Aria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was December 24, and the family was on their way to the Bear Claw Lodge in the Pocono Mountains, where Byron would ski, Mike would snowboard, and Aria would knit and journal. Every other car on the Northeast Extension was packed full of prettily wrapped gifts, cases of wine, and maybe a frozen ham or a fruitcake. The Montgomery vehicle, on the other hand, contained three yoga mats, incense burners, a jug of homemade mead Byron had brewed in the basement, and a large, splintery Yule log. Aria’s family celebrated the Winter Solstice instead of Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. Even though both her parents had been raised Episcopalian, they’d never done Santa or church or caroling. While everyone else received gifts sometime in December, all Aria got, year after year, was a head wreath made out of ivy.
Aria had never really minded the Solstice celebrations before—she’d accepted long ago that her family was kind of . . . different—but this year, after her old friend Ali’s death, the evil text-messager A, and finding out that Ali’s murderer was Rosewood’s golden boy Ian Thomas, she longed for the comforting Christmas traditions her family had eschewed. Gathering around a decorated tree. Exchanging gifts. Staying indoors and watching cheesy holiday movies instead of schlepping through the wilderness, beating their chests like apes, and being one with nature.
As she gazed out the window at the passing cars, she felt envious of the excited kids’ faces peering out from the backseats. When a sign for a Christmas tree farm swept past, she considered asking Byron if they could chop one down. She knew exactly what he’d say, though: That tree has a soul! It would hate for us to defile it in such a tacky way!
“I wonder what Ella’s doing right now,” Aria said as the Subaru barreled past a VW Jetta with tinted windows.
Byron poked his finger through a hole near the cuff of his sweater, an awkward look rolling across his face. “I’m sure your mom’s somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean as we speak.”
Aria turned and stared out the window at a billboard for the newly opened Devon Crest Mall. WE HAVE THE TRISTATE AREA’S BIGGEST SANTA LAND! it said at the bottom. Ella was on her way to Sweden right now for some meatballs, Volvo-ogling, and sightseeing. Aria had hoped Ella would take her with her—the Montgomerys had lived in Reykjavík, Iceland, for three years, and Aria had cried the whole plane ride back to Rosewood this fall. Getting away to Europe would have been the perfect way to decompress after all the drama of first semester, but Ella had told her she needed to make the trip alone.
Aria understood her need to get away. Her marriage to Byron had crumbled this year when she found out he was having an affair with Meredith Stevens, his old student. A—aka Mona Vanderwaal—had been the one to reveal the tryst, also adding that Aria had known Byron’s secret. Ella had been so angry at Aria that she’d banished her from the house, but they’d since made up. Byron was still living with Meredith in a dumpy apartment in Old Hollis, but luckily she was spending the holidays with her parents in Connecticut. Not so long ago, Meredith had dropped the bomb of all bombs: She was ten weeks pregnant . . . and planning on keeping the baby. She had also announced that she and Byron were going to get married as soon as his divorce went through.
Byron reached over the seat divider and placed a hand on Aria’s knee. “I know it’s sad that your mom’s not here. But this is our chance to hang out together. I promise we’ll have a good time.”
“I know,” Aria said softly, patting her dad’s hand. As much as she wanted to despise Byron for splintering the family, she couldn’t—he was still the absentminded, caring, goofy father she loved. It would be nice to spend some time together, especially since Meredith wouldn’t be there. While Aria had stayed with Byron and Meredith when she and Ella weren’t speaking, she hadn’t warmed up to Meredith at all.
One didgeridoo song ended, and a second one—which sounded exactly like the first—began. Aria picked up her knitting needles and looked at the scarf. It was almost six feet long. She’d intended to give it to Ezra Fitz, the guy she’d met at a college bar the day she’d returned home from Iceland and—as she’d only discovered after they’d kissed—her English teacher at Rosewood Day. Just after they’d professed their affection for one another, A had exposed their relationship. Ezra had resigned from his teaching position immediately and taken off to Rhode Island.
Since he’d been gone, Aria felt like she had PTED—Post-Traumatic Ezra Disorder. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She’d written him tons of emails, but Ezra hadn’t responded. Had he moved on to someone else? What about all those things he’d said about how amazing she was and how he’d never met anyone like her? What if she never got over him? What if she never kissed another guy again? She’d had other boyfriends before—her first was a guy named Hallbjorn Gunterson in Iceland and she even dated Sean Ackard, a Typical Rosewood Boy, last semester. But she’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about Ezra.
After a quick pit stop where Byron picked up some snacks and made a phone call, they pulled into a turnoff with a big sign that said BEAR CLAW. Byron gunned the engine up the long driveway, and the lodge came into view. It wasn’t a lodge at all, but a behemoth stone mansion. The grounds were covered in glittering, pristine snow. A gondola carried skiers to the top of the mountain. There were more wooden signs pointing to a spa, indoor tennis courts, a gym, the ski rental shop, an ice-skating rink, and dog-sledding tours.