“Awesome, thanks,” I say, wondering how long I have to sit here before I can call the boys to come get me. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with Dad, just … we love each other, but we don’t have a ton to say to each other, if that makes sense. “Are you … going to be okay with seeing her on Christmas with Ian there?”

Tomorrow, we’re hopping on a plane back to California to see my mom and aunt. Monica, too. But Mom’s already dropped about three thousand subtle hints about Ian being at her house on Christmas day. I just hope Dad can handle seeing them together.

“Ian Dave is a good man,” he says, looking like he’d truly enjoying punching the librarian’s face in.

“Him and Nathan, right?” I ask, tilting my head to one side, like maybe I’ll be able to figure my dad out if I look at him from a new angle. “You seem to trust them both, but I’m really struggling to understand why.”

“I’m not at liberty to answer your questions, Charlotte. You know that I would if I could.”

I don’t bother to argue with him. He’s an impulsive rule follower. Doesn’t make him a bad guy, but it also just seems so stifling to live life so rigidly. I don’t want to live a shallow life like my Aunt Elisa, but I also don’t want to live in a box like my father.

“You’ll at least let me fly on the Montague’s jet, right?”

“Charlotte, I frown on that sort of excess. There’s nothing wrong with our economy tickets.” Nothing wrong with economy tickets except for cramped knees and people with smelly socks who take their shoes off, screaming babies, and people smacking you in the face when they put their seat back. But sure. Okay, boomer.

“Alright, then.” I stand up, slipping my phone from my back pocket and shaking it for emphasis. “I’m going to call the guys to come and get me.”

Before I head out to the front porch to make the call, I pause next to Dad’s chair and put my arms around his neck, giving him a spur of the moment squeeze. None of the boys have intimacy issues like I do. I think I’m starting to learn from them. It’s okay to give hugs or say I love you every once in a while. That stuff doesn’t make you weak or vulnerable, it makes you stronger.

“Archie’s well-meaning, but he doesn’t understand me at all,” I tell the guys as we walk back to the dorms, the breeze kissed with the frosty promise of new snow. “Guess that’s the thing about most parents, huh?”

“Unfortunately, my mother understands me too well,” Church says, looking up at a few tiny snowflakes that are drifting down from the gray sky. He’s got a thick scarf wrapped around his neck, the rest of him bundled up in a wool coat. “She wants me to purchase a place near Bornstead U for us to live in.” He looks very pointedly in my direction. “Or would you rather live in the dorms?”

I stare at him like he’s sprouted antennae.

“Your mom wants you to buy an—I assume—absurdly expensive place to live … or else we can live in tiny, little shared dorm rooms that are probably gender specific, strictly binary, and filled with Ikea furniture?”

Church laughs as Spencer smirks and gives him an I told you so sort of a look.

We push open the door to the boys’ dorm, the massive fir tree in the corner decorated with lights and glittery glass ornaments. Luckily, most of the students are leaving for break tomorrow, so the building isn’t as empty as it could be. I’m just glad the guys are going to join me in California for at least part of the holiday. Each of them has separate plans to meet up with their families at some point during the two-week period, but I’ll always have at least one person with me at all times.

Because … cult stuff.

Not because I’m madly in love with them or anything.

“Is it just going to be me and Church …” I start, trying not to be ungrateful but hoping beyond all hope that the other boys will live with us, too. I’m still not exactly sure what’s going on with all of us, but I like what we have here. It’s our own little family in the making.

“Are you crazy?” the twins ask from either side of the group. It always impresses me how they’re able to talk in unison, even when they’re fairly far apart. “We’ll be there.”

“We’ll be there,” Ranger agrees, pausing at the bottom of the stairs and giving Spencer a look. “Don’t worry about that.” He looks back at me as I stand there with my hand on the railing, waiting to see what they’re up to. “We have something to do right now, but we’ll be back. Micah.” He joins them and the three of them peel away from Church, Tobias, and me.

My heart starts to pound right away, and I have to scrunch up my face to hold in my excitement.

They’re totally planning birthday shit for me.

I just know it.

They’ve all told me happy birthday already, and I’ve gotten a few random gifts: like a set of fancy pillows from Church, some high heels that look like cakes from Ranger (the Shoe Bakery store is my new obsession), a new laptop from Spencer, and a stack of admittedly cute clothes from the twins.

But that’s not it.

I could tell those gifts were more diversion than anything else.

“Don’t ruin this surprise,” Tobias says, pointing at me in warning, his mouth curving up into a smile. “We worked hard on it.”

“Surprise, what surprise?” I ask, flouncing up the stairs to my room before he can answer.

Because I know them too well, and I know that whatever they give me, it’s going to be good.

“Charlotte, wake up,” Tobias says, gently shaking my shoulder. As I crack my heavy lids, the first thing I see is him smiling at me.

“What time is it?” I ask, glancing toward the window above my bed. It’s dark out, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s winter in Connecticut. Shit, it’s probably like three in the freaking afternoon.

“Almost six,” Tobias tells me, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. I must’ve gotten so hyped up waiting to see what the guys were planning that I wore myself; I don’t even remember falling asleep. With a yawn, I sit up, stretching my arms above my head. Tobias watches me, his attention sweet and tender, his expression softening the sharp lines of his face. “Are you ready, Chuck the Micropenis?”

“For what?” I ask as he stands up and holds out a hand for me to take. Some of my hair is plastered to the side of my face with drool. If this is my birthday wish coming to fruition, then I’m not properly dressed. Drool-covered faces and romantic birthday endeavors don’t exactly go hand in hand. “Can I brush my hair, do some quick makeup, and change my dress?” I ask, but Tobias just laughs and pulls me into the hallway. I notice the attic door is open, the wooden ladder dropped down to the floor above us, where my old room used to be.

“Don’t worry: we’ve checked and rechecked that attic today. You’ll be safe.” He curves his hand around mine and tugs me up the staircase, then waits with his hands on either side of the ladder as I climb up.

There’s a ton of junk up here, but nothing fun like at the antique shop. Instead of glass clowns and secret bookcase doors, there are a lot of old bed frames, mattresses, and broken chairs. Yawn-fest.