“I had Sam resend it,” Emerson admitted, suddenly sheepish, “and I archived it in the inbox, just in case.”
“That’s very organized of you,” Mal laughed, impressed. “I just—what makes this place so special—what makes what wedoso special—is that we do it together. I think whatever comes next, we need to figure it all out together.”
Emerson beamed. “And then whatever it is, we’ll do it together too.”
Mal knew they would.
A cacophony of feelings swarmed their mind, loud and indistinct and not all good. Butthisfeeling—Emerson holding their hand, promising to face down the unknown with them? This feeling was unambiguously Good. They smiled, leaning in.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” they said. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”
“Honestly,” Emerson said, laughter twinkling in her voice, “I’d be upset if you didn—”
The’tgot trapped between her teeth as Mal pressed their lips to hers.
Subject:Meeting—Friday, November 17
Tuesday, November 14 | 7:12 PM
From:The MixxedMedia Editors
To:Stella , Parker , Nylan , James , Kodi , Alex , Theodora
To theMixxedMediastaff:
Please see below agenda for an all-staff meeting on Friday, November 17, at 6 PM.
Feel free to bring snacks and drinks.
See you Friday,
The Editors
AGENDA
6:00 PM–7:00 PM Important Discussion™
7:00 PM–??? Party!!!!!!!!
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHTA CHANGE OF PLANS
After their Wednesday shift at Dollar City, Mal was ready to plan.
With two days until the meeting at the Haus, there was only a small amount of time between them and What Comes Next. But instead of feeling rushed to figure it out, Mal felt like the amount of time before the meeting was toolong. As they walked home, the late-night Covington streets draped in a deeper dark as fall gave way to dreary Midwestern winter, they knew they should make some notes, prepare an outline for the conversation. And they would; they always did.
But the strange thing was that this time, they didn’t feel like theyneededto. Mal still carried Emerson’s assurance that all versions of them were Good in their chest like a glowing secret. And while they still couldn’t commit to it fully, they did feel safe knowing that the version of themself who showed up for the meeting would be exactly the version they, and the team, needed.
Mal couldn’t remember ever harboring this feeling before.
When they walked through the door to their house, they were more than a little nervous about what a run-in with their mom might do to it, sure that she’d be able to sense it andwould want to squash it. But their mom was probably already asleep at this hour, and this close to Christmas, their dad probably wouldn’t be home until just before midnight.
So it was Maddie who Mal ran into, the blue glow of the TV illuminating her silhouette against the sofa. When the door closed behind them, she turned, a strange, soft smile unfurling across her face.
“Hey, you,” she said. “Want to watch this ChristmasBaking Showwith me?” After half a beat, she added, “Only if it feels like something you might like.”
Mal wasn’t quite ready yet to let go of the fall. If they could have things their way, this season would go on for them forever, or at least until the end of November before Christmas swept in, all sparkles and shades of red and green. But they weren’t wound down enough for sleep yet either, and some low-pressure time with their sister sounded like a good way to get there, so they said, “It does.”
Setting their Dollar City apron on the entryway dump table, Mal headed to the living room and sank onto the sofa next to Maddie. Maddie immediately wiggled her toes to tuck under Mal’s thigh, then spread half her blanket over their legs. She said, “I think this is the one where Harrold gets mad about his mincemeat and throws it in the trash.”
