Page 42 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend

SIX MONTHS LATER … ON ACTUAL CHRISTMAS EVE: BEAU

Beau: Hey, Chewbacca. I figured you’d be going to sleep soon, and I didn’t want to wake you if you already were. That’s why I’m texting instead of calling. Also I’ve got bad news, which I hate to say out loud. I’m so sorry, but it looks like I’m going to be stuck here. All incoming flights have been canceled due to an unexpected storm. I’ll FaceChat you in the morning, but I know that won’t be the same as being together in Abieville. I promise to make up for it. Somehow. Someway. Love you, Chewie.

Beau: PS: My mom won’t be happy when she finds out either.

Kasey: I just saw your text, and I tried calling you back twice, but no dice. Time differences are weird. I left a message so you’d hear my voice, but I know wifi can be spotty in some places, and I’m not even sure where you are right now. So in case you can’t check your voicemail, just know I love you back, Han Solo. Enough to survive Christmas without you. As for your mom, maybe she can drown her sorrows in Auntie Ann’s fruitcake. It’s dense enough to absorb a lot of tears. Call me when you get this. Or text. Or FaceChat. I miss your face.

Kasey: PS: Not to rub your absence in, but my Actual Christmas Eve (ACE) pajamas are even better than the Buddy the Elf ones from July. I’m not going to tell you how cute I look, because you’ll be sad and there won’t be any fruitcake left. XO

I pull my phone from the carryon, and multiple notifications for Kasey’s messages ping ping ping the second I switch off airplane mode. This is par for the course whenever I fly now. It’s been like this for the past six months. Kasey’s working harder than ever—with lots of late nights, looming deadlines, and editorial demands. Meanwhile, I juggle shifts in shoot locations, flight delays, and urgent requests for new collaborations.

It’s been a challenge, but Kasey is worth every moment of compromise. Still. Christmas is one time of year I hope never to disappoint her. So as I listen to her voicemail—twice—I can’t wipe the grin off my face. Spoiler alert: I’m not stuck in bad weather. I’m in Albany. Surprising Kasey. For Actual Christmas Day.

(ACD.)

ChapterSeventeen

STILL SIX MONTHS LATER ON CHRISTMAS DAY: KASEY

My head is buried back under two pillows when my mother comes into the room. I can’t see her with my cheek mashed into the mattress, but this has been my mom’s Christmas morning routine since way back when Brady and I were toddlers. Now that my door is open, I can smell the cinnamon rolls straight through the down in my pillows. My mom’s homemade rolls arethatdelicious. Or maybe it’s because our house isthatsmall. It’s also possible the scent is in my head. Like muscle memory. Or I might just be hungry from missing Beau. There’s a gaping hole in my heart where he should be.

There always is when he’s away.

“Meeeeerrrrrrry Christmas, Kaseyyyyyy!” My mother sings this out. Loudly. I brace for her telling me she could’ve been the next Shania Twain if she hadn’t given up a music career to raise her family. But she skips that info this time. Instead she squawks, “Brady will be here any minute!”

“Mmph.”

“And Daddy’s been up since the crack of dawn brining the turkey to roast. It’s already ten o’clock! Time to get up and see if you and your brother got presents or coal this year!”

I pull the pillows off my head and prop myself up against the headboard. Through a cloud of static-cling hair, I peer at my phone. No new messages from Beau.

“Aren’t I a little old for stockings and Santa Claus, Mom?”

“There’s no such thing as too old for Santa.”

I swipe loose strands of hair off my face, and spit out the ones stuck to my lips. Once most of me is visible again, my mother clucks. “Oh, my, my, my.” She tilts her head. “What’s wrong, sweet pea?”

At least this drags a smile out of me. “First of all, you calling me sweet pea is wrong. I feel much more at home when you’re reminding me I didn’t go to med school, or that I broke your heart by moving to California.”

“I suppose Idomention those things on occasion.Veryrarely.” She pats at her Mrs. Claus hat, which looks more like a doily stretched over a lump of red hair. This morning, she’s squeezed into the same dress she’s worn on Actual Christmas Day for decades. It’s red velvet with sprigs of holly embroidered across the bust. She’s also wearing a frilly white apron and black lace-up boots.

“We have different definitions of rare,” I say.

“Why so grumpy, Kasey?”

“It’s Beau.” I shake my head. “He’s not going to be here for Christmas after all.” The knot in my stomach tightens. “I knew his making it here was a long shot, but I got my hopes up anyway.”

“Oh, dear.” My mother smooths her apron and comes over to my bedside. Then she smooths the ladybug bedspread before sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Love does tend to do that to us, Kasey. It makes us hopeful, I mean.”

Her eyes are warm. Shining almost. This is weirder than her calling me sweet pea. But my mother is right. The past six months have been the happiest of my life, but also—sometimes—the hardest. The funny thing is, each time Beau leaves, I hurt a little more, but also a little less.Lessbecause he’s proven time and again he’ll always come back to me.Morebecause I know all too well now what I’m missing when he’s gone.

“Hidey ho!” My dad appears in the doorway wearing a forest green sweater. It’s got a giant red-nosed reindeer face on the front, with two antlers stretching up to my father’s armpits. The name RudolF is stitched below. Capital F.

“No Santa Claus suit this year?” I ask.

“Santa came in the summer, remember?” He grins at me and winks. “The old boy needs his rest.” He glances at my mom, then back at me. “Besides I wanted to break in this new sweater. Beau’s going to wish you had your mother’s knitting skills.”

“Oh, Phil.” My mom pokes his belly.

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