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Page 64 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

It would be irresponsible to give Molly hope, only to back out a month from now. I can’t hurt her like that. Especially because I can tell that however transient my feelings might be, hers aren’t; she admitted that she’s always had a thing for me.

There’s a picture forming in my mind of what I’m going to have to do, and it sends a sour feeling to the pit of my stomach. I’m going to have to let her go. I’m going to have to cut her off, even if only for a little while. But it’s the only way I can know for sure if what I’m feeling has any potential to last in the real world. When I lessen my exposure to Molly, will the Molly Effect remain? That’s the experiment I’m going to have to run.

Because I’m going to have to be all in with Molly O’Malley if we’re going to be together.

My pulse jumps as that image unfolds before my eyes with almost supernatural vividness—like a movie screen on the blank white wall in front of me, our future begins to play. Grocery shopping together, standing by the crate of produce and arguing over which apples look best. Carefully applying a Band-Aid to her finger when she cuts herself chopping vegetables. Donning matching pajamas with the rest of the O’Malley clan next Christmas, two Christmases from now, ten Christmases from now. Afamily, one that doesn’t leave or consider me as only an afterthought.

People who accept me unconditionally.

I wrench my eyes away from the wall and that future, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. This is completely ridiculous. It’s like I’ve leveled up—like Molly has unlocked an entire new set of emotions in me that now come out to play whenever they feel like it, with no regard for what I want. I’m in bed on Christmas morning, for goodness’s sake; what is this tightness in my throat? What’s this stinging in my eyes?

Crap. Speaking of crying—Mrs. O’Malley is going to sob. There are going to besomany tears. She’s the kind of woman whose emotions are not restricted by little things like social convention or proper public behavior. She’s loud and over-the-top, and most of the time I love that about her.

But despite Molly’s assurances that her parents won’t be mad about what happened…well. I’ll believe it when I see it.

I sigh, my eyes jumping away from the ribbons of daylight playing on the carpet and moving instead back to Molly. She’s asleep facing my direction, her face squished to the side by her pillow, so that her cheeks are bunched and chubby, her lips puckered slightly. Her hair is absolutely wild, several corkscrew curls falling over her forehead and a few strands stuck at the corners of her lips. The rest falls to the pillow all around her head with a volume that’s almost gravity-defying. There are no Sleeping Beauties here.

I smile anyway as I look at her. She’s cuter than she has any right to be. And I’m going to miss her.

As though my dopey, lovestruck staring is a physical touch on her skin, Molly suddenly swats at her cheek in her sleep—like she’s swatting a mosquito. Her puckered lips turn down immediately afterward, her brow bunching, and I have to stifle a laugh. A second later she shifts her body, rolling onto her back, lifting her arms, and stretching herself into wakefulness. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks around for a moment before turning back to face me.

A little smile curves her lips when we make eye contact. “Hi,” she says. Then she curls more tightly into a ball and lets out a contented sigh. “Isn’t a warm bed when you wake up the most comfortable thing in the world?”

“It is,” I agree, and I can’t help my returning smile. I think I might give my right foot to be curled up under those blankets with her, holding her close.

I keep this thought to myself.

“How are you feeling?” I say instead.

She sighs, propping her head up on her elbow as she looks at me. “This is the only time today you get to ask that question. Are you sure you want to use it now?”

“I’m sure. It will be the first and the last time I ask. I promise,” I say. I take in the cascade of hair that’s falling to the mattress now that she’s propped up a bit, and I have to force myself to pay attention to her answer instead of those curls. It’s just that they’re perfect for running my fingers through—

“I feel fine,” she says, pulling me out of my curl-induced reverie. “My quads feel a little sore, maybe, but that’s it.”

I nod, sitting up and turning my body to face her. “Still shaky at all?”

She sits up too, then shakes her head. “Nope,” she says.

“Good.” There’s another question I want to ask, but I’m not sure she wants to talk about the seizures anymore, so I tuck it away into the back of my mind. Maybe later.

“Just say it,” she says into the silence that’s fallen between us.

I blink at her in surprise. “How did you know—”

“It’s written all over your face,” she says, pointing. “You have something you want to say, but you don’t want to upset me. It’s fine; just say whatever you want to say.”

“I—it’s not—” I sigh. “It was just a question.”

Even though the room is still dim with the curtains closed, her answering smile is bright enough that it seems to light the place up. “It’s fine, Beckett. Truly. Just get it out of your system. I’m giving you permission.”

“It’s just—” I clear my throat before going on. “You say you’re well-controlled on your medicine, but you were talking yesterday like your seizures happen a lot. You said you’re always sore and shaky afterward. And that made it sound like this happens regularly. So—”

“No,” she cuts me off. “Yesterday was the first seizure I’ve had in years. But I’ve tried…four? Five? Yeah, five,” she says, nodding. “My seizures started when I hit puberty, and since then I’ve tried five different seizure medications. It’s always trial and error for those. Sometimes you break through; sometimes the dose is wrong. Sometimes a certain medication just doesn’t work. So I’m well-controlled now, but I’ve still had a decent number of seizures over the course of my life.” She looks at me. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I say. I’d been confused and a little worried when it sounded like she was having seizures on a regular basis, but now relief spreads through me at her explanation.

“And that was your question?”