Her bedroom?
Like that won’t absolutely wreck me.
Because the only end game onthisplaying out is us pretending that we’re still together, which means falling asleep next to Rory and waking up next to Rory and?—
But from the look on her face, what I need doesn’t matter.
“Yeah, sure,” I say slowly.You wanted to save Christmas for her, you fucking chump. This is how you save Christmas for her.
Her shoulders drop slightly in relief.
“I’ll, um, come up in a minute? Just need to…” She gestures vaguely at her sister.
“Of course.”
Her dad grabs onto the lifeline of escape. “I’ll help bring stuff in from the truck.”
“No, I’ve got it—” I start to say, but he’s already heading outside.
So I take what I’ve got in my hands already and escape up the familiar stairs.
I dump Rory’s backpack on the same double bed where we lost our virginity at seventeen, then put the wrapped cutting board on her little desk where we prop up her computer so we can watch stand-up comedy as we fall asleep. It still has the same faded periodic table poster pinned above it. Our matching Christmas bathrobes from last year, a gift from Cassie and Jules, are still hanging on the back of the bedroom door.
Everything is the exact same…except us.
“What do you got in these bags, Garrett?” Rory’s dad pushes his way into the room and plunks down the totes full of Christmas presents for my cousins and their kids.
ApparentlyI’ve got itmeans nothing.
Bottles of booze to buy off people I was planning to begfor couch space, I want to say. I hope he didn’t notice the sleeping bag, aka my backup plan.
Instead I say, “I’ve got the rest.”
He nods, and doesn’t move anywhere.
Ah, fuck. More Minelli emotional chaos, incoming.
“Hell of a thing,” he says quietly. “They seemed so happy just a few days ago.”
Yeah,I think.I know the feeling.
“Did she, uh, say what happened?”
He shakes his head. “She just arrived right before you. We thought her car was your truck, actually.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, son. You and Rory have always been so steady.”
Oh, the painful irony.
When I follow him back downstairs, Rory’s wrapped around Cassie, holding her tight.
She looks up at me over her sister’s shoulder, then whispers something quietly. Cassie nods, and Rory slips away.
Her hand catches my wrist. Just for a second. Just long enough for her fingers to press against my pulse point and make me yearn in a way I should be used to, but still find catches me off guard every time.
Weusedto be so steady.
“I need to get one more bag from the truck,” I mutter under my breath. “Then can we talk?”
She nods. “Upstairs?”
