I WOKE WITH A JOLT, choking for air. It was dark again. I sat up. I was in a bed—but not my bed, not the lumpy twin mattress I’d been sleeping on for the past six years. This was at least a queen. Soft. The sheets felt smooth and cool against my skin. I was wearing silk, which was weird. I didn’t own a pair of silk pajamas.
I swung my legs to the side of the bed and looked around. There was a lamp on the bedside table. I turned it on. Light flared, and it hurt my eyes. But when I could see again, I gasped. Which was understandable.
I was in my room. Not my room in my walk-up apartment, but my room from before, in the house in Malibu. There was a familiar white vanity against one wall. I stumbled over to it and sat down in front of the oval-shaped mirror. My own eyes looked back at me—brown and wide and a little freaked out. What had just happened? I thought I’d . . . died. Again. Hit by a car. Again. Which hardly seemed fair.
Still, here I was, in my old room. I leaned forward to look at my face.
The pimple—the one that had been hanging out just below my mouth for six long years—was gone. I couldn’t stop staring at that little expanse of smooth skin. It was gone.
I could hear the hush of the ocean outside. My window was open, and my curtains were fluttering slightly. I could just make out the black outline of the palm tree near my window, swaying in the breeze against a peach-colored sky. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass. The sun was coming up.
Something chimed. A phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it. It was 9:00 a.m., on the dot, December 25. Sixty-eight degrees in Malibu, and sunny. I’d gone back somehow, to my own Christmas. The morning after I’d been the Scrooge, six years ago.
I was home. I’d been given another chance.
Somewhere in the house someone was whistling a Christmas song. I gasped again. Elena. “Elena!” I screamed. “Elena!”
She came running—she must have thought I was being murdered or something, the way I’d screamed her name. “Miss?”
I threw my arms around her. “Oh my God, Elena! You’re here!”
“Yes . . . I’m here.” She was totally stiff as I hugged her. I pulled back.
“You shouldn’t be here! It’s Christmas! You should be with your daughter! Nika! Nika—oh my God. You should be with Nika. Right now. You should be with her all week. Take two weeks. Take until February first, if you want. I can handle myself for a month. What’s important is that you should be with your family.”
“So I’m fired,” she assumed.
“No! You’re not fired! I was a total jerk before, is what I’m saying. I should never have asked you to work on Christmas. You’re the best housekeeper, like, seriously, and I should have appreciated you. God, your cooking is amazing, did you know that? I’ve been dreaming about your cooking for six years. Hey, maybe you could go get Nika, and come back here, and we could roast a turkey for Christmas.” I finally looked at her shocked face. “No. This isn’t about me. No turkey for me. You should have the day off, though. Be with your daughter. We’ll sort the rest out later.”
I walked Elena out. She was still looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Which I was pretty sure I had. “I’ll talk to my dad about giving you a Christmas bonus. And a raise. Because you’re the best, like I said. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you.”
“All right,” she said numbly, like she was expecting people with cameras to pop out any second.
I hugged her again. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hug, like, everyone. “Merry Christmas, Elena.”
“Merry Christmas, miss.”
I’d also just remembered there was risotto in the fridge. Which I wanted to be wolfing down, like, now. I went back to the kitchen and heated it up. It was as amazing as I’d remembered. I was at the kitchen counter shoveling it into my mouth in big spoonfuls when I got a text. From my dad.
You up yet? Can I call you?
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. My fingers trembled as I responded.
Yes. I’m awake.
I was so very awake. I could feel my heart beating fast and the air going shakily in and out of my lungs, and my neck was stiff, like I’d been sleeping in the wrong position, and my stomach hurt, because I’d eaten the risotto way too fast. But pain had never felt so good. It meant I was alive. I kept telling myself that this was real—it must be real, but it was hard to get my head around it. I was really home.
The phone rang. I picked it up on the first ring.
“Dad?”
“Hey, sweetie.”
I blinked back tears. “Hi. Where are you?”
“I’m at the hotel,” he said. “I sent the actors home for the holidays, but there are some details I need to work out here on the editing.”
“It’s Christmas,” I said. “You should be—”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, like I was accusing him of something. “And it’s your birthday tomorrow. I didn’t forget. I thought maybe . . .” He hesitated.
“Maybe what, Dad?” I loved the way the word Dad felt when I said it—like he was mine again. My dad. Mine.
“I thought maybe you’d like to fly out for a few days. Hang with your old man. I know you probably have plans, but—”
“Yes. I’ll fly out. I’d love to hang out.” I didn’t have any idea where he was or what he was working on, but I couldn’t think of anything better than seeing my dad again. It was like the very best present I could think of, to spend my—how old was I going to be tomorrow? Seventeen. My seventeenth birthday. With my dad.
“Okay.” He sounded surprised and happy. “I’ll get my assistant to work out the details. How about today, if she can book a last-minute flight for Christmas Day?”
“Today would be amazing,” I said. “I’ve missed you, Dad.”
And then I was full-out crying. Again.
“Oh. Hey. Sweetie, I’ve missed you, too. So much,” Dad said. “I can’t wait to see you.”
I wiped at my nose, still sniffling. “And we should totally watch It’s a Wonderful Life together—it’s always on TV at Christmas, right?”
He chuckled. “I thought you hated that movie. You said it was ‘the cheesiest cheese,’ if I remember correctly.”
“Maybe it’s grown on me. Besides, you like it. We should watch it because you like it.”
“All right, who are you and what have you done with my teenage daughter?” he laughed.
“I’m just growing up, I guess.”
“Well, don’t do that too fast. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Okay.”
After we hung up I walked around my room for a while just touching things and remembering: my ragged stuffed bunny named Ears. My pretty clothes and shoes. My jewelry box that revealed a ballerina when you opened it, dancing in a circle to “Clair de Lune.” I opened the vanity and found the torn pieces of the picture of Ro and me that I used to have taped to the edge of the mirror. A selfie on the beach. I leaned forward to look at it. In the picture, we had our arms wrapped around each other. My hair was brown and slightly frizzy; Ro had the same long black hair, which had dried into beachy waves. We were both smiling. Happy.
I touched her smile with my finger. Ro.
I picked up my phone and called a cab. Fifteen minutes later I was standing outside Ro’s house. I knocked on the door.
“Hey, you,” I said when Ro answered.
“Holly?” She of course was completely confused because—in her timeline, anyway—we hadn’t talked in more than a year. For me it’d been like seven.
“I need to talk to you.”
“It’s Christmas morning, Holly.”
“I know. I know.” But honestly, it felt like I couldn’t wait. I had to make things right with everyone I possibly could, as soon as I possibly could. Starting with Ro. “But this is like an emergency. I’ll just take up five minutes of your time. I promise.”
She sighed. Then she came outside and closed the door behind her. “All right,” she said warily. “What do you want?”
I was trying not to stare at her—Ro at sixteen, still kind of skinny and with her hair cut in the pixie do she’d had back then.
“You look awesome,” I said. “That haircut is so flattering. But your hair looks good long, too. You lucked out with the hair.”
“What’s going on?” she said.
I just smiled. “So much, it would take forever to explain. And even then, you’d never understand. I got to reset myself. And this time, I’m not going to screw it up.”
“Yeah, well, you said it was an emergency.” She sounded annoyed.
“It is. You’ve been my best friend for my entire life.”
She was already shaking her head. “Holly,” she sighed. “Come on, don’t do this to me.”
I grabbed her hands. “You can’t stop being my friend, Ro. It’s impossible. You’re always going to be my best friend. It’s not actually up to you.”
She tugged a hand through her short hair. “Look, we just grew apart,” she said. “That happens to friends all the time. I can’t do this again. I told you before. I can’t hang out with you. I’m sorry if you’re feeling lonely or whatever. But I—”
“Oh, I understand why you broke up with me. I mean, you know, what you said last year. I heard you. I totally get it now. And you’re right,” I agreed. “We grew apart.”
She frowned, clearly surprised that I’d admitted that. “We didn’t live in the same world anymore. We never really did.”
“I don’t care that you’re a T-shirt and sneakers girl,” I said. But then something occurred to me. “Well, actually, I do care. That’s who you are. But I don’t care about money anymore.”
She shook her head. She obviously didn’t believe me. She looked around like she was searching for the real Holly, who would jump out from behind the bushes any second now and start making fun of her.
“Do you remember what it was like before?” I asked her. “When we used to watch TV with the sound turned off and make up the dialogue? Or we’d name all the fish at the pet store. We’d build weird sand creatures on the beach. We’d write songs together. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“None of that was about what clothes we were wearing,” I said. “It was about us, right?”
“Right,” she said hoarsely. “But—”
“I’m sorry I lost sight of that. I changed, I know I did. My mom died, and Yvonne showed up and whispered all this junk into my ear, and I got a little lost. I’ve been a total brat, not just to you, but to everyone. I have been. I’ll admit it. I’ve been selfish and shallow and pretty much a horrible human being.”
She smirked. “You’re not that bad.”
“The thing is, I’m still that girl you knew. She’s in here somewhere.” I put my hand on my chest. “And you being my best friend didn’t change, even when I changed. That’s what I should have said last year.” My voice wavered, and I looked away from her. “You’re the best person, Ro. You’re awesome. You’re so smart—I love the way you love books—and you’re funny and you’re honest and you’re kind. And I’m not saying you don’t have flaws, because you do. You’re too sarcastic sometimes, and you have a short temper, and questionable fashion sense, and you don’t like Indian food. But you are like the best. Person. Ever. I’d be crazy to not want to be your friend. I’ve missed you so much. I love you. I know that sounds weird, coming from a friend, maybe, but it shouldn’t, really. You’re like the best friend version of the love of my life.”
And then I started crying. Again. It’d been an emotional twenty-four hours. Or six or seven years, however you want to count.
Ro was staring at me, dumbstruck. “What happened to you?”
I kept staring at my feet, sniffling. “So much.”
“Holly, hey. Look at me,” Ro said.
I wiped my face. “So here’s my big emergency. I’m kind of hoping that you’ll forgive me for being an idiot, and you’ll be my best friend again. Unless . . .” I took a deep breath. “Unless you feel like you really can’t stand to be around me anymore, which I will try to understand. But I’d really like another chance.”
“Okay,” she said. She didn’t even hesitate.
I looked up. Her dark eyes were twinkling. “What?”
“You can have another chance.”
All the air left my lungs. “You mean it?”
She smiled. “Nobody’s perfect, right? We can work on our flaws together. We learn. We grow. Maybe instead of growing apart, this time we can grow together.”
She was going to say more, but I hugged her. I couldn’t wait one more second. I threw my arms around her neck and hugged her like there was no tomorrow. She hugged me back, and I was filled with something that could only be called joy.
“I love you, too, you know,” she said. “I have to go inside, because it’s Christmas morning and my little sisters are desperate to start opening presents, but I’ll call you later, okay?”
“It’s Christmas,” I realized yet again. “It’s Christmas Day.”
“Yes, it is. Merry Christmas, Holly Chase,” she said softly.
I laughed. “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas, Ro!”
She hugged me again. “And a happy new year.”