"Tommy?"

I backed up to her bedroom doorway and leaned in. She was sitting upright in her bed, a book in her hands and a reading lamp on her nightstand illuminating the room.

"I'm very drunk," I said.

Mom frowned. "Did you drive?"

I shook my head, gesturing for Dallas to step into the doorway. He did, but didn't stop there. I gulped when he walked all the way into the room and held out his hand for my mom to shake in bed. "I drove. It's nice to meet you, I'm Dallas," he said and I flinched, watching my mom's face shift in realization.

Of course I'd told her all about Dallas.

"Thank you," she said back. When he turned his back to her to come back out into the hallway, she made big eyes at me and mouthed, Wow. "Are you staying over, Dallas?"

"Probably not. Just making sure Thomas gets to bed without cracking his head open."

I flinched again. The lighthearted conversation made my heart ache even harder. Not to mention, I don't think my mom had ever heard any of my friends call me by my name, only Meek. She showed her surprise, too, and shot me a look that only I could decipher. There was going to be gossip in the morning.

We said goodnight and I tip-toed down the hallway to my room. Everything about this felt weird. Like having two completely different forces of my past combine into one dumpster fire. Dallas standing in my childhood bedroom was enough to rattle my bones.

"I'll get you some water," he said and left the room.

I let out a long sigh, my body feeling like oobleck in the way I was solid yet watery. I peeled off my crew neck, then the T-shirt I had underneath, then stripped my jeans. I was left in just my briefs and socks, which I figured was fine since it wasn't like Dallas hadn't seen me in less. I prepared myself for bed, plugging in my phone and flipping the overhead light off, turning on just the fairy lights I'd strung up when I was sixteen.

In the dim light, I didn't see Dallas come back so soon. I only noticed him when I collapsed on the bed face-first, turning my head towards the door. I caught a glimpse of him standing stock still, eyes on my body, a bottle of water in his hand.

He collected himself when he realized I'd caught him. "Sit up," he instructed, kneeling on the edge of the bed. I obeyed. "Drink."

I sipped the water, tasting like my own mouth, and stared at my bedspread underneath us. Dallas sat idly, his hands in his lap, just watching me drink less than a quarter of the bottle.

"Who was around to babysit you when you were drunk in the last two years?" he teased. I placed the bottle on my nightstand.

"No one," I murmured, falling back onto my pillows. After a moment, I corrected myself, "Nelly Furtado."

"Wow, you're faded."

"No, that's my cat," I said, feigning annoyance.

I could see his dimples when he smiled. It was such a familiar smile, like I'd made it myself when I was small. Like I'd colored it in my journal one hundred times before I even met him. Just like how his eyes felt like a childhood blanket, worn and shaped by myself. Everything felt so incredibly personal, not at all foreign or estranged for two years.

"You can leave," I said after a minute of him not saying anything and me waiting for him to stand up. "I'm fine."

Dallas looked surprised. "Okay."

He stood up, pulling out his phone to presumably text Shelby that the coast was clear and she could have him back. I pulled my blanket over my body, watching his hair blow in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

"One thing before you go," I blurted as he stepped towards the door. Dallas turned and looked at me intensely, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. "Why are you doing this?"

Frowning, he took a cautious step back toward me. "Doing what?"

"You haven't talked to me since September of two years ago and then you see me and you just . . . you checked on me when I was outside and then you just had to bring me home. I just— Why? Why did you ghost me?"

He could have explained himself. He could have said it was too much work to keep in touch over long distance. I would have understood, at least while I was drunk. He could have been honest with me, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't say anything except: "I'm not doing this right now. Goodnight."

And then he left.

—

Mom wanted answers.

I was too hungover to give them to her. I slept like shit after Dallas's departure. After the tenth time waking up to gag over the toilet, I ended up watching Demon Slayer on my phone and only catching another hour or two of sleep.

"He's very handsome," my mom said over her cup of tea.

I nodded, trying to stomach the eggs and bacon she whipped up for me on this dreadful Thanksgiving morning. Rachel was here, too, and though she didn't know what we were talking about, she was just as invested in my answers. "Yes, he is," I said monotonously.

"And polite," she added.

"That's him," I replied.

"You didn't tell me he was going to be there," Mom said and Rachel mhm'd.

I sighed. "I didn't know."

She frowned, sipping her tea calmly. I didn't mind answering their fifty questions, but I was in such a bitter mood. I hoped I could finish eating and get away with a nap before dinner. It was only the three of us, as usual, so I wasn't expected to entertain forever.

"Why'd you get so drunk?" Rachel asked.

"Because he just showed up and . . . I don't know. It was either get drunk and confess my obsession with him to his face," I said and grimaced. "And his new girlfriend's."

Both of the women gasped. "Now I get it," Mom said, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, my baby. You deserve better than that. I'll kick his ass, if you want. He's too well-mannered to hit me back."

"For what? It's not like he did anything wrong."

My mouth formed the words, but I wasn't sure I believed them. Did he do anything wrong? Sure, it was unrealistic to believe we could have kept in touch without actually belonging to each other, yet holding onto the hope that maybe it could work someday. But at least I fucking tried. One day he just stopped texting back and I gave up. It wasn't meant to be.

"He had the nerve to shake your mom's hand knowing he hurt her baby," Rachel said and I rolled my eyes.

"As far as he's concerned, he didn't hurt me. I'm the one who didn't want to try to make it work after vacation. It was mutual."

Mom went off on a rant about men that could have lasted until the end of time, but I cut her off to excuse myself to my room. My stomach felt a bit more settled now that there was something in it, so I figured I could catch some sleep before I had to help cook Turkey dinner. I could still hear my mom going on and on from the other room, even after I shut my door.

I closed my curtains, the light certainly not working in my favor, and laid down. My phone buzzed from its place still on the charger, not having been touched since waking up.

There was a text. From Dallas.

Dallas (8:34AM)
I'd like to see you before you go home.

I felt my stomach churning, a mix of hungoverness and nerves. My fingers started typing immediately, typing and erasing each message I came up with—too desperate, too sassy, too angry, too eager.

Me (10:12AM)
why?

I stared at the screen for too long, wondering if he'd reply now or later. Eventually, after ten minutes of peering at the screen, my eyes closed and I passed out. The nap lasted far too long, long enough to make me feel worse than I did before I slept.

When I came to, I checked my phone. My breath hitched in my throat. Any holiday spirit was dead and gone, and I wished to go back to sleep.

Dallas (10:57AM)
I owe you a drink. And we need to talk.