by Anna Albo
She pulled me to a corner away from other guests. "What did you do? Did you sleep with her and then blow her off?"
"No! I wouldn't do that."
She rolled her eyes.
"I wouldn't do that to Emma."
"Ah, the qualifier. So what did you do?"
I briefed her. I didn't relish revisiting it.
"You kissed her. That's so cute and so last century. Later you can go around to her dad's and ask him if you can court her."
I groaned. "Really, Genie? That's not helpful. You're being a bitch."
She stopped immediately. "Hey, sorry. I shouldn't have been a jerk. I didn't mean it. I was trying to make light of it because I can tell you're bummed. I'm sure it was a nice moment for both of you and then she just got spooked. Give her some time. I can talk to her."
"No, do not talk to her. You do enough talking." I paused. "What if it's for the best?"
"You're a weenie, you know that? You're stressing that maybe you might like her a little more than all those bimbos you chase after. She's the real deal. Being a big boy is kind of scary, isn't it?"
"Not what I meant. If we did try this out and it didn't work, what if we didn't stay friends? She's right about that."
"And what if I’m right that you're a big weenie?"
"You should probably stop drinking."
"She's an awesome girl, perfect for you. When I see the two of you together, it's so natural. Have you ever felt that way about a girl before?"
"No," I said begrudgingly.
"Exactly. Give her a little space to come around. I don't think she's ever had a boyfriend before and she's apprehensive."
"There's something else. The guys already give me a hard time about her." Genie was about to open her mouth and I stopped her. "Yeah, I'm the biggest weenie you've ever met, I get it. It's just that I don't want them to give her a hard time. I can handle it, but I'm not sure she can."
"Other than Brett—and I don't like him anyway—none of these guys are going to be friends when you go off to law school, so why do you care about them? If you like her, and it's obvious that you do, why does it matter what those guys think? Man, Zach, I thought you'd be tougher than this. Where are your balls?"
"Don't you have some of Dad's friends to impress?"
"Sure, but only after another glass of my special cider."
She wandered away and I pulled out my phone.
Me: You know he's just an asswipe, right? And it's only awkward if you make it that way.
I finished my cider and looked for the wine. I had a two-drink limit before I'd start getting the look from Mom. Little did she know I’d really need about ten drinks to make this evening bearable. I'd slip out early anyway. Brett rented a rink, and the guys were going to play a late-night game of hockey.
My phone buzzed.
Emma: Jake's not here! How did I get so lucky? Uncle Ron's asked me about Bianca all night. Somehow she convinced Jake to stay in the city. How is your night going?
Me: Not bad. Hanging out with my family and about thirty other people I don't know. Playing hockey tonight with the guys before doing a repeat of this tomorrow.
Emma: Have fun! And see you soon.
"WE HAVE TO GO," DAD said, pounding on my bedroom door as he passed it the next morning. Genie's would be next. I wore a light blue cotton dress shirt that I didn't care about. If it got stained, I'd toss it. I grabbed my phone and wallet and met Mom and Dad downstairs. Genie was MIA.
"The only bad part of this whole thing in the photo op," Mom said, fiddling around with his purse. "I don't want them interfering," she said to Dad.
"I made it clear to Allen that we'd take a few pictures then we wanted them out."
"Good."
Genie came bounding down the stairs, dressed in a heavy wool sweater she'd regret. It amazed me how quickly she forgot.
"We're all here. Let's go," Dad said.
We piled into the car for our annual Christmas tradition of serving lunch at Saint Anthony's soup kitchen. We'd been doing it for ten years, two years before Dad won his first election. Genie and I were kids then, more of a nuisance than anything else, but even then we’d worked hard, serving and cleaning up. We also spent time chatting with our fellow lunch guests, learning more about their lives, how they'd come to Saint Anthony's. Mom and Dad's mission had been to support any initiative to help get people off the street, but every year the lines looked longer and longer. They weren't winning the battle.
"How is Emma?" Mom asked. "She's a sweet girl. We should have invited her along."
I stared at Mom who was sitting across from me. She wore a pleasant smile, but she was fishing.
"She went back home," I said.
"I bet she would have been in the kitchen helping them cook up a storm."
Mom didn't miss a thing. Knowing her, she remembered every detail about Emma. "Yeah, probably."
Mom shifted her attention to Genie. "And Steve? Where is he?" she asked, all joy vanishing from her voice.
"With his family," she said. "I assumed he wasn't invited."
"You assumed correct," Dad said.
More boring chitchat for the twenty-five-minute ride. My mind wandered to the New Year's Eve party Brett had planned. I needed a night out, away from bullshit. The thought of drinking and hanging out with my buddies was what all that was keeping me going right now.
People were lined up outside when we drove around the back of Saint Anthony's. The people who used Saint Anthony's were always polite and never gave anyone trouble. They were down-and-out, good people who had either lost their way or were unable to change their circumstances. My heart went out to them and never once did I dread our Christmas tradition.
Jill, the executive director, met us at the back door. She escorted us to the kitchen area where we'd find our hair nets, aprons and latex gloves.
"The presents for the children arrived?" Dad asked her.
"A few days ago."
"And the socks, mittens, and scarves for the adults?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Walker. You've been so generous."
"That's my wife you should be thanking."
Mom was the main breadwinner; it's a detail not many people knew and a secret Mom wanted kept.
"We should get started," Jill said. "We have a lot of people to feed today."
I was on mashed potato duty while Genie got to hand out dessert. I tried to speak to everyone, but I could see how that held up the line. I chatted when I could and when I scooped my last spoonful of potatoes, I took bags of wrapped presents and started handing those out. Genie, Mom, and Dad did the same.
The mom of a little girl who was no older than four or five couldn't stop smiling when I started to hand her daughter a gift. All the wrapped gifts had identifying tags on them and when I saw the doll, I yanked off the tag and knelt down in front of the girl.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Molly," she said, looking down at her feet.
"Molly, I think this is for you," I said, handing it to her. She was tentative at first but when I held it closer to her, she took it from me. With great care, she peeled back the paper revealing the brown-haired doll who looked a little like her. I’d lucked out with that one.
"Mommy, look," she said, holding up the doll for her mom to see.
"That's very nice. Did you thank Mr. Walker?"
"Call me Zach," I said.
"Thank you, Zach," she said, her face coming alive.
"You're welcome." I turned to Molly's mom. "Is there anything I can get you? We have care packages for everyone."
"I'll get mine on my way out," she said. "I'm Diane," she said, extending her hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." I wanted to ask her how she got to Saint Anthony's, but I couldn't do it in front of Molly. Something about Diane set her apart from the others. As if reading my mind, she satisfied my curiosity.
"We're staying at Katie's House," she said.
I nodded. A shelter for abused women. "I unders
tand."
"We wanted to spend the holiday with some of the people from Katie's House, right, Molly?"
The little girl nodded, but her focus was on her new doll.
"You have no family here?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Just my husband's. My parents have passed and my sister lives out of the country. She doesn't even know about this."
"You don't want to tell her?"
"I couldn't, it's too humiliating."
Diane's eyes welled up with tears. I took the seat next to her and grabbed a hold of her hand. "He's to blame. Not you."
"I picked him," she said, forcing a smile.
"Now you've unpicked him. Have you sought legal advice?"
"I've contacted Legal Aid, but the process is slow."
"I know someone who can help you pro bono. A great lawyer. Then you can get back on your feet."
"Thank you, Zach. That would mean the world to us," she said, her eyes glistening with tears.
I pulled Dad's old law firm's business card from my wallet and handed it to her. "Graham will help you. Tell him the Walkers sent you."
"Bless you," she said.
"I wish you well, Diane. And Molly, I will see you later," I said, calling out to the little girl. She smiled and waved goodbye.
I handed out the last of my gifts and we all sat down at different tables to enjoy the dinner with other Saint Anthony guests. I listened to their stories and wished I could help them all. And when we drove home a few hours later I was exhausted—not from serving food all day, but drained from the emotional toll all the stories I'd listened to. I was lucky for what I had and tried my hardest to never take it for granted.
"Why did I wear such a heavy sweater?" Genie complained when we'd gotten home. "I was dying in there."
"You make the same mistake every year," I said, following her upstairs. A quick change then on to our own Christmas dinner.
"You could have reminded me before we left."
"I got Christmas cheer watching you suffer."
"Since you're being such a jerk, I'm not going to tell you who I met."
"I'm sure I don't care."
"I think you should since she asked about you."
I stopped in the hallway and so did Genie. "Okay, I'll bite. Who did you meet?"
"A lady named Meredith. She's says she's Emma's mom."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EMMA
Dad attempted Christmas breakfast with Grandpa as his accomplice. I wasn't allowed to help, but I did supervise by reminding Dad to turn over the pancakes before they burned and Grandpa to put a splash guard on the frying pan so he wouldn't get singed with bacon grease. Dad was a pro at making eggs so he didn't need any assistance there. They did let me put on a pot of coffee.
"Wendy was going to come over a little early to help us with dinner, if that's all right with you," Grandpa said.
He looked meek as if worried I'd erupt into a fit of rage. "Sure, that’s fine. I could always use some extra help. Which reminds me, I've got to prepare the turkey once we're done opening presents."
"About presents...I thought we could open them this evening, once Wendy gets here."
"Oh, okay," I said. We were bucking tradition, but Grandpa seemed really excited about the whole Wendy thing.
We dove into breakfast and I was impressed with the pancakes. Dad had added chocolate chips to the batter. He was finally taking some of my advice and thinking outside the box...sort of.
Grandpa and I chatted about school while Dad flipped through the newspaper looking for the crossword. The rustling stopped and Dad stared at whatever had caught his attention. Someone die? Dad had a fascination with the obituaries.
He lowered the paper and looked at me, his face mired in confusion. Without a word he passed me the community section. I looked through the pictures and gasped. There I was, posing with Zach, my name in the caption as Zach's girlfriend.
"Care to explain?" he asked. He was a bit annoyed, and I couldn’t blame him.
"He's not my boyfriend," was the first thing out of my mouth. And then I thought of Bianca. Did she see or hear about his? Was that why the texts started again?
"Let me see," Grandpa said, taking the section from me. "Oh, he's handsome and a senator's son. You could do a lot worse," he cooed.
"No, he's not my boyfriend," I protested. "He and his sister invited me to the party. Genie is a friend of mine." More truth-stretching. I was going straight to hell.
"Is this the guy you were talking about?"
"Dad!"
"Your grandfather is eventually going to find out. Why the secret?"
"Zach and I are friends, that's it. The photographer got it wrong."
"I think you make the cutest couple," Grandpa said. Now that he was in love, he wanted everyone to be.
Dad pressed his lips into a thin line. "Emma, you didn't even tell me about this."
My cheeks flushed. Busted. "It was a last-minute invitation. It wasn't a big deal."
"A party at the Walker house is a big deal," Grandpa said.
I shot him a warning glance. He responded with an apologetic shrug.
"I was going to tell you but I forgot about it. Really, it was nothing."
Dad's eyes stared hard at me. He was a human lie detector. "Why do I think you're not telling me everything?"
What did I do? He wasn't going to let it go. I bit down on my lip, trying to think of something fast, but nothing was coming other than the truth. "I did like him, but I knew right away that it wasn't right. Before anything got started, I shut it down. The caption is still wrong. He was never my boyfriend. That's it."
"Paul, cut the kid some slack," Grandpa said, rising from the table and grabbing our empty plates. "No need to pour salt in the wound."
Dad's hard stare softened. "If this changes... "
"I promise you'll be the first to know."
"Well, let's clean this place up. We have a guest coming," Grandpa said.
That was over, thanks to Grandpa. Next, I focused on dinner duty while Dad cleaned up our breakfast dishes. Grandpa disappeared to catch up on paperwork then ready himself since Wendy was expected in a few hours. I decided it was time to bake. Of everything in the kitchen, baking relaxed me most. With the few hours I had, I made Dad's favorite shortbread and Grandpa's gingerbread cookies. I was arranging them on a platter when Wendy arrived. I wandered over to the front door to see Grandpa taking Wendy's coat. Her eyes fell on me and she smiled.
"And you must be Emma."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Wendy."
"Your grandfather’s told so many great things about you. And I hear you're quite the chef."
My trusty old bullshit meter dove into action, this time on Wendy, but it wasn't going off. She seemed sincere. And though she'd never replace Grandma, she did have a grandmotherly quality about her. Grandpa had told me she was divorced with a son living on the East Coast. She wasn't spending the holidays with him and his family because she had a trip planned out there in the New Year. Or maybe she wanted to spend Christmas with Grandpa? And while she used to be a ruthless prosecutor—Grandpa's words—she had a straightforward simplicity to her. Black slacks, a fuzzy baby blue cashmere sweater, and although her nails were done, she didn't have on layers of makeup and her light brown hair was cut short—a style easy to maintain. She was elegant and gracious.
"Thank you for the kind words."
"And if you need any help, put me to work."
"Would you like some homemade eggnog?" Grandpa asked. "Emma made it herself."
"I'd love some," Wendy said, beaming.
I liked that Wendy seemed kind and soft-spoken. I'd been a little worried about meeting her, thinking I'd have to walk on eggshells or she'd make me wither under a barrage of questions, but it seemed she'd left that behind for small-town life.
"What are you taking in school?" Wendy asked.
"I'm in my first year so I'm still trying to sort things out."
"I got my English
degree before I realized I wanted to be a lawyer. Just remember that you're young and you have lots of time." She sipped the eggnog. "Oh, this is divine."
Dad, who'd been loitering around but not saying much, jumped into the conversation. "Wendy, do you know the Walkers? What's his name? The senator."
"Oh yes, Daniel Walker. I don't know him per se; met him a few times and he has a good reputation."
"How about his kids?"
"Dad!"
Wendy's grey eyes looked from me to Dad. "I haven't heard a thing about them, and for a politician, that's a good thing."
I laughed nervously, wanting to throttle Dad. Time to make my exit. "I'm going to finish up dinner," I said, rising and giving Dad the stink-eye as I passed.
"Let me help," Wendy offered.
I wasn't entirely sure I wanted her help, but to refuse would disappoint Grandpa, so we got to work. The turkey needed a few more minutes in the oven before resting for at least a half hour. Wendy peeled potatoes and I stuffed mushrooms. I was attempting acorn squash for the first time and prepped them with fresh ground pepper, Himalayan salt, and a parmesan rub. Once the turkey came out, they'd go in.
"I don't mean to be nosy, but I'm guessing you're the reason your dad asked about the Walkers?"
"Zach and I are just friends. The stupid paper published a picture of us saying that we were dating."
"How'd they get a picture of the two of you?" she asked.
"I was at their Christmas party."
"And with the both of you at the party, I guess the paper assumed."
"So now Dad's all bent out of shape."
Wendy saw the paper lying on the kitchen table and glanced at it. "Well, he's certainly easy on the eyes."
My cheeks blushed and I made sure to keep my face hidden from Wendy. "Like I said, we're just friends."
"How did you get invited to a Walker party? Invitations like those are pretty exclusive."
"Zach invited me—I mean, Genie invited me. His sister."
If Wendy had a bullshit meter, it had to be off the charts.
"How many friends did the Walker kids invite?"
"I don't know, but I wasn't paying attention. Genie's boyfriend was there, but I guess the rest of the guests were donors and friends."