“Mom!” I groan when I realize what she’s done, but she’s already bustling out of the room.
“You two take care of that! I need to get dinner started. When you’re done, you can help me with the mashed potatoes, Darby.”
Gabe hesitates before opening the lid. “What am I going to find in here?”
“Hell. Hell is in there.” I groan. “Let’s just get it over with.”
He pops the tote open and hoots with delight at what he finds.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a balder baby.” He holds up one of the many picture ornaments featuring me, Celeste, and Seb over the years. “You look like Patrick Stewart.”
“Give me that!” I reach for it, but he whisks it behind his back.
“No way. I need a good look at all of these.” He sifts through the small tarnished frames and globes with pictures printed on them. “Wow, your brother really had someteeth, didn’t he?”
Oh God, if he thinks Seb’s overbite is bad, I’ll never hear the end of the perm I had when I was eleven.
“Huh. You and Celeste looked a lot alike when you were… Hang on. What’sthis?”
He leaps up, cradling an ornament in his hand.
“What is it?” I try to see what he’s holding, but he twists away from me, laughing the whole time. “Which ornament do you have, Dickenson?”
He holds it over my head. “This one clearly goes front and center.” He fends off my attempts to block him, stretching on his tiptoes to hang it in the middle of the tree, just above my reach. I’m left plastered to his back, trying to reach over his shoulder, but he effortlessly spins me away. As he does, I catch a glimpse of his prize.
“Not the freshman class picture,” I moan.
He sets his hands on my hips and holds me in place. “Oh yes. It’s magnificent. The glasses. The braces. The sparkly purple eyeshadow…”
“You’re a sadist.”
“You’re adorable.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest, lowering his voice. “Can we talk?”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to.”
“Why?” His voice softens, and I struggle to answer him. It’s because I’m a coward, and I’m scared he’ll tell me this has all gotten too messy to be worth sorting out. Because in the end, my sister’s correct; on paper Gabe and I just don’t make sense.
“Darby! A little help, please!”
My mom sounds frazzled, and I pull away, relieved for the excuse. “Sorry. When Mom’s working on a big family dinner, you help her when she asks.”
“I get it.” He moves back to the ornament tote. “When you want to talk, come get me. I’ll be finding prime spots to hang these in the meantime.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Gabe
I’m stepping out of the shower when I hear my phone chime with the ringtone I’ve assigned to my dad. Shit.
I wrap a towel around my waist and run into the bedroom, grabbing it just before it goes to voicemail. My dad calls so rarely that to not answer would feel like a failure.
“Hello, son.”
Ah, yes. That's my dad, always warm and affectionate. “Hi. How’s Hawaii?”
“Hot.”
Okay, so much for that. “And how’s the baby?”
