“We took two days off, and my neighbor is watching Ozzy, you ingrate hag,” Sadie tells me before starting to cry harder. I pull her even closer and pat her on the back.
A few feet from us, two tall men are talking quietly to each other. I recognize Liam and Erik from their guest appearances on our late-night FaceTime hangouts, and wave at them with my best These two, amirite? expression. They wave back and answer with fond nods that tell me they 500 percent agree.
“Oh—Ian? You’re Ian, right?” Mara detaches from our hug-lump. “Thank you so much for calling us, this moron would have never told us the extent of what happened. And, um, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for the past . . . fifteen years?”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. “He thought your name was Melissa till twenty minutes ago.”
She frowns. “What? For real?”
Ian blinks from my side, looking slightly abashed.
“Well, still.” She shrugs. “I promise I don’t have anything against you personally. I’m just not generally a fan of the Floyd family.”
“Neither am I.”
Mara’s eyes lit up. “They’re horrible people, right?”
“The worst.”
“Thank you. Hey, we should secede! Form our own official branch of the family. That video of you peeing in a Lowe’s that they forced me to watch over and over? I’d never mention it again.”
Ian smiles. “Sounds great.”
Mara smiles back, but then she leans back in to hug me once again and whisper in my ear, “I’m not even sure he’s really a Floyd. His hair is barely red.”
I burst into laughter. I think I’m home for real.
* * *
I want to stay awake and bask in the joy of having Sadie and Mara in my living space again, but I fail and conk out the second we get to my place. I wake up in the middle of the night, Sadie and Mara on either side of me in my queen-size bed, and my heart is so full, I’m afraid it’ll overflow. Apparently this is what I am now, a unicorn rainbow marshmallow kitten creature. Bah. I wonder groggily where their boyfriends went, promptly fall back asleep, and find out the answer only several hours later, when the sun shines bright into my kitchen and we’re sitting at my cluttered table.
“They were going to stay in a hotel,” Mara says. She is having Cheez-Its for breakfast without even bothering to look ashamed. “But Ian told them they could bunk with him.”
“He did?” My fridge is full, even though I unplugged it before leaving for Norway. There are several new boxes of cereal on top of it, and fresh fruit in a basket that I didn’t know I owned. I wonder which one of the dependable adults in my life is responsible for this. “Does he have the space?”
“He said he has a big place.”
“Hmm.” I can’t believe Sadie’s Viking boyfriend gets to see Ian’s apartment before I do. Oh well.
“So,” she says, “this seems like the perfect opening to grill you and find out whether you’re boinking Mara’s relative. But it’s obvious that you are. Plus, you just almost Popsicled yourself at the North Pole. So we’ll go easy on you.”
“That is very considerate.” I pluck a grape from the mysterious bowl. “I’m not, though.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, really. We fooled around five years ago, when we met up for Helena’s interview. Then we had a huge argument six months ago, when I told him to fuck off after he vetoed my expedition because it was too dangerous—not because he thought I was an idiot, like someone told me. Then he came to save my life when I almost died on said expedition.” I don’t mention our night together on the boat, because . . . there’s nothing to say, really. Technically, nothing happened.
“As far as Told You Sos go, this is an excellent one,” Mara says.
“Right? That’s what I thought!”
“Hang on,” Sadie interjects. “Did we know that he was the one who vetoed your proposal? And did we know about the fooling-around-five-years-ago bit? Did we forget?”
“We did not,” Mara says. “We would not have forgotten. Thank you for keeping us updated on your life, Hannah.”
“Would you have cared to know?”
Their Hell, yeahs are simultaneous.
Right. Of course. “Okay, let’s see. We kind of made out at JPL. Then he asked me out for dinner. I said that I didn’t date, but I’d fuck him anyway. He wasn’t interested, and we went our separate ways.” I shrug. “Now you know.”
Mara glares at me. “Wow. So timely.”
I blow her a kiss.
“But things have changed, right?” Sadie asks. “I mean . . . last night he carried you upstairs for seven floors because the elevator was broken. It’s obvious that he has a thing for you.”
“Yes,” Mara agrees. “Are you going to break my blood relative’s heart? Don’t get me wrong, I’d still side with you. Hos before bros.”
“He’s not your bro in any sense of the word,” I point out.
“Hey, he’s my cousin-or-something.”
Sadie pats her on the shoulder. “It’s the or something that gets me every time. You can really feel the unbreakable family ties.”
“We seceded last night. We’re the founders of the Floyds 2.0. And you”—she points at me—“could be one of us.”
“Could I?”
“Yes. If you gave Ian a chance.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” I think about how he squeezed my hand while the plane landed. About the way he asked for cookies instead of pretzels, because I told him that they’re my favorite. About his arm around my shoulders back in Norway while the concierge checked us into our rooms. About him falling asleep next to me, and me realizing how taxing, how physically demanding, it must have been to come extract me from the idiotic situation I put myself into—no matter that he didn’t so much as roll his eyes at the burden of it.
I don’t like the word dating. I don’t like the idea of it. But with Ian . . . I don’t know. It seems different with him.
“I guess we’ll see. I’m not sure he would want to date,” I say, staring at Sadie’s Froot Loops. The ensuing silence drags on so long, I’m forced to look up. She and Mara are staring at me like I just announced that I’m quitting my job to take up macramé full-time. “What?”
“Did she really just use the word date?” Mara asks Sadie, pretending I’m not sitting right here.
“I think so. And without referring to the disgusting fruit?”
Mara frowns. “Dude, dates are amazing.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes. Try wrapping them in bacon.”
“Okay,” Sadie acknowledges, “anything is amazing if you wrap it in bacon, but—”
I clear my throat. They turn to me.
“So, you’re gonna go out with him?”
I shrug. Think about it. The idea is so foreign, my brain catches on it for a moment. But remembering the way Ian smiled at me back in Svalbard helps me push right through it. “I think I’ll ask. If he wants to.”