Mind the Gap, Dash and Lily

by Rachel Cohn

  Gem raised her glass for a toast. “Here’s to Dash’s future in publishing,” she said.

  “And to Lily’s future as a dogpreneur,” Dash said.

  “And to Gem’s future as Asta’s greatest human ever,” I said.

  We clinked glasses. Then Gem said, “I didn’t say yes, dear Lily.”

  “Let’s look at the video of Asta playing fetch again?” I suggested. Gem had gotten used to Dash’s company in London. Once he was back in New York, Asta would be the best antidote to missing him, just like Boris had been for me.

  “I’ll think about it,” said Gem. That was as good as a yes, in my experience. The people who were No’s were adamant about that from the get-go. The prospective adopters who said I’ll think about it almost always turned to the Yes camp. They just needed a little time to get used to the idea. I predicted that within a month, Asta would be lying in her dog bed by the fire while—or “whilst,” as the Brits say—Gem reorganized her massive vinyl collection in order of the music Asta responded to best. Such a good girl, that Asta!

  “Let’s eat,” said Dash.

  “First, the bangers,” said Gem. From her plate, she lifted a gift-wrapped tube, tied in the middle with Christmas ribbon and twisted at the ends, and gestured for us to do the same with the tubes on our own plates. “These are Christmas crackers, also called bangers. They get opened before the Christmas meal. Hold your cracker in your right hand, then we’ll cross our arms, and pull apart each other’s crackers from the left.”

  We assumed the formation and pulled. The tubes made a BANG as their contents spilled out onto the dinner table: a few small cards, some confetti, and folded pieces of tissue paper.

  Gem reached for one of the cards. “Terrible joke time!” She read her card aloud. “Why are pirates great?” Dash and I shrugged. Gem said, “They just aaaaaaarrrrr!”

  “Groan,” said Dash.

  “Applause,” I enthused.

  “I’m going to post that one to Johnny Depp in a Christmas card,” said Gem. “We spent a week together on his yacht, back when he had one. Not that I signed an NDA for a memoir of his that never got published.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” said Dash. He turned to me. “What’s yours say?”

  I reached for the card from my Christmas cracker. “What did the sea say to Santa? Nothing! It just waved!”

  Dash shook his head disdainfully.

  Gem said, “How about yours, Dash?”

  He read his card aloud. “What do you call Santa’s little helpers? Subordinate Clauses!” He sighed. I clapped for real this time.

  “And now for The Crown,” said Gem.

  “Oh, no!” I said. “I’d love to stay and watch, but I promised my aunt we’d go to hers after dinner.”

  “Not that crown,” said Gem. She took the folded pieces of tissue paper that came out of the bangers and passed them to me and Dash, then demonstrated with her own, unfolding it and placing it on her head. It was shaped like a crown. “It’s British tradition to wear a paper crown at Christmas dinner.”

  Dash said, “This country prides itself on pomp and circumstance, yet spends its Christmas telling terrible jokes that come from something called bangers, along with wearing crowns crafted from flimsy tissue paper. Not dignified at all.”

  I placed my paper crown on my head. “Pip pip, guvnah. I love it.”

  Dash did the same with his pink crown. He could only have looked more handsome if he’d also been wearing his purple silk pajamas.

  My stomach churned in delight as my eyes took in the meal on the table. Gem had made a meatless lentil roast in my honor, as well as British staples like carrots and peas, roast potatoes and parsnips, brussels sprouts, and a thick, creamy concoction called bread sauce to go with it all.

  “Do we say grace first?” I asked.

  “Do we?” said Gem, alarmed.

  “Grace,” said Dash.

  Gem laughed. “Would you like to say grace, Lily?”

  I did. I said, “I would just like to say how happy I am to be here and how happy I am that you and Dash have each other. Amen.”

  “That’s lovely,” said Gem. “Thank you. I feel the same.”

  My graceful lead-in accomplished, I added, “And I’ve been so distracted from being here and making all these big life decisions that I forgot to buy Christmas presents.”

  It was true. The Queen of Christmas had forgotten the whole reason for the season. STUFF.

  Gem said, “I mean this sincerely despite how trite it may sound: You both being here now is present enough for me.”

  Dash looked at me, full of love, and took my hand in his. “Lily, I also mean this sincerely. You should have gotten me a present.” I dropped his hand. He laughed, then turned serious. “I felt lost when you arrived. I wasn’t sure I wanted you to be here. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I longed to see you—but because I didn’t want you to see me feeling so defeated by my own ambitions. But you came anyway, and I love you for that. And I love you for figuring out what you want and having the confidence to achieve it. You’ve inspired me to do the same. I’d say that’s gift enough. You are grace.”

  Gem dabbed a tiny tear from the corner of her eye. “Honestly, Dash. I have no idea where you learned how to be in a healthy and happy relationship. You had no examples.”

  “Books,” he said.

  I a little bit wanted to cry too, but instead I asked Dash, “But seriously. What did you get me?”

  Dash flashed me his rare smile that melts me. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

  As Gem started passing the food around, she said, “Speaking of gifts … in honor of your British Christmas, I’m sending you back to your hotel with some Christmas stockings and treats. In Britain, you leave the stockings over your bed instead of over the fireplace, along with a plate of mince pies for Father Christmas.”

  I didn’t know what mince pies were, but if they were as awful as they sounded (like chopped mice), maybe they’d give the big guy a jump start on his New Year’s diet.

  Dash said, “So Father Christmas basically stalks kids in their sleep on Christmas Eve? No wonder the Brits don’t leave him cookies. He doesn’t deserve them.”

  I thought, I never would have been able to sleep on Christmas Eve as a kid if I knew Santa might be coming into my room to leave gifts in my stocking. I had so much to talk to him about.

  Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow

  Will find it hard to sleep tonight.

  “The Christmas Song” was the next song on Gem’s playlist. The singer sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recall hearing this version of the song before. Dash listened intently. “Is that … Barbra Streisand?”

  “Correct,” said Gem. “Her Christmas album is one of the best-selling Christmas albums ever.”

  “But she’s Jewish,” said Dash.

  Gem said, “So is Irving Berlin, who wrote ‘White Christmas.’ So is Kenny G, who by the way put out the bestselling Christmas album of all time after Elvis.”

  Dash said, “Please tell me Kenny G isn’t next on your playlist.”

  I said, “Please tell me Elvis is!”

  We dug into the food. Gem turned out to be a much better cook than she was a baker. “Delicious,” I told Gem as I happily ate the lentil loaf, which was even more delicious slathered with Tesco brand vegan bread sauce, which was like gravy, but without animals suffering to make it. The bread sauce was particularly delicious on the roast potatoes, which made me all the more excited for tomorrow night’s Christmas snack: latkes. Since Langston would be at his boyfriend’s, and Mrs. Basil E.’s big Christmas night party was canceled, my mom had messaged me that we’d be having a Jewish Christmas this year. While Dash went off with Gem to see their own family, my family would be going out for Chinese food, then a movie, Cyborg Santa; Mom said she was excited to see artificial intelligence destroy the capitalist patriarchy. We’d enjoy some latkes once we got back home. I couldn’t wait. A new tradition?


  Aha! I could gift everyone online with Christmas albums by Jews! Shopping DONE! Thanks for the inspo, Babs.

  I was used to Christmas Eves that passed with almost unbearable excitement and anticipation. Gem’s celebration felt so … grown-up. Civilized, unchaotic, gracious, sophisticated. Exactly the opposite of the Christmas Eves of my childhood. Not better—not worse: different. I loved it. We talked about books and music and Dash’s future in publishing, mine with dogs, and the music Gem would listen to with Asta while reading books.

  After the meal ended and we’d cleared the table of the dinner food, Gem announced, “And now, for your Christmas surprise.” I half expected Father Christmas to come charging in to beg us to place our stockings over a fireplace because he didn’t want to disturb our sleep and the sugarplums dancing in our heads. After a dramatic pause, Gem said, with great pride, “We’ll be having dessert!”

  Dash said, “I hate to break this to you, Gem, but dessert at the end of a meal is not a surprise.”

  “This one will be,” said Gem. “Because it involves fire.”

  She went to the kitchen and returned carrying a metal plate with what looked like a dome-shaped fruitcake on it, a holly sprig decorating the top. “Someone please turn the lights out,” she said.

  Dash got up and turned off the lights. The candles now solely lit the room, making it feel even more cozy. Sorry, cosy. Gem placed the cake plate on the table. “This is what the Brits call Christmas pudding. It’s a fruitcake, but not like the terrible ones in America. Christmas pudding is made with dried fruit and soaked in alcohol over a period of months so it’s ready to set fire to and then eat at Christmas dinner.”

  She picked up a metal spoon and poured some brandy onto it. With her other hand, she picked up a lighter.

  Dash said, “A fruitcake that doesn’t taste terrible and might intoxicate us will indeed be a surprise.”

  Gem said, “No, the surprise will be if I manage not to burn the house down. The last time I tried this, your father was about ten years old. I forgot to remove the holly sprig first and it caught fire along with the cake. A flame flew out from it and set his dinner tie on fire. He’d been so stubborn about putting that tie on, and then that happened. He was fine, we got the fire out quickly, but his eyebrow got singed, and I don’t think he ever forgave me.” She took a deep breath. “Here we go. Let’s try this again.”

  Dash tactfully removed the holly sprig that Gem had once again forgotten to set aside.

  As she lit the alcohol in the spoon, her face aglow with a mixture of fear and glee, I admired her courage. She was trying to set a cake on fire, and she was going to attempt to reconcile with her son on Christmas. The latter would be riskier than the former.

  The spoon on fire, Gem then poured the flaming liquid over the cake, which turned a magnificent bluish yellow before the flame died out. The cake was blackened and looked about as appetizing as I imagined mince pies to be.

  “You did it,” Dash proudly told his grandmother.

  “I did it,” she murmured.

  “We look so fine in our finery,” I whispered into Dash’s ear. We wore the elegant clothes that Gem had gotten us from Liberty, Dash in a nice suit and tie and me in a red, ruffled, sequin-embellished minidress with a high neck, long sleeves, and a wickedly short pleated skirt.

  He held me close. “Father Christmas is scandalized by the length—or lack thereof—of that dress. Very, very naughty.”

  “Does he like it, though?”

  Dash kissed me in response. “He loves it. But don’t tell Mrs. Claus. I mean, Mrs. Father Christmas? Who’s Santa’s wife in England?”

  I laughed. “Admit it. You love Christmas.”

  “I love Christmas when you are part of it.”

  We were alone outside on the balcony of Mrs. Basil E.’s Grand Piano Suite, while inside, Mrs. Basil E. had another rager of a holiday party happening. I wasn’t surprised she had that many friends in London, but I was impressed how many made themselves available for an impromptu Christmas Eve gathering. There were at least two dozen people inside, drinking and eating and laughing, my favorite kind of merrymaking on my favorite eve of merry. Mark played Christmas carols at the piano while Julia, Mrs. Basil E., and Gem sang along with him. In a corner, Azra Khatun and some guy called Sir Ian were deep in conversation. Next to the piano sat the unwon Daunt Books Bibliophile Cup Challenge trophy, which Mark hoped Claridge’s would accept as a new piece of artwork for the Grand Piano Suite.

  Dash held me from behind as we looked outward over the London cityscape. We had dear friends and relations, old and new, here. We’d come back to London a lot more, I hoped.

  In just a few hours, we’d be on our way back to New York. Dash would be returning home, but his journey in his old place would be just beginning. Mine, too.

  “Merry Christmas,” I told Dash.

  “Happy Chrimbo,” he said.

  I felt so lucky.

  I felt so loved.

  eighteen

  December 25th

  I was walking through Mayfair when it caught my eye. Window after window of Christmas decorations had left me eyesore. So I needed a spot of calm, apart from the tinsel and the glare. I had stopped looking … and that’s when I saw it.

  It was a glass dove, no bigger than my hand. Its wings were wide, its direction clear. I went inside the store and asked to see it. It was exactly what I’d been looking for—beautifully regal and beautifully imperfect, frozen in a moment, but still clearly in the middle of flight; solid and weighty, but also fragile, breakable; it would stay safe as long as you took care of it.

  It cost much more than I could spare. But I got it anyway.

  I gave it to her as the minute hand brought us past midnight, the start of our thirty-hour Christmas Day.

  We would not have to wait for Santa; we had our own sleigh, which took the form of a bed in a posh hotel in the middle of London. This was where the reindeer had brought us, before leaving to do their own thing. After an evening of everyone else, it was now just the two of us: Lily in an oversize silk pajama top, me in the corresponding bottoms. Together we made quite a pair.

  I brought the present over to our sleigh, and she took off its wrappings gently, as if she were taking off its coat. When she opened the box itself, I saw that it wasn’t what she was expecting … but it also was exactly what she wanted. In the soft blue darkness of the hotel room, it nearly hovered from her hand, part sculpture, part air.

  “I love her,” Lily said.

  And I said, “I do too.”

  I cued up Ella Fitzgerald’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and her voice filled the room as we held each other in our sleigh, the delicate, brave bird nestled between us. Here we were, heartbeats and darkness and breath and wings and glass and love and music and nowhere else in the world we wanted to be. Here we were, and here we’d be, until we stepped off our sleigh and traded it for a plane. And what I felt was so unexpected and so important that I had to say it out loud.

  “I’m excited for the future,” I told Lily. “I’m really, really excited.”

  “Me too,” she replied.

  And in that moment, there wasn’t any fear. There wasn’t any hesitation. There wasn’t even the constant voice of uncertainty. There was only togetherness. There was only excitement. There was only love.

  “Here’s to the future,” Lily said. “A wonderful future.”

  And I believed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Mind the Gap, Dash & Lily is Rachel Cohn and David Levithan’s sixth collaboration, following Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List, Dash & Lily’s Book of Dares, The Twelve Days of Dash & Lily and Sam & Ilsa’s Last Hurrah.

  Rachel is the bestselling, award-winning author of many books, including Gingerbread, Cupcake, Shrimp, You Know Where to Find Me, and Very LeFreak. David is the author of many brilliant and bestselling books, including Boy Meets Boy, Every Day and The Lover’s Dictionary, and Will Grayson
, Will Grayson co-authored with John Green.

  For more information about Rachel and David, you can find them at www.rachelcohn.com and

  www.davidlevithan.com, respectively.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you, as always, to our friends, family members, and readers, for bringing us joy, even when it’s not a holiday season.

  Thanks, too, to our wonderful editor, Nancy Hinkel, as well as Melanie Nolan, Barbara Marcus, Mary McCue, and everyone else at Random House Children’s Books. Much gratitude as well to our publishers outside the US and to our agents and all of the people at the Clegg Agency and WME.

  In a very strange serendipity of timing, this book was written in part while the first season of the Dash & Lily TV series was filmed. (One chapter was even written while David sat on the floor of the Rare Book Room in the Strand at three in the morning, watching the final scene of the series come to life.) So thank you to Joe Tracz, Scott Hedley, everyone at 21 Laps, everyone at Netflix, the three directors, and the perfect cast, particularly Midori Francis and Austin Abrams. We hope you all get a trip to London out of this one. (Take us with you.)

  DON’T MISS DASH & LILY’S BOOK OF DARES ON NETFLIX!