Prologue #2
I store my suitcase overhead before I do that awkward shuffle past him. Seven hours. I’m going to have to lie for the next seven hours. Seven hours and thirty minutes by the time we take off and land. Maybe I could pretend to be asleep. Maybe I could—
“How’s college going?” Andrew drops into the seat next to me as I shove the duty-free bag under the chair in front. He immediately puts his seatbelt on, even though people are still boarding the plane. “You’re studying Business, right?”
Small talk. I don’t usually mind small talk. But in these kinds of situations, small talk tends to lead to big talk. “Economics.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That sounds even fancier. You’re going to be an economist?”
“A lawyer. I think.”
“You think?”
“I’ve got the grades.”
He looks at me like I’ve said something funny. “But do you want to be a lawyer?” he asks when I don’t say anything more.
“I haven’t decided yet.” The words come out more defensive than I mean them to and a moment of silence descends just long enough to make me feel rude. “And what about you?” I ask. “How’s your… thing?”
His lips twitch at my hesitation. “Photography. It’s going well.
Hayley might have told you already, but I’m applying for internships next summer to see if I can stay in Chicago.
Might not be the smartest decision seeing as how everything’s unpaid.
Like aggressively unpaid. But I’m crashing with my uncle until he gets sick of me.
Free board for a few months if I do the graveyard shifts at his store.
” Andrew leans my way as a flight attendant slams our overhead locker shut.
“Does it smell like candy floss to you?”
Great. “That’s me. Sorry.” I sniff my right arm to make sure. “I was picking out a perfume,” I explain as his expression brightens.
“Really? Maybe you can help. I wanted to get Hayley something as a surprise. She didn’t want to do Christmas presents but technically it will be January when I see her so… What?”
“Nothing.” I smile, tugging out the inflight magazine from its little seat pocket. Why did she tell me about Rob? Why? Why why why why—
“I was thinking this one.”
I watch as he opens his own copy and flicks to the gift page, pointing to a small Chanel bottle.
“It says it’s a classic,” he says, peering at the tiny text beside the picture. “Eighty-nine dollars. What do you think?”
I think I’m going to kill Hayley.
Eighty-nine dollars. Someone doing graveyard shifts for his uncle and sitting coach on a budget Irish flight does not have eighty-nine dollars to spend on a girl who’s going to dump him in a week.
“You can’t buy her something on a plane,” I say as he takes out his wallet. “You should buy it from somewhere special.”
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.”
“And that seems like a lot of money.”
He reaches for the call button. “I’ve saved for it.”
“But—”
“Excuse me? Mr. Fitzpatrick?” We both turn as another flight attendant approaches us from behind, a teasing look on her face. “Your brother called ahead,” she says, and a look of utter confusion crosses Andrew’s face.
“A chorus of “Happy Birthday” was mentioned,” she continues, handing him a small square envelope. “But would you settle for a free drink on us?”
“Gladly,” he says, sounding relieved as his eyes slide to mine. “Can we make it two?”
“Of course,” she says. “What can I get you?”
“Oh…” I glance at Andrew, who just waits. “White wine?”
“I’ll have the same,” Andrew says, showing her the magazine. “And can I get—”
“We’ll begin our boutique shopping as soon as we’re in the air,” she interrupts with a bright smile. “Seatbelt,” she adds to me.
I buckle up as requested, waiting for her to disappear behind the curtain. As if this day could get any worse. “It’s your birthday?”
To my surprise, he bursts out laughing. “No. This is my brother’s idea of a joke. Christian’s just hoping to embarrass me.” His smile falters as he glances back at me. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve gone white as a ghost.”
“It’s the lighting,” I lie. Okay. At least she’s not cheating on him on his birthday.
Oh my God , that should not be my baseline!
“I knew he’d try something like this,” Andrew continues as I try to calm down. “You got any siblings?”
“Just one. My sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. By about three minutes.”
His brow furrows before he gets it. “You’re a twin?”
“An identical one.”
“Seriously?”
I nod, fighting back a wince at his enthusiasm.
“Wow, that’s…”
And here we go.
“Completely normal and unimpressive,” he continues, smiling when my eyes slide back to him. “You must be sick of people going nuts when you tell them.”
“Just a little,” I admit.
“Sorry.”
“No, I get it. It’s when they start asking if we feel each other’s pain that I lose the will to live.”
He laughs and I relax a bit. “There are four of us,” he says. “Liam’s the eldest. Then me, then Christian. And now Hannah, who’s six.”
“Six?”
“She was a welcome surprise.” He slides his finger under the lip of the envelope, smirking when he opens the card to reveal nothing but a crudely drawn middle finger. “Classy. You get on with your sister?”
“Yeah. For the most part.”
“I bet it’s hard to be so far away from her.”
“I never really thought about it,” I say honestly. “I mean, we text all the time so…”
“Still,” he prompts. “It will be nice to be together at Christmas.”
“Sure.”
“Sure?” He smiles again. Big smiler this one.
“We’re not really Christmas people,” I explain.
He gives me a skeptical look. “You’re literally flying home on Christmas Eve.”
“Coincidence. I work part-time at a shoe store and was going to work over the holidays, but my boss didn’t have the hours and Zoe wanted me to bring stuff over so…” I trail off as he stares at me. “Here I am.”
“You’re breaking my heart here, Molly.”
“It’s not like I’m a Scrooge!” I say. “I’m just not really into all the—”
“Love?” he supplies. “Comfort and joy?”
“Toys. Money. The same twelve songs played over and over again.”
“Ah, the commercialization argument.”
I frown at how quickly he dismisses it. “Unless you’re doing it for the kids, Christmas is nothing but several weeks of expensive stress that will inevitably end in disappointment. How can anything live up to that kind of expectation?”
“Wow. So, you’re like a grinch?”
“I’m not a—”
“A real-life grinch.”
“I’m practical.”
“I’m getting that,” he says, looking like he’s enjoying himself. “But it also sounds like you’re doing Christmas wrong.”
“It’s not the same for you. You just said it yourself, there’s a child in your family. That’s different.”
“Child or no child, you’re never too old to hole yourself up in the house for a few days and eat until you puke. Not to mention the fashion.” He gestures at his sweater and it’s the first time I notice the cheery reindeer embroidered on the front.
“Reindeers don’t wave,” I tell him.
“Rudolph does. Rudolph loves to wave.”
I snort. “I get it now.”
“You do?”
“Mm-hm. You’re from one of those families.”
He only looks amused at my suspicion. “Those families?”
“The ones in the commercials. Matching pajamas. Roaring fire.”
“Unashamedly. I’m going to guess you’re not?”
“Like I said, not big Christmas people.” I frown when he continues to watch me, a new glint in his eye that immediately puts me on edge. “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about what I can do to make you a fan of the most wonderful time of the year.”
“How about not saying things like that for a start?”
He grins. “I’m going to change your mind about this.”
“Confident thing, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. So confident that I bet you I will change your grinch-like mind by the end of this flight.”
“An actual bet?” I press my lips together, fighting back a smile. “How much are we talking?”
“One million—”
“ One dollar,” I say, lifting a finger. “And you should know that I’m extremely competitive.”
“And you should know that I may look innocent, but I’m not above playing dirty.”
“Innocent, huh?”
He gestures vaguely to his face. “I’ve got the whole boyish thing going on, I know my strengths.”
I laugh at that, and he brandishes the fake birthday card between us. “Now,” he says. “Do you want to see how much free stuff we can get out of this or what?”
His phone vibrates on his lap before I can respond, making me jump.
Sometime during the last few minutes, we’ve both turned completely toward each other, and my stomach drops like we just hit turbulence when I see who’s calling.
I’d somehow forgotten all about Hayley as we’d talked, but now she screams her way back to the front of my mind as Andrew brings the phone to his ear, not noticing my panic.
“It’s Hayley,” he says as my pulse starts to race. “She’s been studying so much; I didn’t even get to see her before I left.” He turns to the front, smiling broadly. “Hey, babe! You’ll never guess who—”
I snatch the phone from his hand before I can think, pressing the button to end the call.
Silence. Awkward, awkward silence for the longest second as Andrew just stares at me. And then: “What the f—”
“You shouldn’t answer your phone when we’re flying.”
“We haven’t started moving yet,” he says slowly. “The doors are still open.”
“It can still affect the system.”
His mouth opens and closes, all traces of joking vanished. “Can I have my phone back?” he asks eventually.
I think about saying no. About saving him from what I know is about to happen even at the expense of me acting like a weirdo.
He’s a nice guy. A nice, festive guy and if this has to happen I don’t want it to happen when he’s just spent ten minutes harping on about Christmas.
But the unimpressed look on his face tells me he’s about to call for security and I would really, really like to not get arrested.
“Right. Sorry.” I hand it back to him. “I’m a nervous flyer.”
“…Okay?” He turns away from me as much as he can in the small space, but I don’t let up.
“So that bet, huh? You were going to convince me?”
“Look,” he begins, but the phone buzzes again and we both look down to see a message flash up on his screen. I think I’m about to be sick.
Not by text.
Not on Christmas Eve.
She wouldn’t.
Beside me, Andrew goes very, very still.
She would.
“White wine?” The oblivious flight attendant reappears beside him, two plastic cups in her hands. “We aren’t supposed to open the bar until after takeoff, but—”
“Yes!” I exclaim, half standing as I startle the poor woman. “Yes, please.”
Andrew doesn’t move as I take the drinks and neither does our new friend, who looks a bit too pleased with herself.
“I know we said we’d let you off easy,” she says as he stares down at the text. “But seeing as it’s our last flight before Christmas, we couldn’t ignore the opportunity to embarrass our passengers.”
I glance behind her as two other attendants make their way toward us. Oh no. “I don’t think—”
“ Happy Birthday… ”
Oh no .
A deep pink flush spreads upward from Andrew’s neck as the cabin crew and then the majority of passengers take up the song.
“ Happy Birthday, dear Andrew …”
As they do their rowdy best with the octave leap, Andrew slowly raises his head to look at me.
“Happy Birthday,” I say with a weak smile, and down my cup in one.