Free Holiday Hijinks by Roxy Queen Page A

scratch the back of my neck. “He left early this morning.”
    My father narrows his eyes. “What did you do?”
    “Nothing! Ugh, something. I can fix it though,” I promise.  “Things just got a little tense. I shouldn’t have lied about our relationship.”
    “No, you shouldn’t have,” Pop says. “Carter seems like an upstanding young man, even if he is a democrat.”
    Mo m stands and reaches for me. She pulls me into a tight hug. “Ruthie, relationships can survive almost anything if you’re truthful and honest. Go talk to him.”
    “I will.”
    I will.
    *
    “Hey, Mads.” I stand in the bathroom doorway while she packs her things. “Can we talk?”
    “About what?”
    “About what you saw—the other day—with me and Carter?”
    She tosses hair products in a travel bag. “What’s there to talk about?”
    “I want to apologize for you seeing that and just kind of explain.”
    “Carter’s hot. You wanted to hit it. No explanation needed.” She shrugs.
    “I didn’t want to ’hit it’,” I say, weighing my words. “Carter is my boyfriend and we’ve been dating for a long time. It wasn’t a one-time thing.”
    Maddie makes a face and says, “TMI.”
    I sigh. “Okay, I know you don’t care but I hate that you think I’m such a mess-up. I’ve tried really hard to get my life straightened out and honestly? Carter is one of the best parts.” I give her a smile, but get nothing in return but silence. “I love you girl, and if you ever need me for anything let me know.”
    She takes out her mascara wand and swipes it across her eyelashes. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.”
    I grab my bags and leave the room. Hopefully my conversation with Carter goes over better than this.
    *
    I leave Charlotte that afternoon for the beach. There’s no reason to go home, even though without Carter I’m going to be the loneliest, saddest, most awkward third wheel, ever. I only hope that Carter gets my messages and knows I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.
    I’m thirty minutes from the beach house when I start to regret some of the messages. It may have been a little overkill.  Okay, a lot overkill. There are 27 desperate messages on his phone. Fifteen texts and eight emails.
    Zero replies.
    I can only say I’m sorry so many ways. So many times.
    I glance at the phone lying in the passenger seat. “No more messages,” I tell myself. “Don’t do it.”
    I drive two more miles before picking up the phone and pressing the icon by his name. It sends me straight to voice mail and I waver, considering not leaving one, but what the hell? What’s one more message at this point?
    “ Babe, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, everyone agrees. Tara. My mom. Pop. I told them everything. Well, not everything. Not about fucking on the stairs during the Christmas party or any of the other dirty, delicious things we’ve done together but I told them about you and about me and they’ve made me realize I’m just being dumb. Please call me back. I love you.”
    Pathetic.
    I get to the beach house just before dark and find the key under the mat. There’s a note explaining the lights and furnace. The place is small, a front row cottage on Sunset Beach. The wide porch facing the ocean is its nicest quality.  The house belongs to Ryan’s aunt who offered it to us for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. The plan had been to fuck and frolic on the icy North Carolina beach, but I guess my insecurities dashed that one.
    I haul in my luggage and a couple bags of gr oceries. My mother sent leftovers from the party last night and I brought supplies to make spaghetti. Nothing fancy, we’ve all eaten enough this week, but it’s something I can prepare while I wait for them to get here.
    While the sauce cooks , I change into yoga pants and open a bottle of wine. Finley calls just as I’m about to put on the pasta. “Hey girl, we’re crossing the bridge. Be there in about five.”
    “Perfect timing. I was about to