Been Searching For You

by Nicole Evelina

  I stood frozen, feeling as if someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over me, as Rick left the room. This would be bad, very bad. Nick was insufferable at the best of times, and now he’d been given power over the next four months of my life … if not longer. Not to mention he was sure to repay me for the tongue-lashing I’d given him last month. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Nick turned to us. He was swallowing a smirk that likely could have powered the entire city. “Rick and I have discussed a few things, and Annabeth, given your current personal situation—”

  God, he made it sound as if I was pregnant or had just contracted leprosy.

  “I think it’s best if we pull you both off the U of Chicago account.”

  “What? I’ve put the last six months of my life into that project. You know how much it means to me.”

  Miles raised his hand. “What did I do?”

  Nick shrugged and held up his hands as though the whole situation were out of his control. “You’re a creative team. What happens to one of you happens to both.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Perhaps next time you’ll take that into account before making certain decisions.”

  I wanted to hit him so badly I had to sit on my hands to stop myself. “You know better than anyone that Alex isn’t my client anymore. That’s why we hired you.”

  “But you’re still writing for the university, so it counts. I’m sorry, but the firm has a reputation to maintain.”

  I wanted to retort about that being thrown out the window when they hired him, but I held my tongue.

  Nick couldn’t maintain his composure anymore, grinning like a used car salesman. “Don’t think of this as a punishment, rather as an opportunity to work on new things. We’ll meet at 9 a.m. on January third to discuss strategy for the upcoming months.” He dismissed us with a wave. “Happy holidays.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I didn’t have to sit on my suitcase to get it closed, but I was pretty sure the airline would make me pay a fee for overweight baggage.

  Alex pulled the case from the bed and groaned dramatically. “You do know we’re only going to be there two nights, right?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “You try fitting clothes for an Iowa winter, toiletries, and presents for fifteen family members in one suitcase and tell me how you fare.”

  He held up his smaller suitcase with his other hand and swung it around with ease. “You’ve got me on the presents, but other than that…”

  “Boys suck.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “But you love us anyway.”

  “Well, I love you anyway. There are a few I could do without.”

  “All right, time to set some ground rules on this trip,” he said as I locked up my apartment and we headed down to his car. “Rule number one: no talking about Nick or referencing him in any way. I know you hate him, but you’ll have enough time to complain about him when you go back to work. The next two weeks are our time. I don’t want any other men interfering. Got it?”

  “My dad doesn’t count, does he?”

  Alex adopted a stern expression. “Of course not. Mr. Coe is the exception to all of our rules.”

  “Okay, but rule number two has to be that you’ll put up with my mom no matter what she says. She’s a huge fan of he-whom-we’re-not-talking-about, and I can’t control her.”

  “Thanks for the warning. But once she’s been infected with my special brand of academic charm, she won’t even be able to remember his name.”

  I laughed. “Believe whatever you like.”

  Two hours later, we were in our seats for the brief flight—we’d be in the air for less time than it had taken us to get to the airport and wait to board. I was having second—no, make that third—thoughts about inviting Alex to stay with my family for Christmas.

  He noticed my preoccupation. “Rule number three: you are not allowed to overthink anything for two weeks.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You may as well be asking me not to breathe.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Everything will be all right.”

  It was mid-afternoon by the time we reached my house. Every time I came home, I had the same feeling of going back in time. As soon as we turned onto my tree-lined street, I felt like a high school student returning from a day of study, not a big-city girl coming home for the first time in a year.

  Alex insisted on carrying all of our bags so my hands were free to hug my parents when they met us at the door. My mom was first out the door, her red-and-white polka-dotted apron dusted with flour, the scent of baking apple pie trailing after her.

  “Annabeth, dear, you look lovely,” she said as she hugged me. “City life agrees with you.”

  “Hi, Mom.” I kissed her cheek, smudging away the flour. “Yeah, it does.”

  My dad was right behind her, ready to squeeze me tight before she even let me go. “How you doin’, kitten?”

  “Ugh, too tight, Dad.” He loosened his grip. “I’m good, thanks.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you staying out of the chocolate chip cookies like the doctor told you? Healthy diet and all that?”

  He gave me his best altar boy look and patted his protruding stomach. “Of course. But tonight is an exception. St. Nick wouldn’t like it if I didn’t taste-test his cookies. I mean, we have to have quality control, right?” He winked at me.

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I took a deep breath, knowing it was time to make the introductions. “Mom, Dad, this is Alex Grantham, my boyfriend.”

  Alex shook my dad’s hand first. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

  My dad gave Alex a once-over, appraising his worthiness for his baby girl. Alex must have passed muster because my dad’s tone was jocular as he clapped Alex on the shoulder with his free hand. “You too, son. You too.”

  My mom was more reserved, as though withholding judgment. “Welcome to our home, Professor Grantham.”

  “Mom, this isn’t Downton Abbey,” I interjected.

  Alex gave my mom a warm half hug. “Please, call me Alex, Mrs. Coe.”

  My mom made a polite murmur of acknowledgement but didn’t ask him to call her Alice.

  “Is Mirabelle here yet?” I asked, standing on tiptoe and trying to see over my mom’s shoulder.

  The mention of my older sister seemed to thaw my mom’s demeanor somewhat. Her face softened as her eyes focused on me. “Yes. She and Chuck are in the den watching White Christmas.”

  My dad gently guided my mom back into the house. “Let the kids in, Alice. They must be freezing.”

  We followed my dad into the foyer, which was decked out in its seasonal best. A twelve-foot Christmas tree held court in front of the bay window, festooned with sparkling gold and red ornaments, candle-like lights, and an old-world garland of wooden beads resembling cranberries, holly berries, and mistletoe that had been in our family for generations. Family lore boasted that one of my great-great-grandfathers had carved it for his first Christmas with his new bride and it had been handed down ever since. Behind the tree, the window seat held a ceramic nativity scene my mother had created with Mirabelle and me when we were little, when my mom was convinced she had an untapped talent for pottery.

  Above our heads, the lighting fixture in front of the door was dripping with evergreen boughs, as was the banister leading upstairs. Alex and my dad dragged our luggage up the stairs, already chatting like old friends about their shared alma mater, Princeton. With nothing else to do, I asked my mom if she needed any help.

  “No, of course not. Go be with your sister. But mind the time. We’re having drinks at six before dinner is served.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  I walked through the living room, pausing in the doorway of my father’s den. It was still decorated with all of my dad’s favorite things: photos of my sister and me at every age from infancy to last Christmas, memorabilia from his time on Princeton’s rowing crew, a framed flag next to a case of military rank patches, photos of his family. I inhaled. The room still r
etained the ghost of rich tobacco that had seeped into the wood paneling decades ago, long before he gave up smoking a pipe for the sake of his girls.

  Mirabelle and her husband had their backs toward me, facing the television. My sister was sitting very still, engrossed in the movie, but watching her husband’s shoulders rise and fall just slightly, I had the strong suspicion that Chuck was asleep.

  I took a silent step forward and proclaimed, “I’m here. Who wants to say hi to their favorite sister?”

  Both of them jumped. Chuck snorted and looked around, obviously confused. Mirabelle practically tossed her bowl of popcorn on the floor in her haste to tackle me.

  She squealed, picking me up and spinning me around. “Bethy! I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “I missed you too, Bella.” If she was going to use my childhood nickname, I was going to use hers even though once her Twilight phase had passed, she’d sworn she’d kill anyone who called her that.

  “Hey, Annabeth,” Chuck said, his pudgy face lighting up.

  I embraced him as well, whispering, “Last I saw, Dad and Alex were headed upstairs, but I have a feeling you’ll find them in the living room if you’re looking for a little male bonding.”

  “Yeah, I have to check out this boy toy of yours, see if he meets the family standards. I set the bar pretty high, you know.” He pretended to preen like a peacock.

  Mirabelle rolled her eyes and swatted her husband with a throw pillow. “Yeah, get out so we can have some girl talk.” Once Chuck was gone, Mirabelle pulled me down next to her on the couch, putting the TV on mute. “So spill. I want to hear all about you and Alex.” She handed me an untouched glass of red wine that I assumed was Chuck’s. “Don’t worry. He didn’t drink it.”

  “What’s there to tell that I didn’t already say on the phone?”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s different in person. So… big step bringing him home to meet the ‘rents.” She shoved my arm, her grin so wide it almost leapt off her face.

  I set my glass on the coffee table, pulling my arms up inside my sweater and balling my fists around the cuffs. “You know, I never really thought about it that way. It was just natural for us to be together for Christmas. Dad seems to like him. Mom on the other hand…”

  “She didn’t like Chuck for two years, remember? I don’t know who she thinks we should end up with, but it’s never the ones we pick. Although we both know who she wants you to marry.”

  I rolled my eyes and reached for the wine glass then took a long swig. “Yeah. I warned Alex about that. I also promised him I wouldn’t talk about him for two weeks.”

  Mirabelle snorted. “That should make for some interesting dinner conversation. But he doesn’t have to know what’s said between the two of us.”

  “Good point. So the good news is I still have a job. The bad news is Nick is my new boss, effective January third.”

  Mirabelle smacked my thigh. “No way.”

  Breaking my promise to Alex, I told her the whole sordid story while she listened, wide-eyed, occasionally interrupting with a disbelieving, “No!”

  When I was done, she just shook her head. “I should have castrated him when I had the chance after graduation.” She stared into the globe of her wine glass for a minute. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that he knew where to find you?”

  “Please, I know Mom told him. It wouldn’t surprise me if she told him where I worked, even gave him my address.”

  “And your bitchy friend told him about the job?”

  “Mia. Yeah. Or so she says.”

  “You don’t honestly think nothing happened between them, do you? I mean, Mia is a hornball, and Nick’s never been able to resist a pretty face no matter what she told you.”

  “You’re probably right. But she hasn’t mentioned him since, so I’m guessing it was a one-night thing. Poor Miles.”

  “Forget Miles.” Mirabelle shook her head. “She has no respect for the girl code. Rule number one is you don’t sleep with your friends’ exes. You just don’t. Tell me again why you’re friends with her?”

  I shrugged. “Behind her bitchiness and scheming, she is still a good friend. Besides I owe her. She really helped me a lot when I first moved to Chicago, when I didn’t have any friends. Now she and Miles are so intertwined, and I don’t want to hurt him just because his girlfriend can be unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant? Help or no help, she really treats you horribly, Annabeth. I know that, and I’ve never even met her. This isn’t the first time she’s betrayed you, nor will it be the last. You just choose not to see it. Do you remember how she used you to get her hooks into that one client of yours from Estée Lauder because she thought he could help land her a gig as the face of their newest skin care line? You are lucky not to have lost your job over that. What Mia wants, Mia gets, consequences be damned.”

  “That’s just her way. She’s like that with everyone.”

  “Like that’s an excuse.”

  “Hey, I don’t like all of your friends. Hell, you had Lynda as your maid of honor, and she shaved off your eyebrows in high school.”

  Mirabelle covered her eyes with her hand as though the gesture could erase the memory. “Thanks for bringing that up—again. By the way, I’m still getting compliments on the engagement photo from your HuffPo article. I can’t believe you were willing to put the tree picture out there for the world to see.”

  “Can you think of a better way to capture who I am?”

  Mirabelle toyed with a curly lock of hair that had escaped from my ponytail. “Oh, honey, a single photo could never contain you. Speaking of, I’ve never seen you look as happy as in that photo you posted on Facebook the other day.”

  “The one of me and Alex from the photo booth? That was taken on our first date.”

  “Seriously, he’s done you so much good. You consistently sound happy on the phone, you’re glowing, and I haven’t heard you cry in months.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Yeah, it’s amazing how a little affection chases the loneliness away.”

  “Oh, I’d say from the glint in your eye and the flush in your cheeks that it’s more than affection. You love him, don’t you?”

  I looked into her golden-brown eyes. “I think I do.”

  She hugged me again, holding me the way she did when we were little. “Do you think this could be the end of the letters? Do you think he’s the one?”

  I laid my head on her shoulder. “I really hope so.”

  We sat like that for a few moments, reminiscing about our girlhood wedding plans and how they compared to what we wanted as adults. By the time my mom’s voice summoned us to the dining room, we were laughing so hard we were practically crying.

  “What’s with Mom having drinks before dinner?” I asked before we left the couch. “It’s not like this is a fancy party. We all know each other. Well, except for Alex.”

  “She’s obsessed with BBC America. She’s determined to do the formal British thing tonight.”

  “Please don’t tell me she’s making us dress for dinner.”

  Mirabelle screwed up her lips. “You can thank me for that one. I talked her out of it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on. Don’t let her bother you. Remember, Chuck and I have your back.”

  We survived drinks, but dinner was turning out to be a minefield. Mom had decided that our traditional Christmas ham wasn’t good enough, so she had made Beef Wellington, ignoring Mirabelle’s protests that she had been a vegetarian for the last eight months. When Mirabelle slid her meat onto Chuck’s plate, my mom took it as a personal affront. I was just grateful I wasn’t the only one she was picking on.

  “So, Annabeth dear, what’s it like having Nick just down the hall from you every day? You two must have so much fun reliving the old days.” Her smile was loaded with meaning.

  I took a sip of water and glanced at Alex apologetically before answering. “Actually, we don’t interact that m
uch.” I reached for Alex’s hand under the table, and he gave it a squeeze. “And he’s my boss now, so I don’t expect we’ll be chummy any time soon.”

  My mom frowned. “Really? But you’re so close to your other coworkers.”

  “It’s the nature of the role. Laini and I are strictly professional. And I wasn’t that close to Jenna either.”

  “Has she had her baby yet?” Mirabelle asked, mercifully changing the subject.

  “She’s due around New Year’s. She and Jake are hoping she’ll have the first baby of the year. They could use the free stuff that comes with it.”

  “She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” my mom asked.

  “Kind of. She’s twenty-two.”

  My mom pointed at Mirabelle with her fork. “Speaking of babies, when are you two going to get started? You don’t have all that much time left.”

  “Mom…” Mirabelle heaved an exasperated sigh. “We’ve been through this. Chuck and I have decided not to have children.”

  “I thought that was just a phase that would pass once you’d been married a while,” my mom muttered.

  “Alice, did you learn nothing from Annabeth’s article? That’s not how women want to be defined anymore.”

  I smiled at my dad, appreciative that he’d understood the point of my essay.

  “Oh, that.” My mom dismissed the reference with a wave. “How else am I supposed to feel when both of my girls are past their prime and yet my arms are devoid of grandchildren? I suppose all I can do is pray that God will deliver me from this test like the women of the Old Testament.”

  Next to me, Alex was shaking with suppressed laughter. I guess I’d forgotten to warn him about my mom’s melodramatic side.

  Ignoring my mother’s histrionics, my father raised his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Alex and Annabeth. Besides being one of the most adorable couples I’ve ever seen, they’ve had great success working together. Alex was telling me earlier that the university’s overall applications are up by thirty percent and the English department has seen the number of students listing it as their intended major double since the start of term.”