who sets it down on the table to his right.
“You are in rare form today, Maisie,” Andrew says, laughing.
I cough harshly, wincing through the burn. “Just living my truth.”
“I’m getting that.” I feel him look at Benny over the top of my head. “As long as you’re not upset with us for some reason?”
Guilt pierces through my reckless mood. Whether they’re figments of my imagination or pawns in the universe’s game, I love these people desperately. I’ll have to be kinder next time I lose my mind. “I hope I didn’t hurt your mom’s feelings.”
He laughs. “According to Dad, she’s been playing that Bob Dylan Christmas album for three weeks now and we’ve all told her it’s terrible. Maybe hearing it from someone who isn’t her son or husband will make a difference.” Andrew’s dark brows pull together. “But how did you know Dad forgot the Hendrick’s?”
“Weird hunch,” I say.
Andrew pushes out his bottom lip, sweetly considering this, and then nods like he’s totally satisfied with my non-explanation. He rolls with weird, surreal stuff almost as well as Benny does. “That must have been one hell of a dream you had on the plane. Last week I had a dream I worked at a carnival,” he says conversationally. “For, like, a week afterward I kept feeling like I was constantly late to work at the cotton candy booth. It was crazy stressful.”
This makes me laugh, and the three of us fall silent. The wind whistling through the tree line is the only sound until I can’t help it: “Why the cotton candy booth, though?”
“Are you kidding?” Andrew looks at me, incredulous. “That would be, like, the best carnival job.”