Days at the cabin pass a lot more quickly than I had expected. Especially with Connor there, I had thought awkwardness would drag the passage of time to a snail’s pace. However, Christmas whizzes past in a blur of fairy lights, wrapping paper and turkey. At one point it snows, even if the novelty does only last ten minutes and it looks more like a sprinkling of icing sugar on the ground than anything else. With all of us packed in together, the house is pleasantly chaotic, with my twin cousins up to their crazy antics pretty much every hour of the day.

The chaos hasn’t distracted from the brewing tension between Connor and I, though. The two of us have been quiet since day one, not making eye contact, let alone conversation. I think pretty much everyone has sensed there’s something going on, even without voicing their thoughts. Of course my mom doesn’t fall into that category; more than once she’s sidled into my room, dropping hints and unsubtly trying to get me to spill the details of what’s really going on.

However, I’ve got enough sense to keep my mouth shut. I understand her disappointment at being left out, but she’s not exactly known for her secrecy. If I let slip even a slither of information, I have no doubt it’d be Big Family News in a matter of hours.

Things have been strange, though. Connor’s no longer confident, instead looking noticeably uneasy when we’re around each other, as if afraid I’m going to pounce on him or something (like I’m actually capable of that). It’s like we’re constantly tip-toeing about, scared that any sudden movements will blow up in our faces. A couple of times I’ve caught him looking like he wants to say something, but each occasion he’s changed his mind, abruptly closing his mouth and averting his attention to the floor.

I suppose I should be happy, but instead I’m more confused than ever.

The hype of Christmas passes, and soon the days leading up to New Year are trailing off too. I barely notice time passing. It’s almost as if I’m only partly present: one half of me is here, laughing and joking with the family the same way we do every year, but the other is at an undisclosed location, wondering about Connor and where this has left us. Cutting him out of my life is turning out to be a more difficult feat than initially accounted for.

On top of everything, thoughts of Nathan still plague me. I try calling him a few times, but never get further than his voicemail. The day before New Year’s Eve, my third try, I muster up the courage to leave a message, swallowing hard before saying, “I know I don’t deserve you returning my calls, but I’m so sorry. Please… just call me when you’re ready to talk.”

I hang up and slide my cell back into my pocket, heaving a sigh. Nathan’s obviously got every right to ignore me, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Each silent day just makes me wonder even more if he’ll ever speak to me again. I’m a terrible person for doing what I did, but the prospect of being deprived of a second chance is almost too much to bear.

Suddenly feeling suffocated, I slip downstairs and out of the back door. The rest of the family is in the living room; I can hear their voices and laughter through the open door. Thankfully, the deck is empty. The past few days it’s become my favorite spot, the only place I can properly be alone. Most of them don’t bother venturing out here in the frosty weather. Still, it doesn’t bother me; as long as you’re accompanied by a thick jacket, the deck’s a good place to think.

Sinking onto the cushion of the swinging seat, I can’t help but admire the lake. It’s almost seven in the evening, and the sky’s already blanketed in darkness, the moonlight glistening on the surface of the water. The thick ring of surrounding trees are rustling slightly in the wind; the air is cold and sharp. I’m concentrating so hard on the giant stretch of water before me that I barely notice the person slip out onto the deck to join me.

“Brandon,” I say, looking up at my brother as he slides into the seat beside me, a beer in his hand.

“Hey.”

For a while we swing in silence, just soaking up each other’s company. I’m not sure if the quiet is intentional, or whether Brandon’s trying to work up the nerve to say something. After about two minutes of staring out onto the lake, both of us internally mulling things over, he finally breaks the silence.

“So how long do we have to sit here before you tell me what’s wrong?”

Half surprised by his bluntness, I try my best to look confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Give over, George,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been looking miserable all week; something’s bothering you. And all this sitting out here alone? Come on, I want to know what’s going on.”

I’m kind of amazed how he can read me so easily. Am I really that transparent? Still, I suppose the change in atmosphere is pretty hard to overlook. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, sure,” Brandon answers sarcastically. “It’s something to do with Connor, isn’t it? He’s been acting weird too.”

“It’s a really long story,” I say, trying to deter him, but the look on his face tells me he’s not giving up any time soon. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

I smile with enough sarcasm to match his own, but it quickly fades from my face. Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and rack my brains for a last-ditch attempt at avoiding this. However, I come up short. Brandon’s looking at me with an expectant expression, obviously determined to weasel the information out of me.

Maybe it’s a good idea to tell someone, anyway. Keeping it to myself hasn’t exactly done wonders for my mood the past week. And Brandon’s a lot less likely to broadcast this across the family tree than Mom.

So I take a deep breath, and I tell.

Sparing no details, I relive the events of the past months. It takes a while, but the story comes tumbling out a lot more easily than I had expected. Once I start, it’s surprisingly difficult to stop. Julie’s divorce, their unexpected arrival, Connor’s inexplicable hatred for me. Then there’s Connor’s party, my brief courtship with Nathan, the kiss in the storeroom and of course, the big finale: the dance. When the story trails off into the present,I exhale deeply, feeling the weight on my shoulders decrease marginally. Suddenly, it becomes clear that I should’ve done this a while ago. I wonder how I’ve been able to keep this bottled up without going crazy. My eyes flicker back to my brother, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks slightly overwhelmed, his gaze still trained on my face until he leans back into his seat and takes a sip of his beer. “Well,” he says eventually, “that’s something.”

“No kidding,” I answer, my mood rapidly deteriorating. I had hoped for Brandon to have some solution, a piece of advice that would enable me to glue the pieces of my life back together, but his perplexed expression is something of a disappointment. Maybe hoping for a magic potion to erase this mess is a big ask, but come on. I need something.

Then, his gaze snaps back to me. His eyes scan over my face, studying it intently. “You really can’t see it, can you?”

Now I’m confused. “See what?”

He shakes his head. “You guys are freaking perfect for each other. I have no idea how it’s got so complicated, but it’s so obvious. Seriously, how are you not together?”

This is not the reaction I had expected. For a second, I’m so startled I can’t manage to form a coherent sentence. Instead I take to staring incredulously at my brother, wondering whether he’s suffered a damaging blow to the head or something. How has he come to that conclusion, after all I’ve said?

“Brandon, did you listen to a word I just said?” I ask disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Come on, Georgie. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t see it. Regardless of everything that’s gone on… I swear, you’re perfect for each other.”

“No,” I deny, shaking my head firmly. This was definitely not how I intended the conversation to go. Brandon’s meant to be understanding, offering helpful advice as to what my next move should be. How I can begin to fix the giant mess I’ve got tangled up in. Not telling me about some non-existent love between Connor and I. Seriously? “No, no. I don’t even… I don’t like Connor in that way. He’s a jerk.”

“That story sure involved a lot of making out for someone who doesn’t like him that way.”

Immediately, my cheeks flush their favorite shade of scarlet. Maybe I should’ve left out that part of the story. In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea. It’s basically willingly handing over a wad of blackmail material to my older brother, who will waste no opportunity to put it to use. Unable to meet his gaze any longer, I cast my eyes firmly downward and choose to focus on cooling off my cheeks. “That,” I say, “was a mistake. I really don’t… I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“You like him,” he says adamantly. “Even if it’s just a little bit, you definitely like him. Why else would you go through all that trouble to make him jealous?”

“He was dating Charlotte and he was being a jerk. It was just a bit of revenge,” I mumble.

“But you also like him.”

I’m about to protest once again, but for some reason I can’t find the words. My brain is suddenly whirring, desperately searching for evidence to prove to myself that Brandon’s wrong. Connor’s a massive jerk, and has been nothing but that ever since he moved back. So why didn’t I push him away when he came onto me at the dance? Why had I been so fixated on evoking a jealous reaction from him when he started dating Charlotte? If I really feel nothing for him, why has shutting him out been so hard?

Oh my God. Is Brandon right?

Do I like Connor?

“Look, I know I haven’t been around,” he starts, his voice suddenly tinged with seriousness, “but from what I’ve seen and heard, you two belong together. Even when we were kids, you know, when you were the best of friends. I always figured you and Connor would find a way.”

“But everything’s changed,” I say, sighing. “If Connor did like me – which I’m pretty sure he doesn’t – why has been acting like this?”

“You ever thought to ask him?”

“I…” My mouth shuts quickly. “Well, it’s not really been that easy…”

“It is now,” Brandon answers, shrugging and taking another sip. “I really think you guys should talk it out. Maybe you can work this through.”

I know he’s got a point; there’s not really any other way to understand Connor other than going straight to the guy himself. Still, a part of me is holding back. I’ve tried so hard to shut him out the whole time we’ve been here… a conversation could ruin everything, especially if it doesn’t go to plan.

“Are you sure I should be taking advice from you? The guy who’s engaged to a random girl at nineteen?” I joke, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hey, Macy’s not just some random girl.”

“Well, you know, she’s really not who I figured you’d end up with,” I say truthfully. “How long have you guys known each other, anyway?”

“Year and a bit,” he answers. Then he turns to peer at me curiously, his brows furrowing into a slight frown. “Who did you figure I’d end up with, then?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “A blonde page three model, maybe? You know how you were in high school.”

He laughs heartily. “Oh yeah. I know.” There’s a moment-long pause, as if he’s caught in the memories of his younger days. An image springs to my mind of his longest-timing girlfriend, Amber, who had managed to stick around for a couple of weeks. I remember her vividly; she was the epitome of Brandon’s ‘type’. Captain of the cheerleading squad, she was confident, blonde and incredibly busty. Still, he’d got tired of her eventually, as he had with all the other girls, each one almost a clone of the previous. Maybe this is a sign in Macy’s favor. “She’s different, though. I can’t explain it, I just… it feels right, you know?”

“Aw,” I coo, flicking him playfully on the nose, “who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Shut up,” he retorts, but his features are lit up by a smile. “I suppose I should let you in on a little secret.”

“What?”

For a second he pauses, like he’s having second thoughts about telling me. “Well,” he says, noticeably lowering his voice, “Macy’s pregnant.”

Instantly, my jaw drops. I stare at Brandon disbelievingly, half wondering if he’s kidding. However, when his serious expression remains for the best part of twenty seconds, I realize he’s telling the truth. “Oh my God,” I say, utterly shell-shocked. “How far along?”

“Three months.”

“God, Brandon,” I say, sinking back into my seat. “You know, Mom’s going to flip out.”

As if the prospect of my brother with a wife wasn’t bad enough, now there’s a baby in the picture. I can barely conjure it up in my head, it’s so bizarre. When we’d waved him off to California, I’d expected him to come back with a tan and (maybe) a diploma, not a fiancée and an unborn child. Still, I guess he’s never been one for conventionality.

“She might be a little surprised,” he replies, seeming surprisingly unconcerned, “but it’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I’m nearly twenty, and Macy’s twenty-one. Anyway, she’ll be excited about her first grandkid.”

Suddenly, I’m struck by a thought. “Wait… is this the only reason you guys got engaged?”

“No,” he says firmly. “Well, I mean, I asked her after we found out, but that’s not the point. I was going to at some point, anyway. Look Georgie, I know it seems like I’m rushing into something here, but… it’s right, I swear. Everything feels right.”

There’s a noticeable sincerity in his eyes that makes it difficult to argue. If he says it’s right, then I’ll have to trust him. Seeing them together this past week has strengthened my faith in their relationship, anyway. It’d take a blind man not to notice the adoration in Brandon’s expression every time he’s around Macy, and the way she looks up at him, practically glowing, is just as obvious. Although, in theory, they don’t seem like a match made in heaven, they work.

“I get it,” I reply. “And I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, George.” Reaching over, he pulls me in for a hug. “Now all you need to do is patch things up with Connor and everybody’s happy.”

“Mm,” I mumble half-heartedly. “But I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

Even so, the conversation has managed to lift my spirits. When I retreat to my room that night, I don’t feel the heavy sense of gloom that usually weighs me down. I know that talking to Connor and attempting to set everything straight is the only option left. No more silence, no more scheming. Knowing this doesn’t do anything to calm my nerves, however. My heart still lurches at the thought of coming face-to-face with the source of all my problems. I’ve spent so long wondering, hiding away, that the thought of shedding light on the situation is actually kind of scary.

But it’s got to be done.

Tomorrow, we’ll talk.

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

Oh, and for those of you who don't know, I uploaded the first chapter of my brand new short story, The Baby Project (no prizes for guessing what it's about). I'll love you forever if you do me a favour and check it out. Hopefully you'll like it as much as this one :-) Until next time