“And what did you tell them?” she asked carefully.
“I missed the deadline.”
Holly stared at me like I’d just announced my intention to become a professional astronaut or take up competitive yodeling. “What does that mean?”
“It means, the decision has been made for me. I chose to lose my position.”
“You chose to lose your position,” she repeated slowly. “Your partnership-track position at one of the most prestigious firms in Manhattan.”
“Yes.”
“Because...?”
“Because I realized that everything I thought I wanted in New York felt empty compared to what I’ve found here, with you,” I said, reaching for her hands. “Because this town, this life, this thing between us—it feels more real than anything I’ve experienced in years.”
“Declan,” Holly said softly, “you can’t make career decisions based on?—”
“Based on what?” I interrupted. “Based on being happy? Based on finding someone who makes me want to be better than I am by myself? Based on finally understanding the difference between existing somewhere and truly belonging there?”
Holly was looking at me with the kind of expression that suggested she was processing multiple emotions simultaneously, none of which I could accurately interpret.
“But your career,” she said weakly. “Everything you’ve worked for?—”
“Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make me happy and was giving me panic attacks,” I said firmly. “Holly, you make me happy. This place makes me happy. Building a life here, with you, if you want that—that makes me happy in ways that corporate law never could.”
“Panic attacks?”
I nodded.
“You want to build a life with me?” Holly repeated, like she was testing the words for meaning.
“If you want that,” I said, declaring my feelings without knowing if she felt the same way. “If you decide to go back to Chicago after the holidays to pursue another career, or simply to go back to where you’ve lived for years, I’m coming with you. If you tell me that what’s happening between us is as real for you as it is for me.”
Before Holly could respond, the sound of the front door opening interrupted our conversation, followed by familiar voices that suggested my parents had taken it upon themselves to expand the evening’s social gathering.
“Linda! Stan!” came my mother’s voice from the entryway, bright with obvious delight. “You made it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” came a voice I recognized as Stan. “Linda’s been looking forward to meeting your Florida adventures.”
Holly and I looked at each other with mutual horror as we realized that my parents had apparently invited Holly’s parents over for what was rapidly becoming a four-person romantic surveillance operation.
“Holly?” Linda’s voice called from the kitchen. “Are you here, sweetheart?”
“In the living room, Mom,” Holly called back, though her expression suggested she was calculating escape routes.
“Should we—” I started.
“Definitely,” Holly agreed, and we both stood up just as both sets of parents appeared in the living room doorway with the kind of expectant expressions that suggested they’d been coordinating this ambush for some time.
“Don’t mind us,” Mom said cheerfully, settling into her favorite armchair with obvious satisfaction. “We just thought it would be nice to all spend some time together.”
“Very nice,” Linda agreed, taking the seat in the chair beside her. “Like a family gathering.”
A family gathering.The implications of that phrase hung in the air like a challenge, and I realized that our private conversation had just become a public declaration whether we were ready for it or not.
“Actually,” I said, figuring that if we were going to have an audience for this conversation, I might as well make it count, “there’s something I want to say. To Holly, and to everyone.”
“Declan,” Holly said quietly, “you don’t have to?—”
