by Ann M. Noser
“Don’t worry―I’m bringing it back with me after break. I don’t want to keep pestering Abby for rides.”
We board the bus and sit down. Soon the trees flash by in a rhythmic fashion. I sigh and sink into my seat, gazing out at the falling snow.
“Jake, why on earth are you telling everyone on campus that I don’t believe in organ donation?” I ask. “First of all, it’s not true. And secondly, you’re making me sound really selfish.”
“I’m tired, Emma. Can we can talk about it later?” Jake closes his eyes and leans back into the headrest.
“Why are you so tired? It’s not like you had to study for exams or anything.” I yawn. “Thank goodness finals are over. I’m exhausted.”
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know Jake shakes me awake as the bus driver announces my hometown. We hail a taxi in front of the bus station in downtown Hudson. The stifling air inside the taxi reeks of men’s cologne. I crack open a window so I can breathe.
As we speed off into the dark, I fret. Earlier in the week, my mother got way too excited when I told her about Jake over the phone. I dread pretending he’s my boyfriend. There’s not going to be any “peace on earth” this Christmas vacation.
“Oh no.” I groan as we pull up to my house.
Expensive new cars line our long, circular driveway, making it look like a fancy car dealership.
“I completely forgot about this.” I cringe.
Jake cranes his neck to have a better look. “What’s going on?”
“My parents throw a huge holiday costume party every year the night before Christmas Eve. I hate it. I never know what to say to all of their friends.”
“A Christmas costume party? All right!” Jake crows as he grabs our bags out of the cab and makes a beeline for the house.
I stay behind to pay the driver, then race after Jake. The crisp night air is a relief after the stuffy taxi ride. I gasp deep breaths as I hurry to catch up.
“Wait for me!” I cry out. “I don’t know that you should meet all these people. What if they ask too many questions?”
Jake shakes his head, bemused. “Why do you worry so much? Especially when you think I majored in partying. So why don’t you just push me in the direction of the open bar?”
Bright lights shine from every window in the house. All across the yard, the strategic lighting casts a lovely glow upon the snow. We stop to gaze through the windows at the multitude of curiously dressed guests.
Jake grins. “That guy looks like Slash, and all the members of KISS are standing over there.”
“Don’t forget ABBA and Lady Gaga.”
“Wow, your parents really go all out when they throw a party, don’t they?”
“We don’t have costumes,” I point out. “We could always do something else.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a party. We have to go! I’m sure we can find something to wear.” With his hands full of luggage, Jake pauses as I open the front door. “You know, Emma, I have a great costume idea for you.”
“What’s that?” I can’t wait to hear this one.
“You could wear a dress.” He smirks as my parents approach. “No one would even recognize you.”
“Very funny.” I’m going to get you for this, Frat Boy.
“Emma! Darling, how are you?” My mom’s sexy white halter dress swishes delightfully as she gives me a hug.
“Hi, Mom.” I inhale her delicious perfume.
“And you must be Jake.” She smiles.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Roberts.” Jake flashes Mom one of his I’m-too-sexy grins.
Good grief! He’s schmoozing her already.
“You can call me Cheryl.” She winks.
I groan inwardly. They’re two of a kind.
“Mom, I like your costume. Are you supposed to be Marilyn Monroe?”
She sighs. “I wanted to be Marilyn, but your father just had to be Hugh Hefner. So I’m stuck as another Playboy-model-slash-fiancée, again.”
I laugh as my dad swaggers up in a maroon velvet robe, cocktail in hand.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie!” He gives me a half hug, careful not to spill his drink, then tucks his ornate cross necklace back under the robe.
“Merry Christmas, Dad. This is Jake.”
“Did you bring a costume, Jake?” my father asks.
“No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
“Well, Cheryl ordered a few extras for me. Why don’t you see if any of them will fit?” Dad suggests. He turns to my mother and extends his arm. “We should be getting back to our guests, my dear.”
“Emma, don’t take forever getting to the party,” my mom warns, knowing my tendency to hide in my room with a book.
“Don’t worry,” Jake assures her. “I won’t let her.”
“Good.” Mom nods her approval.
“My mom likes you already,” I complain as my parents exit the front hallway.
“What’s not to like? Now, show me the costumes.”
Four possibilities hang in my father’s closet: a cowboy outfit, an Elvis suit, a Seattle Grace doctor’s jacket, and a tuxedo.
“I’ll wear this.” Jake grabs the tux.
“Who are you going to be? I thought for sure you’d pick Elvis.”
“Some other time. Tonight I feel more like James Bond.”
“I’ll call you Jake Bond.”
“What about you? Are you going to go as a girl? Do you even own a dress?”
“Yes, I own a dress. Honestly, Jake, my mother buys them for me by the cartload.”
“So, who are you going to be?”
I smirk. “Just wait and see.”
I escort him to the guest room, warning him of the location of every mirror in the house. Then I hurry to my own bedroom and sort through dozens of dresses. I pick the lowest cut one I can find to make Jake eat his words. Then I do my hair and makeup, just the way my mother taught me.
When I’m almost finished, Jake bursts in, still buttoning his shirt. He stops short, staring at my dress. More specifically, staring at my chest in my dress.
“You could knock, you know,” I grumble.
He doesn’t answer. He just keeps gawking.
“What’s your problem? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Wow.” Jake pulls himself out of his daze. “You know, I thought I’d walked into the wrong room there for a moment.”
“What do you mean? Whose room did you think you were in?” I struggle with my necklace clasp, and he comes over to help.
“Well, when I first came in here, I thought I’d walked in on some hot girl.” Jake attaches my necklace for me. “But then I realized it was just you.”
I roll my eyes. “I forgot my earrings in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He follows me instead, his unbuttoned shirt flapping open in his hurry.
I notice a long mark along the midline of his abdomen. “What’s that?”
“Oh that? I think it’s my autopsy scar. It runs all the way up to my neck.” He shows me, and the thought makes me shiver.
“Oh.” I grimace. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“It’s okay. I just have to remember not to let anyone else see it. It would lead to too many questions. Good thing it’s not summer.” He smiles. “Let’s go.”
“All right.” I put in my last earring.
“So, who are you supposed to be anyway?”
I strike a pose, using my hands as a pretend gun. “I’m a Bond Girl.”
He grins. “Impressive.”
“Do you think I should have a Russian accent? Hey! Maybe I can find my old water gun.” I race into my bedroom to dig in a bottom drawer full of old toys and other sentimental rubbish, then brandish the water gun over my head. “Here it is!”
Jake laughs. “Too bad it’s neon green.”
“It will have to do. Let’s go.”
We enter the party. Music pounds, and colored lights flash all around us.
“There ar
e accent mirrors behind the bar, but since the lights have been turned way down, I don’t think it will be a problem,” I whisper in his ear.
Jake scans the crowded room. “And by the looks of the guests, most of them probably already have double vision, anyway.”
“Emma―you look lovely!” My mom waves us over to the bar. “What can I get for you?”
“Anything that doesn’t actually taste like alcohol,” I reply.
“And for you, Jake?” she asks.
“Whatever you have on tap will be fine.” He smiles.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Mom coos.
“Really?” Jake grins wider.
“Emma.” Dad sets his cocktail down and takes my arm, leading me to the dance floor. “I requested one of your favorite songs.”
I hear the piano riff opening of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”.
My father can groove out with the best of them, and as he swings me around the room, I forget all about Jake’s disturbing scar. Mom has a cocktail waiting for me when we get back to the bar. I cautiously take a sip and smile. Fortunately, she knows which cocktails don’t taste like cleaning spray.
“Emma, I must say you are looking especially lovely this evening.” Dad collects his own drink off the bar.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Jake makes a goofy face.
I down my first cocktail in a hurry. “Let’s go dance some more before they start the karaoke―then you never know what you’ll get. Half the time it’s some drunk chick crying all over the microphone about her ex-lovers.”
My father smiles into his drink before setting it down again. The four of us head back out on the dance floor and boogie as the “cuckoo costume parade” passes by.
Jake whispers in my ear. “Do you think those are real?” He nods towards a Dolly Parton look-alike.
“Do you want me to ask her? I’ll tell her you’re the one who wants to know.”
“No thanks!”
After the song ends, we head back to the bar.
“Time for another round!” my mom calls out. She orders another delightful concoction, and my sudden thirst encourages another quick consumption.
Some of my mother’s friends flock over, and with a little alcohol in my system, I find it very easy to talk to them without feeling intimidated.
“Where’s Susan?” I ask Mom. “I haven’t seen her around yet.”
“You know her.” Mom laughs. “She’s mentally preparing for the karaoke portion of the evening.”
“Oh yeah.” I pull on Jake’s arm. “Maybe we should get all our dancing in before that starts.”
After more wild dancing, Jake and I plop down again at the bar. My mom has another drink in my hand within seconds. Then she walks away, flashing a smile back at us.
“So, I guess your parents don’t mind if you drink?” he notes.
“What?” I can’t hear him over the eighties Madonna tune my mom’s best friend Susan screeches into the karaoke microphone.
Jake repeats his question.
“Um, I don’t know. I never asked.” I prop my elbows on the bar and rest my heavy head in my hands.
“Well, your mom is the one ordering your cocktails. This is your third one. And they’re not exactly what I would call small drinks.”
“Is it my third already?” I rotate the glass, watching the liquid swirl around. “My mom is great, isn’t she? I love my mom. And I love my dad. He’s great, too.” I lean away from the bar to point at my parents dancing in middle of the crowd.
“Whoa. Emma. Try to stay on your stool, why don’t you?”
“And I love Madonna. Isn’t she great? Her name’s Susan, and she’s, like, obsessed with the eighties. She designs a new Madonna costume each year. Last year she showed up wearing those enormous pointy boobs, but she kept knocking over people’s drinks, so she had to change into something else.”
Jake sputters into his beer.
“Looks like this year she’s the ‘Material Girl’. Do you like her costume? Hey, no wonder Mom wanted to dress like Marilyn. Oh, I love this song. Do you wanna dance?”
I drag him out onto the dance floor. As we sweep by, my mother tries to hand me another drink.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake shaking his head “no” at her.
“Oh, just one more.” Mom flashes a smile. “It’s Christmas!”
We dance to that song and another. Then Madonna stands back up again and begins “Crazy for You”.
“Jake?” The room seems to shrink.
“Yeah?”
“I lost my water gun.” I pout.
“I’ve got it right here.” Jake pulls it out of his back pocket.
“Yeah!” I take it and swing around in a circle until I get dizzy.
“Emma, watch out!” Jake grabs my empty glass and sets it on a nearby table.
“Why is the room spinning?” I teeter, and he catches me, holding me close.
We dance this way for a long time, and I don’t even mind. He feels strong and warm. The music fades into the distance. The holiday lights swirl red and green and gold. I stare at Jake, and he stares at me. I can’t breathe. Then the song ends.
Someone knocks into me.
It’s Madonna.
“Oh, Emma, your mom wanted me to meet your cute boyfriend.” The woman sticks out her hand―and her chest. “I’m Susan, Cheryl’s best friend. But for tonight you can call me ‘Madonna’.”
“Hello, Madonna.” Jake shakes her hand. “You’re quite the singer.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Madonna smiles coquettishly. “You wanna sing with me?”
Before he can reply, she yanks him across the room to the karaoke machine.
I sway in place, watching them leave.
Susan smiles at Jake, and he grins back. I can’t take my eyes off them. Standing there together.
“And now…” Susan purrs into the microphone. “I’m happy to tell you Elvis has just entered the building.”
“It’s now or never…” Jake croons as Susan shakes her bare shoulders sultrily in the background.
I narrow my eyes as Jake calls out to the adoring crowd. Scores of women wave to get his attention. I clench my hands, the fingernails biting into the flesh as Susan and Jake tango across the floor. Drumbeats jostle my thumping heart. I want to grab Susan by her fake Madonna hair and toss her out the nearest window. Too bad she’s Mom’s best friend. Disgusted, I stumble my way back to the bar. Mom waits there with yet another bright-colored concoction.
“She’s makin’ a fool of herrsulf.” I help myself to the drink, eager to drown whatever strange feelings their singing together have stirred. “Jake doesn’t like her that way.”
Mom laugh. “Don’t worry, Emma. Susan’s not after your boyfriend. You know she loves leading the karaoke every year.” My mom gestures toward the singers. “She thinks she should’ve been in an eighties band. I’m impressed Jake knows every word to that old Elvis song. And he’s a fabulous dancer!”
“Yeah, Jake’s a plef-fora of knoll-ledge.” I finish the drink, then lean on the bar for a while. When I turn back to Madonna and Jake, she has her arm around him and they sway in time.
“What’s she think scheeez doing?” I lurch toward them.
“Honey, don’t get jealous,” Mom advises. “She knows he’s your boyfriend.”
“Not jealous,” I insist as I stagger across the room.
Mom follows behind me. “Honey, don’t make a scene.”
I sway in front of the karaoke stand as their duet ends, feeling like some brushed off to the side ex-girlfriend.
“Time for Christmas carols, everybody!” Madonna calls out amid cheers. “Let’s start with ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’―that’s my favorite.”
Jake flinches. I realize how the words of this song will torture him.
“Mom.” I grab her toned arm. “We gotta get Jake off that stage.”
“Honey, relax. Don’t be so jealous.”
“Told you�
�not jealous.” I lunge toward the single step up to the platform and trip on it. “Whoops!”
Jake picks me off the floor. “Thank goodness,” he mumbles into my ear. “I really didn’t want to sing that song.”
“Why don’t you help her walk it off?” Mom stage whispers. “I think she’s had too much to drink.”
As Jake escorts me down the hall, the party noises fade behind us except for Madonna’s crooning about the very thing Jake wants most for Christmas.
Jake pauses outside my room. “Emma, I really wish there was some way I could go home, just one more time.”
I lean against the nearest wall and stare at him. It takes longer to focus than usual. Jake’s eyelashes are moist, although he sheds no tears. I reach out my hand to touch his cheek, wanting to wipe away his restrained despair.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He smiles weakly. “I don’t want you―or anyone else―to feel sorry for me. I did this to myself.”
“You’re gonna to leave me…” I whisper.
Jake sighs. “Emma, we’ve both known this all along. I’ve been living on borrowed time, in a way.”
My stomach sinks. “Please don’t leave. I think I’ve been asleep my whole life, and I’m finally jus’ wakin’ up.”
Jake cocks his head and crinkles his eyes. He has no idea what I’m saying, and I’ve no idea why I’m saying it.
“It’s jus’…” Tears fall down my cheeks, and I swipe at them. “If you leave, I’ll go back to bein’ who I was before, and I’m so tired of bein’ me. I’m borin’.”
“I never thought you were boring. Annoying, of course, yes, but not boring.”
“Shut up!” I swing at him and lose my balance.
Jake catches me and wraps me in a tight hug, patting my back much too vigorously.
“Jake, you’re squishin’ me,” I squeak.
He relaxes his hold. I gaze at his face.
Our eyes lock. Everything else turns fuzzy. The Christmas lights dim and the music fades.
We just stand there breathing for a moment, and then I kiss him.
Jake breaks my hold. “Emma, I don’t know about this.”
“Shhhh, it’s all right,” I say and I kiss him again.
We slide into the room and fall onto my bed.