“She’s got such a soft heart, it will melt like butter in the sun if any one looks sentimentally at her.”
—Little Women
The purpose of staging a fake holiday dinner the night before school tours was to help everyone “get in the spirit.” Mostly what I got from the experience was indigestion.
By now, Andrea and Hudson probably expected a certain degree of oddness from my family, but this would be kicking it to the next level. Were they ready to chow down on turkey and all the trimmings in late April? Listen to Bing Crosby on a warm spring evening? Drink cocoa and make popcorn garlands, even though it was closer to Easter than Christmas and the fake tree in the living room looked mangy enough without draping it in snack food?
None of that was my problem. I was responsible for vacuuming the downstairs, cleaning the guest bathroom, and peeling potatoes. That left just enough time for a quick run—or it would have, if I’d set off at the right time, or remembered to wear my watch. And if it hadn’t turned out to be one of those days where you hit the perfect rhythm and running feels right, like your legs could carry you forever. The last thing I wanted was to turn around, so I kept telling myself just a little farther, which was how I ended up getting home late.
When I walked into the kitchen, pots were bubbling on every burner. Mom closed the oven door with a bang, sucking on the finger she must have burned poking at the turkey. There was so much steam in the air, condensation had formed on the inside of the windows. I unlatched the one behind the table, raising the bottom pane as far as it would go.
“Nice of you to join us,” Amy scolded, like she was the grownup in the room.
Ignoring her, I crossed to where Mom was rolling out the store-bought piecrust so it would look homemade. “What can I do?”
She ran the back of her wrist across her forehead before glancing at me. “It would be nice if you put on something a little more festive.”
I was so focused on speed I didn’t realize there was someone in my room until I was whipping the towel off my wet hair after the world’s quickest shower.
“What are you doing here?” I squawked. Hudson was stretched out on my bed with his legs crossed, flipping through my yearbook. Setting it aside, he smiled at me.
“Waiting for you. Can you do that thing with the towel again?” He tossed his head, giving it the full shampoo commercial back-and-forth.
“In your dreams.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m a teenage guy, sitting in a hot girl’s room while she takes a shower. This is probably the high point of my existence.” He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor as he inspected the dresser with its missing knobs and lopsided mirror half covered in cross-country ribbons and peeling stickers. “I have to say, I was hoping for more bras.”
“Like confetti, just scattered all over the place?” I didn’t add that he would have been even more bummed by my collection of cheap Target lingerie. “I’m just glad I was dressed.”
“Really? I’m not.”
I threw a balled-up pair of socks at him. Instead of lobbing them back at me, he held up his phone, hitting me with a series of flash bursts.
“Nice dress, though.”
I shrugged, not wanting to admit that my mother had picked out the dark green maxi with a pattern of black chevrons. The color was sort of Christmassy, even if the lack of sleeves was not. For me that counted as making an effort.
“Can you look that way for a sec?” He gestured at the window.
“What? No. I haven’t even brushed my hair.”
“Trust me.” Hudson crossed the room to stand in front of me. With a finger under my chin, he gently adjusted the angle of my profile. Then he drew the damp tangle of hair back from my face. “Perfect.”
He took another series of shots at much closer range. I tried not to squint.
“These are going to be good,” Hudson said, studying the screen.
“Why do you only take pictures of me when I’m scruffy and messed up?” At this distance, you could probably play connect-the-dots with my clogged pores. “These are not exactly glamour shots.”
“First, that’s not my aesthetic. If you’re looking for soft focus and a feather boa, you’re out of luck. Second, I’m trying to discover the real you. Not the yearbook version.”
I made a skeptical noise as I turned to the dresser and started coiling my wet hair into a bun before it could soak the back of my dress. Hudson came to stand beside me, watching me root around for a bobby pin.
“It feels like we’re running out of time.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. I still had one arm raised to hold my hair in place. “Yeah.”
His mouth twitched. “See? You’re so stoic. I bet you won’t even write to me. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“What about you?” I gave my bun a quick pat to make sure it wouldn’t unravel before turning to face him. “You’re going to meet some lion tamer girl with a top hat and spangly leotard and forget all about this place.”
“Wow. I mean, I wish. You do know it’s not a circus?”
I lifted one shoulder, noticing the way Hudson’s eyes fixed on my bare skin. Props to me for taking the extra twenty seconds to shave my pits. “Still more exciting than here.”
“If the scent of animal urine gets you going.” His fingers played with a spare hairpin, crossing and uncrossing the ends. “I’d rather stay here with you.”
My heart said Oh really? Then my head smacked it back down. “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me, it only gets worse. The suckage is real.”
“We’re both trapped. Maybe we should go on the lam. I hear Mexico is nice.”
“You actually live in a cool place,” I reminded him.
“On the rare occasions I get to be there.”
I tried not to hear it as a complaint about his time here. “You’ll go back soon, though, right? After the big cats.”
“I guess.” He straightened his glasses. “Too bad you can’t come.”
“Since I have to go to school and stuff.” Among other holdups. Like the job I’d never applied for yet wasn’t allowed to quit.
“Yeah.” Hudson set down the now-V-shaped metal pin. “It would be fun, though. Hanging out in the city.”
The sound of my mother’s laughter carried up the stairs, followed by a raspier bark of amusement.
“Andrea brought wine,” Hudson said, as if that explained our mothers’ upbeat moods.
Both of us were quiet, listening to the murmur of voices from below. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Their children, and how disappointing they are, because they don’t realize how good they have it when plenty of people would kill for their opportunities.” He shrugged. “If I had to guess.”
That wasn’t exactly my mother’s party line. Her schtick was all about family and togetherness, because it wasn’t like she could claim we were setting ourselves up for professional success. (In what, the bustling literary-reenactor industry?) Still, the underlying message was the same: You don’t appreciate how lucky you are!
“What does Andrea have to complain about? You’re here helping her, aren’t you?”
“Right?” His face lit up. “And it’s not like I had any choice. Apparently I’m not qualified to make up my own mind because I haven’t had enough life experience.” Sliding his fingers under his glasses, he rubbed both eyes.
I knew exactly how it felt to have your mother look at you like she wished you were a different person. One who fit in with her plans.
“That’s better than my mom, who doesn’t want me to go anywhere because she thinks you can learn everything you need from a single book.”
“Why do they have to control everything? I just want a chance to do my own thing. Figure out who I am.”
“Yes!” I grabbed his arm. “Working with family is a straight-up nightmare. They think they own you.”
“And the pay sucks.”
“Vacations are the worst. Want to get away? Too bad!”
Hudson laughed. He didn’t mind the ocean of snark that lived inside me or get offended when I said something honest.
The door flew open, interrupting what could have been a moment.
“Mom says—” Amy broke off mid-complaint. “It’s freaking Christmas and you’re in here slutting it up?”
I spun her around and shoved her into the hall before she could say another word.
“Jo!” The closed door shook as she pounded it from the other side. “You’re supposed to help. Mom said—”
“I know. I’ll be right there.” I waited until her heavy footsteps retreated before turning to face Hudson.
His expression was unusually serious. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Okay?”
He reached for my hand. “I feel like things have been a little off with us. Since the party.”
So we were an us. Good to know, even if our status wasn’t something I’d been giving as much thought lately.
Everything about the last week had felt off to me, mostly because of what had happened after the party. On the surface, it wasn’t as bad as the post-breakup era. David and I still acknowledged each other and made (very brief) eye contact, but the careful politeness felt like a lingering cold front. I kept having to remind myself not to touch him, which made me realize how physical I’d been with David before. On top of missing the ease of our friendship, I was starved for human contact—and worried about how I’d handled the prom invite.
Not that I was convinced David had been asking romantically. If I hadn’t shut the conversation down after five seconds, maybe I’d know for sure. Either way, it didn’t feel right to flirt with another guy in front of him, which was why I’d more or less ignored Hudson’s attempts to erase the memory of his party foul by cozying up to me at rehearsals.
“I know I messed up.” Hudson’s fingers moved slowly up my arm. “I kind of got into it with my mom that day.” He skimmed past my elbow to caress my shoulder. “Do you ever feel like you’re going to explode? Like the pressure builds until you have to let it out?”
It sounded like he’d been reading my diary as well as the yearbook. Between the sympathy and the relief of being touched, I felt myself softening. “I thought you were bored. Wanted to hang with the cool kids for a change.”
“You are the cool kids, Jo.”
“Me and my multiple personalities?”
He was standing close enough for me to catch the amused twitch of his lips. “All of you.”
My shoulder blades were pressed against the door, but I wouldn’t have moved even if I could have. It felt unreal, this thing I’d dreamed about actually happening.
His hand slid to the back of my neck as he touched his mouth to mine.