Be cool, she mouths, but I have a feeling that ship has sailed.
* * *
DINNERgoes better.
That’s down entirely to Tegan, who keeps Adam almost totally distracted. This fall, she took her first journalism course at the college, having spent her first year mostly filling in some general education requirements and focusing on acclimating to campus. Throughout this semester, she’s kept Adam posted about this particular course, and now she’s given him a full rundown of her final project—including her best guess at the grade she’s going to get. Once she finishes that, she goes straight into what is basically a ten-question series about Adam’s life right now, including about the parts I’m pretty sure she already knows. Salem, Pen—who Tegan texts with regularly—the whole Hawkins family, who we’ll be traveling to see in a few days. Already our second Christmas with them, and I can’t wait to hug them all.
But when the table is cleared and the kitchen is all cleaned up, Adam starts to head into the living room to settle on the new, much bigger couch we bought when he moved in. Adorably, Adam loves to sit by a lit-up Christmas tree at night, and if I go in there, he’ll want me sitting in my usual spot, cuddling up, my left side pressed to his right.
I look at Tegan in panic.
Her eyes widen briefly, and then she improvises.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she says, too loud, and Adam pauses.
“What?”
“You can’t stay out here.”
He blinks. “I . . . can’t?”
Tegan shakes her head. “Jess and I need to . . . ah. Well, I’ve met someone!”
His brow lowers. “You’ve met someone?”
“I can’t talk toyouabout it yet! It’s too new! This is girl talk,okay?”
He stands with his mug of decaf in his hand and looks between us. The expression on his face is half-surprised and half-wounded. He was really looking forward to hanging out tonight.
He’s been saying so for days.
My heart gives an aching thump. I can’t do this. I’m going to—
“Veryprivatethings,” Tegan says.
Adam’s expression clears gamely and he nods. “Sure, sure. I’ll just . . . go do some reading. I guess it is a little late.”
It’s barely nine o’clock, but whatever.
I stay awkwardly rooted to the spot while he makes his way to us, giving Tegan a quick half-hug before bending to give me a quick kiss on the lips.
“Love you,” he whispers into my ear.
“Love you,” I say back, squeezing his hand once before he heads toward the bedroom.
Tegan and I look at each other in shared apprehension.
“You are never going to make it until Christmas.”
I groan and hang my head, shaking it.
She’s so right.
Still, she does her best to stall, hoping if we stay up talking long enough Adam will fall asleep, and that at least buys me one more night. And even though Tegan and Adam and I are a family who try not to keep secrets from each other, it’s still good to have one-on-one time with my sister, to talk about her friends at school and the professors she likes and doesn’t. We stay in touch when she’s there, texting throughout the days, doing a video call once a week—separate from the ones we still do once a month with Dr. Hobbs—but it’s different to catch up in person.
We laugh more together now; we’re ourselves more together now.
When it’s nearing eleven, we’ve grown quieter, a bit more contemplative, the twinkling lights on the tree blanketing us in cozy security. Tegan adjusts the blanket on her lap, looking like she’s only moments from sleep.
