In A Holidaze - Christina Lauren Page 0,23
short lives, they will be enthusiastic participants for about fifteen minutes, then will lose interest.
Aaron made his bubbe’s famous cheese blintzes this morning, but didn’t eat a single one, choosing instead to sip on a protein shake and insist he was “perfectly content without all that dairy” and has “never felt better.” Now he’s on the porch in ripped skinny jeans, a floral bomber jacket, and a pair of trendy thick-soled sneakers that look better suited to walking around in a spaceship than in six inches of fresh snow.
“This is . . . different,” Andrew says, looking him up and down.
“Doesn’t Papa look cool?” Zachary says, and tugs on the end of Aaron’s Burberry scarf. “He has the same shoes as Mr. Tyler.”
“Who is Mr. Tyler?” I ask.
Kyle looks on with the long-suffering smile of a spouse who has endured his husband’s shenanigans for months and is all too happy to share the joy. “That’s the twins’ twenty-four-year-old Instagram-famous soccer coach.”
Aaron jogs in place. “They’re super comfortable.”
Andrew is a delightful sweetheart: “I’m sure they are.”
By this point in our lives, we all know the routine: Partners split off and get to strategizing, then building. It might make more sense for me to pair up with Theo because we’re practically twins but 1) Miles would murder anyone who dared steal quality time with his idol; 2) Andrew and I are both easily distracted as well as only marginally invested in winning, so nobody else wants us on their team, and 3) I just really want to be with Andrew. Not the most noble reason, but here we are.
As for the rest, Benny is only occasionally interested in the event, and mostly just acts as a judge and/or cheerleader. Lisa works with Kyle. Aaron works with Dad, who, to Dad’s credit, takes a long look at Aaron’s outfit but refrains from commenting. Theo and Miles team up, obviously, and Ricky and Mom are a team. Nine times out of ten, they win. I guess that’s what happens when you pair a landscape architect with an artist.
When Kennedy and Zachary started kindergarten last year, we instituted a Swimsuit Rule: Nothing can be carved that would be hidden by a swimsuit. Without the guideline, Theo cannot be trusted. There were a number of years there in our early twenties when even Theo’s snow lizards had boobs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him the precise moment he spots the thick curved branch that inspires him and Miles to make the snow elephant. The adrenaline of this discovery kicks his energy into high gear and the two guys high-five like fraternity pledges who’ve just tapped their first keg.
Benny sidles up to me at the table. “What’s your plan?”
I watch as Andrew sifts through the box of veggies, waiting for inspiration. A few days ago, we’d started making a panda and then aborted that option when we realized it really just looked like a bear—which Mom and Ricky were already doing and better. We pivoted to the monkey, and I think it would have been amazing if we’d started on that from the get-go.
“I’m going to use what I learned last time and win.”
Benny nods for a few quiet seconds before muttering dryly, “That seems altruistic.”
I glare half-heartedly at him. “Originally, Ricky and Mom won—like they always do—and everyone complained,” I whisper. “We don’t want people complaining, we want people having fun! Project Save the Cabin, right? So, if Andrew and I win, we can make a big deal that it’s our first steak-pick ever. Rah-rah traditions!”
Benny stares at me. “Everyone knows you don’t care about the steak.”
I stare back at him. “Maybe I’m hungry.”
He lifts a brow.
“Or maybe I’m tired of losing.”
Benny snorts into his coffee. “There it is.”
Andrew approaches. I bump my shoulder against his and pretend to give him a vote. “What are you thinking?”
“A panda bear?” he says, holding his hands out to indicate a big, round belly.
I give this five seconds of fake consideration, tapping my chin.
“I think your dad and my mom are already making a bear.” I tilt my head, subtly gesturing, before realizing that of course they’re still gathering materials and I’d have no way of knowing what they’re doing; all they have is a shapeless mound of snow.
Andrew frowns at me quizzically, green eyes narrowing.
“I heard Mom talking about it earlier,” I lie. “I bet it’ll be amazing.”
He buys this—Thank you, Universe—and I walk over to the side porch to locate the two perfect pieces