Page 46 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“Should we get a move on? I’m eager to get to work.”
“Absolutely. Hey.” Oliver stands up, too. “Here.” He leans down and pulls something out of his pack: it looks like a bulky black plastic watch. “You’ll need this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a solar-powered satellite communicator. It means we can track each other’s location, and you can find your way around.” He turns it on, and a flashing beacon appears on a tiny map. “And we can communicate.” He holds up his own device and presses a button. “Basically, it’s a walkie-talkie, and means neither of us is ever really alone out here. I’d hate to lose you in the wilderness,” he says. “Also, these are fun.” He hits the communication button, then speaks into the watch in a comical growl: “Hello, Jovie 92, this is Buddy 90.”
She laughs. “You aresucha Christmas junkie…”
He ignores her. “I’ve got an APB on a mynah bird at eleven million lat and 8.3 trillion longe. Please confirm you see it, too. Roger.”
Ivy hits her own button. “You’re an idiot,” she says.
He speaks into his device again. “That would be, ‘Copy that, Buddy 90, this is Jovie 92, I read you loud and clearandyou’re an idiot. Over and out.’ ” They both laugh, and then he explains to her that there aren’t any dangerous snakes or predator animals in Hawaii; it’s mostly just the terrain she needs to be careful of.
“So, I’m going to hike out to the waterfall now and see if Ican get a few shots in this late-afternoon light. You could head here.” He points to a location near the ocean on her map. “It takes a bit of effort to get there because of the elevation, but it’s worth it for the views. You might like those elevated spots as a start for your drawings.”
“Actually, I’m kind of dying to see that waterfall, too,” she says. “Mind if I just come along with you?”
“Oh…” He looks away. “Ivy, would it be horrible of me to say no? I’vereallygot to focus this afternoon, and I think I might just need to be alone for a bit.”
She feels her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. “Of course. No problem at all. I totally get it.”
“See you later, okay?”
He can’t seem to get away from her fast enough, calling over his shoulder that he should be two to three hours, and they can meet back at their campsite for dinner later. “My famous pasta is on the menu, don’t forget!” he adds over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.
Ivy sighs, then turns and starts to hike in the direction he showed her—but as she walks, she can’t help but think of their conversation in the truck on the way to the park. Oliver is clearly a true artist, and she’s a hack in comparison. Which is supposed to be fine with her. Only now she doesn’t like the way she feels. Oliver has made her question why she needs to compartmentalize the thing she loves most in the world into a mere two weeks every year—something she has forced herself to ignore for a long time.
Because that’s the way it has to be, she tells herself as she hikes toward the lookout point Oliver recommended.
This place of otherworldly beauty doesn’treallyexist in her life. She wishes she could talk to Holly, who is always a steadying influence, but there’s no cell service out here.This is all just a fantasy, she tells herself.This is not real life. I don’t want to live the way Oliver does, flying like a dandelion seed in the wind, not really grown up, not really accountable. I have a life in New York City, and that life relies on my having a steady job, a steady paycheck. Maybe I don’t love my job at Imagenue, but I also don’t hate it. I like my life. This is all just for fun.
12
Holly
December 22
Hudson Valley, New York
Buy something short and hot. Forget Matt ever existed, even if it’s just for one night.
Holly can’t text her best friend about the school dance, but she knows exactly what Ivy would say. She pushes open the door to the thrift shop and is immediately greeted by the familiar, slightly musty smell of secondhand stores everywhere, as well as the festive-sounding tinkle of a door chime made of tarnished silver bells tied with red ribbon.
“Hellooooo?” calls out a high-pitched voice, and a person wobbles around the corner carrying a pile of Christmas sweaters so high they’re completely obscured. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you!” the voice trills, and the person totters past with the sweaters. “I’m Bebe. If you need anythingat all, just holler. And if you want to try anything on, there’s a changing room—more like a changingcloset, really, but we make do—at the back, just to the left of the rain slickers and galoshes.”
“Thank you,” Holly says to the walking pile of sweaters.
She flicks her way through flannel shirts and leather jackets in varying shades of red, teal, taupe, and gray. There are garage coveralls with names like “Bob” and “Annie” emblazoned on sewn-on name tags, caftans, cardigans, and, finally, festive-looking garb: sequined tank tops and faux leather jeggings, cocktail dresses that have seen better days, and a few dresses that look more suitable for a prom. Holly takes out one of the sequined tops and a pair of the faux leather pants.
“Good choices, good choices.” Bebe has materialized behind Holly. Now that she isn’t carrying a mountain of sweaters, Holly can see that she has curly white-blond hair and twinkling amber eyes. She’s holding a pair of black, high-heeled, pointed-toe booties. “And these would be adorable with that outfit. You don’t happen to be a size-eight shoe, do you?”
“I do, actually,” Holly says, taking the boots. “I mean, none of this is what I’d usually wear, but—”
Bebe waves a hand at her. “Butit’s the holiday season! Sparkle, shine, and pleather leggings with the perfect boots are exactly what’s called for.”
Holly steps out of the dressing room moments later feeling like a different person—feeling more like Ivy than herself. Bebe is now holding a shiny black claw-clip, which she effortlessly uses to secure Holly’s long hair in a surprisingly sophisticated, soft updo. “Perfection,” she breathes.
