Page 94 of Host for the Holidays
I laugh, and the hold music changes, making our ears perk up for a second. But it’s just a new song.
Madi sighs and leans against the back of the couch. I wish I had a better sense for how much of what she’s feeling is centered around Josh. She said she thinks she’s been in denial or something. Is she regretting the breakup?
Just the thought makes me ill—not just because I’m selfish enough to want Madi to wantme, but also because I genuinely want her to be happy, and I don’t trust Josh to make that happen.
“I didn’t expect to see you until a lot later,” she says. “Did you have a good time?”
I think for a minute before responding. I don’t really know how to describe the evening.
“Yeah. I mean, it didn’t start out great, but . . .” I fiddle with the button on my coat. “I actually talked to my dad.”
Her eyes light up. “Really? And?”
“It was good. I just wish it had happened a long time ago.” I meet her eyes. “Thanks for pushing me to do it.” We finally talked.Reallytalked. He asked me about my job, about my mom, about dating, which included a short discussion about Madi. It’s not like it fixed the years of surface-level contact we’ve had, but it feels like a good start.
She smiles at me, and there’s a tinge of bittersweet in it. “I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to know you better.”
Except you. You’re leaving.
The music softens briefly. “Your expected hold time is”—the voice shifts to become more robot-like—“two hundred minutes.”
Madi’s eyes widen. “What?! No! How is that possible? The last time it said thirty!”
I grimace my sympathy. “Maybe you should try in the morning. The time of day can make a big difference.” Am I saying that partially because I hope maybe she’ll have rethought things by then?
No comment.
She lets out a huge sigh that sounds like it’s about a lot more than just the hold time—like maybe it’s about her entire day, or this entire trip. I know it’s not my fault she and Josh broke up or that he didn’t come through on the whole job thing, but somehow I feel responsible for the fact that Madi’s looking like a deflated balloon. A really beautiful one, but still . . .
“Yeah,” she says, her voice more tired than I’m used to hearing. “You’re probably right. I’ll set my alarm for early and see if I have any luck then.” She grabs the remote and proceeds to rewind the movie. I had figured she would go to sleep, but apparently not.
She rewinds it all the way until the beginning, then glances at me. “I wasn’t really watching before, andThe Holidaydeserves my full attention.”
I hesitate for a second and then, even though it makes my stomach clench with nerves, I say, “Care for some company?”
There’s a bit of hesitation in her eyes that makes me immediately regret asking. Whatever happened today, it changed something for her. For us. She wants to watch this movie by herself.
My stomach feels sicker than ever. “You know, I should probably get to bed anyw—”
“I’d love some company,” she says at the same time.
There’s an awkward moment where we both pause, then laugh. And because I want to believe she wants my company, I take a seat on the couch. She’s got the blanket from last night on her lap, but she doesn’t offer it to me, and I don’t ask to share it.
I watch the movie—it’s about two women down on their luck in love who swap houses for the holidays. I don’t know how much thought went into choosing this movie for Madi, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see some of Madi and me in Cameron Diaz and Jude Law. That’s how gone I am over Madi.
And all I can think as we watch together is how this might be the last night I have with her.
THIRTY-NINE
RÉMY
Spoiler alert:I didn’t sleep well. Between the talk with my dad and Madi’s sudden decision to leave, my brain is in overdrive. Even when I do fall asleep, it’s the kind of sleep that leaves you feeling even more tired than before. It’s been hours when I realize how hot I am, too. I forgot to adjust the radiator dial back to its usual position once the boiler was fixed.
My real downfall, though, is checking my phone at one point and seeing that it’s 5:30—a great time to be up for the day, apparently. Madi said she’d be getting up early to try calling the airline again, and my brain assures me this task requires my attendance as well.
Only, she’s not even awake yet. Too frustrated to try to sleep anymore, I head to the kitchen to make the earliest breakfast any human on Christmas break has ever eaten.
I’ve got a lot of nervous energy, like I had too much caffeine, except that I didn’t haveany. I direct my fidgets into making a more elaborate breakfast than usual. A ham and cheese omelet, berries and cream, and hot chocolate—with extra chocolate powder.
