Best Friends Don't Kiss

by Max Monroe

  “Christmas skepticism from you? Isn’t that illegal or something?”

  She rolls her eyes, and I smile.

  “You won’t know until you try.”

  “If I puke, I’m directing it straight into your lap.”

  A soft laugh escapes my lips, but I don’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to know that I’m planning the same. No longer a fidgeting, anxious mess, my ultimate “calm Ava down” mission is complete.

  After a few huffs and sighs, Ava takes the bottle from my hands, pinches her nose, and places the liquor bottle to her lips, letting the peppermint schnapps flow down her throat. Once it’s empty, she takes a hard swallow and scrunches up her face into disgust. “Yuck. That’s horrible.”

  “I know.” I grin at her and uncap the leftover bottle in my hand, and down the hatch the liquor goes. It’s too warm, too minty, too strong, and I squint my eyes and shake my head a little once I finish it off.

  “That was the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Ava mutters, grabbing three sticks of gum out of her purse and shoving them into her mouth.

  “Probably,” I agree.

  But her knees are steady, and her pupils don’t look freakishly dilated anymore.

  Bad idea or not, it worked.

  While the flight attendants stay busy helping passengers shove their luggage into the overhead bins, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to pass the time. Seeing as there are several rows behind us that have yet to be filled, I’d say it’s going to be a bit before we’re actually taking off.

  A text message pops up from Theo, and a trill of nerves runs down my spine. The last time I saw him, I kind of went behind Ava’s back about her paintings. I glance over at her to make sure she’s occupied before opening the message.

  Chomping on gum and staring out the window, she seems at least temporarily calmed and distracted by the disgusting alcohol, so I take my chances that she’ll stay that way and open the message.

  Theo: They loved them. Hell, I loved them.

  Yes. I have the urge to fist-pump the fucking air. I don’t do it, obviously, but man, I want to. Instead, I glance over at Ava—who is still occupied with looking out the window and watching carts of luggage being wheeled to our plane—and type out a quick response.

  Me: I knew they would.

  Theo: My assistant will email you all of the information.

  This confirmation right here was the last thing I needed to ensure that my Christmas present plans were complete. The other gift I arranged will be delivered to the Lucies’ house in two days.

  And Ava calls me the grinch? Ha. I might as well be Santa Claus right now.

  Me: Thanks, Theo. I really appreciate this.

  Theo: It was a true pleasure. I can’t wait to see more.

  “Who are you texting?” Ava asks suddenly.

  Shit.

  I lock the screen of my phone as casually as I can manage and flip the phone over on my thigh.

  “No one.”

  Her eyes scrutinize my face. “What are you up to?”

  “If you must know, it’s related to a Christmas present.”

  Those eyes transition from interrogation mode straight into excitement. “For me?”

  “Why on earth would I get you a Christmas gift?” I ask and don’t dare to hide the teasing tone of my voice.

  Ava fakes a pout. “Obviously, because I’m your favorite person on the planet.”

  My favorite person on the planet. She isn’t wrong. Frustrating, thickheaded, messy-as-hell—Ava is a lot of things, not all of them good. But nobody is all good, no matter how much they claim to be, and at the end of the day, I’d rather be around Ava when she’s a mess than be around anyone else who has it all together.

  “So…?” she questions, nudging my shoulder. “Are you going to tell me about my Christmas gift, or do I need to guess?”

  “Neither,” I respond, delighted to have managed a secret from her for this long. “You’re just going to have to wait until it’s actually Christmas like all the other little boys and girls.”

  Another fake pout. “Boo. You’re no fun.”

  I grin, slide my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, and get lost scrolling through the in-flight entertainment screen secured to the back of the seat in front of mine. Movies, television, games, music, it has all the goods. “You want to watch a movie together?”

  Her face twists adorably. “The flight isn’t that long.”

  “Then do you want to freak out the other passengers and try out the in-flight messaging app?” I whisper. She scrunches up her nose in confusion.

  “The what?”

  “This,” I say, voice still quiet, and tap the screen again with my index finger. Instantly, a chat box appears. I enter my name as Pilot, and Ava looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Just trust me. I promise this will not disappoint.”

  Another tap to the screen and a keyboard appears, and I quickly type out a message.

  Pilot (2B): Hell yeah! You guys ready for this flight? I’m super pumped!

  “Luke!” Ava whisper-yells and nudges me with her elbow. “People are going to think you’re actually the pilot.”

  I flash a devilish smirk her way. “I know.”

  Truthfully, I’m not the creator of this prank, but it is something Trevor and I used to crack up over when we flew commercial. The things that would be said in those in-flight messaging apps were too good to ignore. We had a pact with the flight attendants to take screenshots of anything weird, hilarious, or downright insane.

  Frank (14C): Hey hey, Pilot! Get us there safely, yeah? Also, if you can let the flight attendants know the man in 14C needs a beer, it would be much appreciated.

  Karen (15A): Why is the Pilot messaging us from 2B? Shouldn’t he be in the cockpit?

  Rich (25D): It’s called friendly customer service, Karen.

  Ava snorts and covers her mouth with her hand as she watches me type out another message and hit send.

  Pilot (2B): You mind if I play a little AC/DC during the flight?

  Frank (14C): You’ve. Been. Thunderstruck! Let’s gooooooo!

  Karen (15C): This seems very unprofessional.

  Rich (25D): Karen, this is the pilot being friendly. It’s called customer service.

  That message gets Ava good. Her giggles become too much for her to bear, and without constraint, she bursts into laughter. Loud, contagious giggles echoing from our row. Damn, I sure do love making her laugh.

  And the fact that I get to spend the next two weeks doing just that? Best trip ever.

  Ava

  One ninety-minute flight and a two-hour drive later, and we have officially arrived in Lakewood. Home sweet home.

  Luke pulls our rental into my parents’ circular driveway, bringing us to a stop, and the instant I open the passenger door, the brisk, fresh Vermont air fills my nose. There’s no snow, but it smells like it’s going to happen soon.

  It’s little things like knowing the weather by a smell that makes this place feel so different from New York. I’ve been there for so many years, and yet, somehow, this is still home.

  And for as long as we’ve known each other, this is still Luke’s first time here. It feels kind of momentous.

  “It looks like Christmas threw up on your parents’ house,” Luke comments, staring up at my parents’ two-story white brick home. An amused smile plays at his full lips.

  Though, technically, you can’t really see the white brick because it’s covered in every holiday decoration known to man, but his observation is spot-on. Christmas is in full swing at the Lucie house.

  “I told you my dad goes a little wild for the holidays.”

  He furrows his brow. “Am I just hearing shit, or is there Christmas music playing outside?”

  “Yes, you are, in fact, hearing Michael Bublé sing Winter Wonderland. Not imagining it,” I answer frankly. “But don’t worry, the songs rotate all day, every day, until December 26th. You won’t have to listen to this one more than o
nce in a five-hour circuit.”

  “I’ve heard stories, but I’ll be honest, now it all really makes sense.” Luke snorts and puts two hands on his hips, taking in every inch of the view.

  “What makes sense?”

  “Why you forced me to drag a Christmas tree up five flights of stairs,” he retorts. “Why, for the past fifteen years, you’ve made me do all sorts of holiday shit.”

  I turn back to the house and focus on Guy Lucie’s handiwork. He’s pulled out all the stops, and it’s apparent he’s even added a few new pieces to his prized décor.

  Lights cover every square inch of the house and yard. I’m talking the roof, bricks, porch, shingles, gutters, the blue evergreen trees in the garden, every-freaking-where.

  And that’s not the end of it.

  Placed throughout the yard are various holiday scenes with blow-up Santa Clauses and reindeer and Frosty the Snowman and a nativity scene and, well, pretty much anything you can think of. He’s even created a small holiday farm scene with life-size light-up pigs and cows and goats. All embellished with red bows and jingle bells.

  I’m so amused by Luke’s reaction to my dad’s holiday circus that I almost forget about the whole “my best friend is pretending to be my boyfriend” reality we’re about to face.

  That is, until Luke retrieves our luggage from the trunk, puts it up on the porch, and then comes back for me so we can walk up to the front porch together, hand in hand. My heart picks up speed, pounding faster and faster inside my chest. I force a deep, calming breath in and out of my lungs and lift my hand to knock. But before my knuckles can make contact with wood, the door swings wide open.

  “Ava!” My mom appears into view, the wrinkles around her blue eyes creased into an excited smile. “You made it!”

  “Hi, Mom.” I return her smile, and she steps out onto the porch to wrap me up into a tight hug. Reluctantly, I let go of Luke’s hand to curl both my arms around her.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispers into my ear and leans back to look at me. She gently brushes my blond hair behind my shoulders. “And you look so beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ve missed you too.”

  “You know, you’re positively glowing, sweetie,” she adds, and her eyes move pointedly to Luke. “Could it be because of this handsome boyfriend of yours?”

  Oh boy. Here we go…

  “Hi, Mrs. Lucie,” Luke greets, his body language all relaxed and cool.

  My stomach feels like it’s twisted itself inside out, and my heart has apparently started a garage band inside my chest, inviting my lungs to join in on the anxiety-ridden fun.

  “Oh, Luke!” My mom taps him playfully on the shoulder. “No need for the formalities. Call me Rose.”

  “It’s good to see you, Rose,” he responds and unleashes his most irresistible smile on my mother.

  It works, by the way.

  All my mom can do in response is gawk. At him. At us. When Luke turns on the charm, he’s like a hypnotist of the highest order.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Oh my God, is she about to cry?

  “The two of you together. Officially together. It just warms my heart. I’ve always hoped—”

  “Rose! Who’s out there? Is that my Avie?” My dad’s jovial voice cuts her off, and it doesn’t take long before he peeks his knightly head over my mom’s shoulder. “Hey hey, it is my Avie girl!” he exclaims, shoving both my mom and Luke out of his way to get to me. My mom scoffs and Luke chuckles as my dad shakes me side to side in a big ole bear hug.

  “Hi, Dad,” I whisper in his ear. “Missed ya.”

  “I missed you too,” he answers and sets me back on my feet. “It’s not the same decorating the house without you here to help me.”

  When I was a kid, I was the only one who would help him put up the Christmas decorations. Since I’ve been in New York, he’s been responsible for it all on his own.

  “I can’t believe no one else helps you,” I comment, glancing pointedly at my mom. “It’s a travesty.”

  My mom rolls her eyes. “Like he’d let me or your sisters touch any of his precious decorations.”

  I grin. That’s also true. I’m the only one he trusts to help, but I think that’s more because I let him make all the decisions and just follow whatever instructions he tosses my way. My mom and sisters try to make suggestions, but when it comes to big Guy’s Christmas decorations, you never suggest. You acknowledge that he is the expert and just follow his lead.

  “And I see you’ve brought Luke with you,” my dad comments and reaches out to shake Luke’s hand. “Good to see you, son. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been good, Mr. Lucie.”

  “Please, just call me Guy.” He waves him off the same way my mom did mere moments ago.

  “Luke is Ava’s boyfriend now,” my mom whispers to my dad, but it’s not quiet at all.

  “Is that right?” My dad feigns surprise. “You two crazy kids are an item now?”

  Luke nods, and a handsome smile touches his lips. “Sir, I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, I convinced your beautiful daughter to be my girlfriend.”

  My dad smiles proudly. “My Avie is the best.”

  “You won’t find me denying that.” Luke winks at me and leans forward to whisper to my dad, “But how about we keep it between us that she’s too good for me, yeah?”

  Guy chortles.

  My mom sighs this dreamy, far-too-loud sigh and tsks her lips. “My goodness. I just…I don’t think I could be any more excited than I am right now. The only thing that would make me happier is if the two of you decided to tie the knot.”

  “Mom,” I chastise. “Good Lord.”

  “What?” she questions, looking between the three of us. “What did I say wrong?”

  My dad just chuckles and wraps his arm around my mom’s shoulder, leading her through the door and down the hall toward the kitchen, and he gestures for us to follow them.

  Luke just grins the whole damn way, but my mind is off to the races, mulling over the way my mother appeared so quick to sell me off like I’m a prized pig at the freaking county fair.

  I mean, we’ve been here all of ten minutes, and my mom is already trying to plan our freaking wedding!

  You think that’s bad? Just wait until she finds out it’s all a sham…

  That thought sits like a rock in my stomach. A heavy, firm mass of guilt.

  Man oh man, what have I gotten myself into?

  A big fat web of lies.

  “Avie, you want hot chocolate?” my dad asks, and all I can do is nod, my mind still reeling from things I’d prefer not to think about right now. “What about you, Luke? You like hot chocolate?”

  “That’d be great, sir.”

  While my dad makes us some fresh cocoa, we sit down at the kitchen table, and my mom doesn’t dillydally with the usual small talk. Oh no, she dives right into the relationship questions.

  “So, I just have to know,” she begins, and internally I sigh, already knowing what’s about to come. “How did you two go from best friends for years to in a relationship?”

  Boom. There it is. She drops the bomb right in the middle of the Christmas-décor-covered table.

  “Well, Rose, I’ve always had a bit of a thing for your Ava,” Luke begins to answer and reaches out to casually wrap his arm around the back of my chair. “It just took about fifteen years for me to convince her to have a thing for me too.”

  What? That’s our story? That he’s had a thing for me for fifteen years?

  My jaw nearly hits the little snowmen embroidered into the tablecloth. That is not at all how I thought he’d answer that question.

  But my mom, on the other hand, well, she looks like she’s about to swoon out of her freaking chair.

  “Oh my goodness,” she says through a sigh and then smacks her lips together, shaking her head slightly. “I just… That is…” She meets my eyes, and I swear to
God, it looks like she’s about to cry again. “Ava, honey, this has to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I am so happy for you two.”

  I glance at Luke, and he’s just sitting there, arm still comfortably resting on the back of my chair, a smile etched on his face.

  My pits are sweating like someone shoved a geyser inside my sweater, and my cheeks feel ready to burst into flames.

  How on earth is he being so cool about all this?

  Seriously. Is he internally freaking out like me?

  Or is that just me? Am I the only one who feels like I’m one more relationship question away from being triggered into a panic attack?

  “Rose, honey, mind helping me with the cocoa?” my dad asks, and thankfully, my mom hops up to assist, giving me a much-needed break from the interrogation.

  “What in the hell was that?” I whisper toward Luke and tap him on the stomach with my elbow.

  “What was what?” he questions back with a half shrug. “I was just answering her question.”

  “That was not at all how I expected you to answer.”

  “What? You don’t like the idea of me secretly pining over you for the last fifteen years?” he asks and flashes a little smirk in my direction.

  Instantly, as if it’s right on cue, my heart starts to pound wildly in my chest.

  “It’s not that. It’s just…” I pause, completely unsure of what I’m even trying to say. “I just didn’t expect you to say that, is all,” I mutter and fidget my fingers across the tablecloth, my index finger tracing each tiny snowman as I try to figure out what in the hell is happening inside my head right now.

  Maybe him saying that freaked you out because it reminds you of someone…someone you know really fucking well…someone who refuses to admit to herself how she really feels about her best friend…

  Oh, holy geez. That’s crazy with a capital and bold-faced C.