“Yes, please. Water,” Tie purred as if Gabe had forgotten she was pregnant. “I do love a man who knows how to treat a woman.”
Sarah sucked in her bottom lip, stifling a laugh. Helen and Dad were engaged in a private conversation, speaking softly to one another. Allen reacted by fidgeting in his seat.
“Oh, I’m sure you have scores of men falling at your feet. Isn’t that right, Peter?” Gabe poured ice water into her glass, filling it nearly to the brim.
“Not sure about scores. The retarded boy down the street has taken a shine to her, though.” Peter laughed maliciously.
Everyone else at the table stopped what they were doing to gawk at him in disgust. Normally, Peter wouldn’t back down, but this time his shoulders sagged and he followed up with, “He’s such a sweet boy. We donate money to his school. The best school for children like him.”
“He’s not mentally challenged. He’s deaf.” Tie rolled her eyes. “He mows everyone’s yards in the neighborhood to raise money for his school.”
“Is that why he never responds when I tell him to ensure the lines in the lawn are perfectly straight?” Peter’s face was incredulous. “It does explain why he talks like he was raised by wolves or something.” He waved a hand dismissively before addressing Allen. “Do you have a part-time job?”
Allen shook his head.
“That’s not true. During school breaks, you help out at the shop in Denver.” Helen rushed to Allen’s defense. She turned to Peter. “We think his studies should come first. He wants to be a professor, like Lizzie.” Helen smiled broadly.
“Another professional trivial pursuit player in the making,” Peter said, winking. “Kidding, of course.”
Nothing about his tone or posture indicated he was joking.
Again, everyone at the table fell silent.
I examined Allen, who blushed like he wanted to disappear under the table. “Tell me about your upcoming trip. It’s been years since I’ve been to DC.” I rested my forearms on the table. “I do have one tip. You have to visit the house where Lincoln died. Seeing the small bed where they laid the tall, mortally wounded man—it’s depressing, yet gruesomely fascinating. It’s near the theater where he was shot, of course.”
Allen perked up in his seat and launched into a monologue about all the things he wanted to see.
When he mentioned the Holocaust museum, I interjected. “The section with all the shoes is quite emotional. I mean, it’s just shoes, but the sheer number is overwhelming. Frankly, that aspect gets the point across the most. Each pair belonged to a human being who was meticulously murdered.”
“I’m surprised the Germans didn’t sell them. They could have made a killing, considering the scarcity brought on by the war.” Peter poured a substantial dose of bourbon into his tumbler.
“Such a businessman, ignoring the humanity of Lizzie’s statement and zeroing in on lost profit margin.” Tie’s voice bordered on humor, or was it just shock?
Peter tugged on the neck of his sweater. “I didn’t round up and kill the poor bastards. I’m just saying I’m surprised the Germans didn’t sell the shit.”
“So you aren’t Hitler, more like Switzerland, hoarding prized works of arts and gold.” Tie quirked a brow.
“Exactly!” Peter’s businessman smile amazed the hell out of me. How had he managed to take Tie’s comment as a compliment?
Tie mentioning the role Switzerland had played shocked me even more than Peter’s ability to brush off the dig. Sarah had been right all along: Tie was no fool. Maybe Sarah would be right. Maybe Peter would ask for a divorce sooner rather than later, even if they had a child on the way.
Sensing that the conversation needed steering to safer waters, I asked, “Have you found out whether you’re having a boy or girl yet?”
Tie shook her head. “I want to be surprised. Did you two know?”
“We did. Our big shock was finding out about the twins.”
Sarah laughed. “I think it took three full minutes before Lizzie’s heart restarted.”
“Maybe longer.” I met Sarah’s gaze and then glanced over my shoulder at the sleeping babies. “Can’t imagine my life without them now.”
“Children have that way about them.” Helen smiled at her boys.
Peter folded his hands and rested his chin on them, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Was it possible that my brother was looking forward to meeting his child?
Chapter Nineteen
All the scents of Christmas, real and manufactured, swirled around my head as the three of us dashed around the house, putting the finishing touches up before all the branches of the family tree arrived.
“Did you light the candle in the bathroom upstairs?” Sarah marched into the kitchen, looking like Dwight D. Eisenhower on D-Day. One hand clutched a clipboard that spelled out her battle plan, an endless to-do list that had been making my life hell since the day after Thanksgiving.
Maddie eyed me, and I shrugged one shoulder.
Sarah grunted. “Why do I even bother asking for help?” She about-faced to take care of the monumental task Maddie and I had neglected.
“I’ve never seen her like this, not even on our wedding day.” I dried my hands on a dish towel draped over my shoulder.
“Don’t take it personally.” Maddie cranked the temperature on the Crock-Pot from low to high. She was making her famous Swedish meatballs, a laborious task, but well worth it.
“It’s kinda hard not to take it personally when she looks at me like I’m the worst thing that’s happened to human history since Nero fiddling while Rome burned.”
Maddie laughed. “The fifty-fourth history reference since five this morning. Sarah wants this day to be perfect for you. She knows how nervous you are.” She squeezed my shoulder. “How nervous are you, by the way?”
I flung out my hand, showing her how much it shook. “Let’s say I won’t be a great team player if we break out the Operation board game.”
“Like you’ve ever played that game before.”
“True, but now we own two sets, and the twins aren’t even walking yet.” I laughed. The first couple of hours this morning had involved me, Sarah, Maddie, and Rose unwrapping gifts for Freddie and Ollie. For the first few minutes, both of them had wriggled and clapped with delight, but they’d soon lost the thrill and just tried to eat wrapping paper instead. Fred actually nodded off before we were halfway done. “What about you?”
Maddie slanted one eyebrow.
“Is this the first time you’ll be seeing Peter since that night?”
She nodded.
“And Tie will be with him.”
She made another up and down motion with her head.
“And Kit and Courtney are coming.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I’m not judging, but should I know about any other situations, just so I don’t step in it?” I stuck two palms in the air, but not fast enough. She thwacked me with a wet dishrag. “Ouch!”
“By the way, is your stepbrother good-looking?”
“Don’t even think about it.” I narrowed my eyes.
“What about Gabe? Is he off-limits?”
I got an eyeful of the ceiling. “Huh. Interesting thought. He is in the flower business, and you’re an interior designer. Might be a match made in heaven.”
“Because of our business connections? Sometimes you really do think like a Petrie.” Her laughter was a mix of amusement and disgust.
“What are you two doing?” Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway with her clipboard and red pen raised.
Luckily, Freddie reached out a hand and played with his toes, giggling, and Sarah’s stern face melted into happiness. Ollie joined in the game, laughing louder than Fred. The sibling rivalry had already started.
I wrapped my arms around Sarah’s waist. “Today is going to be perfect. Thanks for everything you’ve done.” I brushed my lips against hers.
Sarah beamed. �
��Nice try,” she muttered. “Can you get the twins dressed in their Christmas outfits?” She clicked her pen and struck the chore off the list.
I sighed melodramatically. “My tasks are never done.” Turning to the twinkies, I added, “Come on, kiddos. Time to make you look ridiculous.”
Both Maddie and Sarah slapped my arm.
***
Our house had never been so loud, or so sweltering, given the roaring fireplaces in the living room and TV room.
“Lizzie, the place looks wonderful.” Dr. Marcel held his arm crooked for his wife to clutch.
“I can’t take all the credit. This is Sarah’s doing, and our friend Maddie is an interior designer.”
Mrs. Marcel’s eyes panned the spacious living room. “It’s more elaborate than a window display in New York City.”
I smiled, swallowing a comment about the astronomical price of transforming our house into Santa’s workshop. Not to mention that it was going to take a team of cleaners to vacuum up all the fake snow and glitter throughout the house.
Dr. Marcel leaned closer. “Are your father and his new wife here yet?”
“Not yet. They’re stopping to see Helen’s family first.”
“You nervous?” Mrs. Marcel’s smile matched the warmth of her husband’s. She wore black slacks and a red and white sweater that swallowed her body.
“A little.”
Mrs. Marcel hooted. “Translation: you’d rather give a lecture in your birthday suit.”
I laughed with the Marcels. “Something like that.”
Dr. Marcel squeezed my arm. “One day at a time. Things will get easier.”
Maddie brushed past, and I reached for her arm. “Maddie, I’d like you to meet the Marcels.”
Maddie smiled knowingly. “Oh, you’re the two who raised this cretin during her PhD program.”
Everyone laughed, and Maddie eased them into a conversation so I could make my escape. On the back deck, I stumbled into Kit and Courtney.
“Hello.” Kit took a drag on a cigarette. “I can’t believe this place.” He waved a hand to all the lit-up Christmas ornaments in the backyard, including a replica of Snoopy’s doghouse with twinkling lights and a Charlie Brown tree.
“Sarah loves the holidays.” I leaned against the deck railing. “You two hiding?”
“Yes. You?”
“Absolutely.” I wrenched the collar of my green Grinch Christmas sweater, a gift from Maddie. “It’s like Hades in there.”
Courtney offered me a cigarette.
“No thanks. So have you two set a date yet?” I grinned.
“Nope,” they chorused, giggling like naughty schoolkids who’d just activated a fire alarm.
Sarah sidled up next to me. “I thought I’d find you out here.”
“Busted!” Kit laughed, accidentally sloshing his eggnog onto the snow. “This shit is good.” He and Courtney drained their glasses.
I said to Sarah, “Maybe we shouldn’t let Maddie mix the rum into the eggnog next year.”
“Are you serious?” Courtney motioned for Kit to refill her glass. “She’s an artist. An eggnog aficionado. You can’t stifle her freedom of expression.”
Kit nodded enthusiastically. “I usually hate eggnog, but this is my third glass, soon to be fourth.”
At least two people were smashed, and it wasn’t even seven at night. Even Rose had one before the guests arrived.
Sarah tugged my arm and whispered, “They’re here.”
My heart leaped into my throat, and I nodded as if I just found out I had to run a marathon to the North Pole barefoot or no children would receive a gift.
More people had streamed into the living room in my absence. Peter and Tie huddled by the fourteen-foot Christmas tree. I hadn’t thought Sarah would choose such a tall tree, but she’d informed me it would be a crime not to take advantage of the room’s arched ceiling. Maddie had to buy an extra-large ladder to get the ornament on top.
I raised a hand to greet Peter, and he tipped his bourbon glass in my direction. It was our first communication since the wedding, which had been a surprisingly modest affair.
My father, Helen, Gabe, and Allen were engaged in conversation with the Marcels, Maddie, and Rose. Sarah threaded her arm through mine and rested her head on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You got this.”
“Dad, you made it.” I approached with my hand out.
He grasped it and pulled me into a hug.
Helen embraced me next.
“I was just telling your father you were my best student in my thirty-five years, and the only former student I’ve hired to teach on my staff.” Dr. Marcel’s face showed he meant every word.
Maddie, with Freddie in his elf pajamas on her hip, said, “I paid him fifty bucks to say that.”
“Fifty? I thought you said one fifty.” Dr. Marcel jostled her arm. In his other arm, he held Ollie, dressed in PJs that matched her twin’s.
Everyone laughed. I caught a glimpse of Peter’s scowl out of the corner of my eye.
Dad gripped my shoulder. “I always knew this one was smart as a whip. It’s always the quiet ones, right Allen?”
Allen turned three shades of scarlet.
“Cap, don’t embarrass the boy. Be useful and get us some eggnog.” Helen shooed her husband and sons away.
“Anything you say, dear.”
It felt like I was in an alternate universe: one where my father was a doting husband and proud father, and one in which I wasn’t the hidden child anymore. I glanced in Peter’s direction again.
Tie, clutching her baby bump with both hands, was speaking earnestly to Kit and Courtney while Peter managed to have his back turned to everyone in the room. Maddie followed my gaze and shrugged.
“Shall we hit up the food?” Mrs. Marcel and her ever-loving husband, with Rose in tow, retreated to the kitchen where the buffet was set up.
Dad, Allen, and Gabe returned with eggnog.
Peter spun around, and I motioned for him to join us.
“I was thinking. Since Allen and Gabe live so close to a golf course, we should all play this spring,” I said.
“You play golf?” Peter’s eyes bulged. “Since when?”
“Uh, not really. But how hard can it be? You play.” I elbowed Peter, and he actually grinned.
Sarah gave me a good for you nod. It had been her idea to propose a golf game with my siblings. To me, it felt weird adding an “s” to that word.
“Careful, Peter.” Maddie sidled up and met his shocked face. “I’ve played putt-putt with Lizzie, and she has a remarkable short game. Only takes her ten shots to sink the ball.”
“So, when you say remarkable, do you mean jaw-dropping or I can’t believe what I’m seeing?” Gabe said, seeming somewhat shy around Maddie.
Maddie was nodding and laughing too hard to reply.
“Hey now! I did get a hole in one.”
Sarah circled her arm around my waist. “That’s right. The ball bounced right off a lighthouse, smacked into a pirate ship, boinged into a windmill, and then swirled around the hole twice before going in. Too bad it was the hole after the one we were playing.”
“Can’t win them all.” I nuzzled my cheek against her head. “Although I did with you,” I whispered in her ear.
Peter sidled up on my other side. “I think I can teach you a thing or two about golf, if you’re willing to put in the time.”
“Of course! As long as I don’t have to wear your silly golf pants and shirt, I’m willing to bet that in six months I’ll clean your clock.”
“Shall we say ten dollars?” Peter put his hand out, and I shook it, laughing.
The rest of the guests gravitated toward the laughter.
I raised my glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“You can’t help going into lecture mode, can you?” Maddie laughed.
I restrained my desire to give her the middle finger. “Unlike my lectures, I’l
l make this short and sweet.”
Maddie started to say something else, but Sarah’s withering look zipped her lips shut.
“To family and friends, thank you for sharing our twins’ first Christmas with us. This year has been insanely crazy in a wonderful way. Not only did we welcome our children into the world, but we also embraced new family members”—I waved to Helen, her boys, and Kit and Courtney—“whom I hope to get to know better in the new year. We’re keen to meet Fred and Ollie’s cousin.”
Tie cradled her belly, and Peter smiled slightly.
“And now that we have your names and numbers, expect to hear from us. We’re in desperate need of babysitters.”
The twins cooed, momentarily drawing all attention away from me. Sarah leaned against me. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered right back.
I waited a few seconds for the laughter to subside and then lifted my glass above my head. “Merry Christmas, and may everyone’s wishes come true.”
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Author’s Note
Thank you for reading A Family Woman. If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. No matter how long or short, I would very much appreciate your feedback.
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About the Author
TB Markinson is an American living in England. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs, or reading. Not necessarily in that order.
A Family Woman Page 24