Thanks to chuckbass28 for the banner!

-----------------------------------

I stretch out my time in bed for as long as possible, even when sunlight comes streaming in through the gaps in the blinds, bathing the room in a golden glow. Emerging from the covers translates as facing the world – something I’m not ready for. At least wrapped up in my linen armor, I can, to a certain extent, push away thoughts of real life.

Or, more specifically, what happened last night.

Still, my mom’s determined not to let that happen and – even though she doesn’t know the full details of my disastrous night – bursts into my room around eight, reminding me that the entirety of my packing remains yet to be completed.

“Georgie,” she says, standing beside my bed, “I don’t know what’s upset you, and listen: you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But we’re leaving this morning. You need to pack.”

An incoherent mumble into the fabric of my comforter serves as my response.

“Well, it’s up to you,” she concludes. “Either way, you’re coming with us. If you can’t get a suitcase organized, you’re going to be wearing those PJs for a long time.” Saying no more, she shoots me a satisfied look before leaving the room.

I know she’s right; she always is. Despite how crappy I’m feeling, the cabin trip is set in stone and pretty much unavoidable. Still, maybe it’s what I need right now. Spending the holidays with the family will at least be a light distraction from recent events, whereas moping around the house will only provide ample opportunity to dwell on my mistakes – something that definitely won’t help my sanity. The choice is clear.

It just, you know, might be a little easier if “the family” didn’t now include Connor, who is pretty much the center of all my problems.

Pulling away the covers and preparing to drag my heavy limbs out of bed, I realize Mom was wrong about one thing – instead of being clad in PJs, like I’m expecting, I discover I haven’t actually changed out of my dress from last night. Saying that, it’s barely recognizable as my choice of attire from last night; the sheer amount of wrinkles gained from my bed have given it a whole new look (and not an attractive one, at that). I guess when your life is crumbling beneath your feet, you don’t pay much attention to bedroom fashion.

I wriggle into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before dragging out my suitcase from the dark depths of my closet. At this point, I’m feeling more numb than emotional, as if I’ve been administered a large dose of anesthetic. It’s almost as if the events of last night are just part of some twisted dream, even though I know full well they’re as real as the air I’m breathing. The pain’s now more of a dull ache, as opposed to sharp stabbing realization.

That doesn’t stop the constant swirl of thoughts in my mind, though, reminding me of how stupid I’ve been, as well as how much I’ve lost.

How many pairs of jeans will I need? I try to immerse myself in packing, hoping it’ll at least filter out some of my thoughts. Then there’s my tops, jackets, not to mention shoes...

It takes about an hour to stuff everything into my case – ‘stuff’ being the operative word. I’m convinced it’s shrunk considerably since last Christmas, since I don’t remember having this kind of difficulty before. It takes the sacrifice of several sweaters – as well as planting my butt on top of the thing and yanking the zipper as hard as I can – to finally get it closed. That’s when I take a breath of relief. My life may be on the brink of falling apart, but at least one problem’s solved: my suitcase is closed.

It’s when it’s no longer occupied that my mind starts to wander. My gaze trails over to my cell on the nightstand, where it’s been silent all night. I’d expected that, of course. But now my hands are twitching, aching to dial Ava’s number. We’ve never fallen out before – or at least not like this. The most we’ve ever disagreed on is what flavor gum to pick up from the store, and that was quickly solved by a mature game of Rock Paper Scissors.

Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be of much help to us now.

Going on the assumption that she’ll have had time to cool off, I give in and call her. The worst that can happen is being hung up on, and at least I’ll have tried. That’s what I repeat to myself, anyway, as I wait with bated breath for a break in the dial tone.

Then, I hear it. “Ava?” I say quickly, afraid that I’ll lose my chance.

There’s a pause. “Georgie.” Her tone is bland, emotionless, but at least she’s acknowledging me. That’s more than she was willing to do last night, and I’ll take anything I can get.

It occurs to me then that I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to say to her. My main priority had been getting her to actually speak to me, but my planning hadn’t stretched beyond that. Crap. I frantically search my brain for something coherent, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Ava, I... you’re talking to me.”

“What do you want, Georgie?”

I take a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re mad at me, and this in no way makes up for anything I’ve done, but... I’m sorry, Ava. I’ve been a massive bitch, and I realize that now. You have every right to be mad at me, but I just want you to hear me out. I wasn’t thinking about Nathan, and how he’d get hurt... I was being selfish. It was just this stupid thing to get Connor worked up, but... I don’t know. I went too far. But I realize that now, and you don’t know how sorry I am, and the thought that I might have just lost my two best friends, it’s killing me...”

The words are tumbling out, but I’m running out of things to say, so I can’t help but feel thankful when Ava’s voice cuts me off. “Georgie, I don’t know what to say,” she says, sounding pained. “I just... I don’t know whether you realize what you’ve done to Nathan.”

“I do,” I protest. “And believe me, I couldn’t be more sorry. I just... I can’t go off to the cabin wondering if either of you are going to speak to me again.”

There’s a long silence. I bite my lip, my teeth digging in so hard I almost draw blood. The thought of losing Ava and Nathan for good is just too much to bear. And although Nathan’s forgiveness seems about as reachable as the moon right now,I need my best friend. “I can’t forget this,” she says eventually. “It still happened, no matter how many times you apologize.”

“I get that,” I say earnestly. “So... you’re not going to stop speaking to me altogether?”

Ava laughs lightly. It lasts no longer than a second, but it triggers an intense wave of relief to wash over me all the same. “No, I’m not. You made a mistake, Georgie... but it’s not the biggest mistake in the world. You’re my best friend. Still, you know it’s Nathan you should be apologizing to, right?”

“Yeah.” As much as I don’t want to think of it, the obvious is staring me right in the face. “I just feel like I should leave him alone for a while yet. I don’t think I’m the person he wants to speak to at the moment.”

“You can fix this,” Ava assures me, causing me to wonder how I would’ve ever coped without her cool, collected tone. “It might take some time, but it’s possible. You’re not a bad person, you know? You just made some bad choices.”

“Thanks. For everything,” I add. “I’m not sure how many other people would talk to me after this.”

“It’s okay. Now hadn’t you better get going? You’re off to the cabin today, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well... let me know how that one turns out.”

After we say our goodbyes and hang up, a huge sigh of relief escapes my lips and I run a hand through my hair. Because, even though I’ve taken only a few steps up what’s probably going to be a mountain, I know it’s a start. Obviously, I’ve hurt Nathan – and knowing this is pretty much killing me, especially considering his confession last night that’s intensified the blow tenfold – and forgiveness is a long way away, but I feel slightly more confident about eventually earning it knowing that Ava doesn’t despise my guts.

I guess now all I can do is wait, and try not to focus too much on the gut-wrenching prospect of the cabin trip ahead, commencing in a few hours’ time.

***

I’m exhausted.

It’s only been a half hour since we piled out of the car and into the cabin, luggage in tow, to join the rest of our family. Since then, I’ve been forced to hug and greet pretty much all of my living family members, maintaining a sweet smile as I endure the same “Gosh, look at how you’ve grown!” ritual as I do every year. Thankfully, though, there’s only so much growing a person can do in twelve months, which means that all the twirling and nodding in agreement is limited, and I can usually move on after a maximum of five minutes.

Still, who knew it could take this much energy? I feel ready to crawl into bed, yet it’s only just past noon.

In total, the cabin’s providing residence for thirteen of us (although it feels more like one hundred). As well as myself, Mom and Dad, there’s also Grandma and Grandpa (proud owners), Aunt Kate and Uncle Steve (dragging along their boisterous twin five-year-olds), Uncle Joe (renowned bachelor and probably more immature than the kids), Brandon (late, as expected) and, of course, Connor and Julie.

Trekking upstairs to my usual room, the size and beauty of the place still strikes me. With enough space to host all of us comfortably, the cabin’s wide hallways and large windows attribute its relaxing air. Each wood-paneled wall is filled with photos and various memorabilia collected over the years. Snapshots of my mom as a kid and my dad outside the restaurant on its opening day hang beside a shelf cluttered with sports trophies for football, basketball, baseball and boxing (Uncle Joe could pack quite a punch in his younger days). Scanning them, I can’t help but smile. Our family may be crazy sometimes, but seeing it like this, anybody would swell with pride.

I’m halfway across the hall to my room when something catches my eye. It’s only small – anybody else would probably overlook it – and in no way superior to the other framed photos it’s surrounded by, but it captures my attention almost instantly.

A color photo of me: a kid with skinny legs and a mop of blonde frizz on my head. The wildness of my hair isn’t what strikes me, though; that’s down to the person I’ve got my arms flung around adoringly. Both of us are beaming at the camera, without a care in the world, our happiness seeming to shine straight out of the picture.

Of course, it’s Connor.

A pang of sadness goes through me but I push it away stubbornly, hurrying towards my room. Dwelling on old memories was bad enough before, let alone now. Moving forward is the only option for me, and to do that, I’ve got to refrain from looking back.

I’m in my room, dumping my bags on the bed and making a mental note to tidy up later, when I hear an excited squealing from downstairs that sounds suspiciously like my mom. A sound in that octave can only mean one thing: Brandon’s here.

A taxi is parked at the foot of the driveway; a few seconds afterward, my brother piles out of it. Of course, my mom wastes no time in approaching, going straight in for a hug the moment his sneakers touch the ground. “Brandon!” she cries, squeezing him. “Oh honey, I’ve missed you.”

“Mom, come on,” he groans, but I can sense the affection in his tone. When she finally releases him and takes a step back, he grins, before letting his gaze trail to the rest of us. “Alright, George?”

I scowl at the nickname, but it doesn’t stop me from hugging him too. Although the long journey hasn’t left him with the freshest fragrance, and he’s got a tan that could rival any native Californian, he feels no different than the brother I’ve put up with all my life. The tall lanky stature that causes him to tower over me, the spiked brown hair that contains way too much hair product, the small black tattoo on his wrist (an act of rebellion his senior year)… they’re all the same.

“You missed me?” he asks, grinning.

“Not at all,” I deadpan, but then I break into a smile too. “Of course. We all have.”

We’re so involved in Brandon’s arrival that neither Mom or I notice the closing of the opposite car door. Automatically, both of our heads snap upwards, where a second – rather unexpected – person has emerged from Brandon’s cab.

“Oh, right,” he says, with a light laugh, as if he’d forgotten all about her, “Mom, Georgie, this is Macy. My fiancée.”

Of course, it only takes that sentence to make my jaw drop. All through high school, Brandon was a notorious womanizer, never keeping a girlfriend for more than a fortnight at a time, much to my mom’s dismay. Serious relationships just weren’t his thing. College, I’d thought, would be his playground. Up until a moment ago, I’d have laughed hysterically at the idea of Brandon being engaged at nineteen.

Macy, once I’m able to get over my shock and get a good look at her, is a petite brunette with wide brown eyes. This is yet another surprise; I’d always assumed Brandon’s type was tall, blonde and preferably a cheerleader – at least, those were the kind of girls I’d seen being snuck up to his room when he’d been at home.

Catching a glimpse of my mom, I notice she shares my baffled expression. “You’re engaged?” she says incredulously. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Brandon shrugs, as if asking a girl to marry him is more ordinary than picking a breakfast cereal. “So here… surprise!”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Howard,” Macy says, reaching out to shake Mom’s hand politely. It’s this act of courtesy, combined with her neat clothing and shiny ponytail, that only fuels my disbelief further. This is the last girl on earth I would’ve imagined my brother to end up with. I’d have placed my bets on some young rebel, with dyed hair and an attitude for partying, if anyone. But standing here, right now… there’s no denying that this girl is strikingly normal. “Brandon’s told me so much about you. I really hope I’m not intruding, showing up here like this.”

“Oh please, honey, call me Alison,” Mom says, seemingly recovered from her initial shock. “And of course you’re not! You’re part of the family now, right? There’s plenty of room. Here, I’ll help you with your bags.”

The luggage is unloaded from the taxi and, within about thirty seconds, Mom seems to be closer to his fiancée than Brandon himself. The two of them seem to click immediately, starting up the driveway with Mom leading the way. “So… how did you guys meet?” is the only portion of their amiable chatter I hear before they go out of earshot.

I sneak a glance at Brandon, still standing next to me, looking as relaxed as ever.

After a second, he notices me staring, shooting me a questioning look. “What?”

“You know, Mom’s probably disappointed that you didn’t call her,” I say.

However, there’s no trace of guilt on his face. He shrugs. “I wanted it to be a surprise. She’ll be fine. When she starts getting involved in the wedding plans, anyway.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Brandon’s short attention span has been put to good use, and he’s already engrossed in something behind me. There’s a pause, and then something clicks in his brain – I swear, the light bulb going off above his head is practically visible. His face is the epitome of confusion, frowning at whatever it is like he can’t make it out.

“What-” he starts, “oh my God, is that... Connor?”

The mention of his name causes my heart to do a back-flip. I’ve had enough time to prepare for this, yet the realization that he’s actually here, in the cabin with us, is still as horrific as ever. Spinning round, I’m met with the sight of Connor and Julie emptying the trunk of their suitcases.

She sees me immediately, grinning and waving.

“You’re kidding me,” Brandon says incredulously. “Connor? As in like, from when you were kids? What’s he doing here? I thought he moved to New York.”

It amazes me how he can be so oblivious to the most drama-filled episode of my life ever (in other words, the last couple of months). Still, I suppose California is a long way away from where everything’s been kicking off. “It’s a really long story,” I answer, sighing. “You don’t want to know.”

“You’ll have to fill me in later, George,” he says, winking at me. “I better go and find Macy before she becomes best friends with Mom.”

“Ten dollars she’s shown her your baby photos by tomorrow.”

Brandon thinks about it for a second, then smirks. “You’re on,” he agrees, shaking my hand to seal the deal. “I’ll just hide the albums.”

“Like that’ll stop her.”

We exchange equally smug smiles before he starts up the driveway. Left standing alone in the cold, my gaze involuntarily wanders back towards Julie’s car. She’s got her head stuck in the passenger’s side, rummaging around for something with her butt stuck comically in the air. Connor’s standing beside the vehicle, an indescribable emotion written across his face. Whatever it is, it’s miles away from the superiority he usually withholds in front of me.

Suddenly, our gazes catch and I inhale sharply. I’m expecting a glare, a sneer – anything that assures me we’re just back to square one – but they don’t appear. Instead, after a moment of hesitation, his lips curl into the smallest of smiles.

Not even a smirk. A tentative, yet genuine, smile. From Connor.

Am I in a parallel universe or something?

It’s a breakthrough, but not enough to stop me crashing back to reality when I remember the current standings between us. Stay away is my motto, and I have to stick to it. People get hurt when he’s involved, and I have to distance myself if I want to piece everything back together.

So, instead of managing a tiny – just acknowledging – smile of my own, I break the eye contact and head back towards the cabin without a word.

-------------------------------

So what do you think of Brandon? It feels weird to bring him back after all this time... last time I wrote about him, he was 11. So there's a few chapters left of this story... I'm so sad :( Even though it's probably been the hardest to write, it's been my favourite so far. And I hope you're as excited about the big revelation as I am.