Chapter 6
SIX
CYRUS
Dinner isn’t even served yet and I already know things are going to go sideways.
Dahlia’s on my left, trying to calmly refill a serving bowl without making eye contact with anyone. Her hand still brushes mine every few minutes like she forgot how not to touch me.
Molly is on her second wind, energized by pure holiday adrenaline and maybe two bites of a sugar cookie. Bradley keeps hovering like he’s ready to catch her if she tips.
My mother keeps glancing between me and Dahlia like she’s solving a puzzle.
My father is poking at the ham like it personally offended his principles.
Bradley is in the corner trying to unstick a string of lights from a chair he accidentally sat on.
And I haven’t even had a chance to eat anything because everyone keeps asking me where the trivets are or whether the oven runs hot or why the mashed potatoes taste different this year.
“It’s the butter,” my mother whispers to me. “You didn’t use enough.”
“I used a normal amount,” I whisper back.
“No such thing. Christmas potatoes need excess.”
I rub my temple.
Then Bradley clears his throat. The sound rings out like a gavel.
“So,” he says, leaning back, looking far too pleased with himself. “Seems like everyone’s a little… lively tonight. Maybe we should go around the table and share holiday highs and lows.”
“Absolutely not,” Molly murmurs.
“Oh, come on.” Bradley bumps her shoulder. “Your family loves structured conversation.”
“Not this structured.”
The chatter picks up again, and for a moment I think we’re safe. That maybe we’ll make it through dinner without the whole table figuring out that Dahlia and I basically set the cabin on fire last night.
Then my Aunt Lydia gestures toward the decorations. “The place looks beautiful this year, Cyrus. You finally deciding to care?”
Dahlia stiffens beside me.
“She helped,” I say quickly.
“Oh?” Aunt Lydia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dahlia helped you decorate?”
The room goes quiet in a way that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
Then—
Then my cousin Blake jumps in with the worst possible rescue attempt.
“Wasn’t she at the wedding?” he asks. “I remember her leaving early the next morning. Maybe she and Cyrus—”
Molly chokes on her water.
I could throttle Blake with my bare hands.
Bradley puts a hand on my shoulder, like he can sense I’m about to launch myself across the table. “Easy,” he murmurs.
Dahlia’s face is bright red. I feel her panic like it’s my own.
“I was not—” she starts.
“We were not—” I try at the same time.
My father raises an eyebrow. “You two seem very synchronized for people who weren’t something.”
I inhale sharply.
Dahlia pales.
Bradley whispers, “Abort mission. Abort. Hard pivot.”
But no one pivots.
Because my mother folds her hands and says, “If something happened at the wedding, we’re all adults here. We can handle—”
“Nope,” Dahlia blurts. “Nothing happened.”
Which would be convincing if she didn’t look like someone caught her kissing Santa while Mrs. Claus was baking cookies.
“Nothing happened?” Aunt Lydia repeats. “Because you two won’t look anywhere but at each other, and Cyrus is smiling.”
“I’m not,” I say immediately.
I absolutely am.
Then a random cousin—who is now my mortal enemy—leans forward. “Maybe that’s why he disappeared at the reception after-party. He was sneaking off with—”
“ENOUGH,” Molly snaps, slapping her hand on the table.
Everyone jumps.
She freezes, eyes wide, hand still on the tablecloth.
Bradley is instantly at her side. “Honey, you okay?”
Molly swallows hard. Her eyes dart to Dahlia. Then to me. Then to every person staring at us like we’re the mid-season finale of their favorite soap opera.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Oh no,” Dahlia breathes. “Molly—don’t—”
Too late.
“I’m pregnant,” Molly blurts.
And the room erupts.
Happy shrieks.
Crying.
My mother stands up and immediately starts moving chairs around like the seating chart needs to reflect this news.
Molly’s dad hugs Bradley so hard he nearly knocks him over.
Aunt Lydia begins planning a baby shower out loud.
Dahlia lets out a breath like she’s been underwater for ten minutes.
I look at her. She looks at me.
And for the first time all night, everything settles.
Because family chaos I can handle.
Pregnancy reveals I can handle.
This?
This is easy compared to what came out of my mouth before I even thought about it:
“You’ve got me,” I’d told her last night.
Now I feel the truth of that sitting heavy and sure in my chest.
She touches my arm lightly. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For not letting them steamroll me.”
“They didn’t steamroll you,” I say. “They steamrolled both of us.”
Her lips curve. “Still. You stood up for me.”
“Of course I did.”
The noise around us swells. People hugging. People celebrating. People arguing about baby names even though Molly hasn’t sat down again yet.
For once, nobody’s looking at us.
Dahlia leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. “We should talk later.”
My heartbeat kicks up. “Later.”
She nods and slips away to hug Molly.
I watch her go, every part of me braced around the simple truth I haven’t said out loud yet.
Whatever comes next — chaos, misunderstanding, family interrogations — I want it with her.