Charlie whimpered, “Are you still there?”
“I am,” Biz said, composed.
“I will be sorry until the day I die. Long after you forgive me I will still—”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” said Biz with faux delight. She felt her jaw tighten. It was hard to hear his pain. But she carried on with her punishment because she could still remember his entitlement, and feel her own powerlessness and rage.
“Do you still think I’m a monster?” he asked in a very small voice.
“You know I always will,” she said, smiling.
“I never meant to hurt you. Were there any bruises? Did you get my letters? I hope you—”
“Uh-huh,” Biz interrupted, rubbing the tiny raised scar on her forehead.
The beeps from the phone card grew closer together—time was running out. He made one last attempt. “I love you so much and miss you like crazy. There’s no one like you.”
“Uh-huh,” Biz repeated, dronelike. Her eyes were starting to well. There was another part—the other half of her heart. She loved him and missed him like crazy.
Just then the phone booth door squeaked open and a female American voice said, “Choo, sweetie, are you okay? Are you crying?” Thousands of miles away, Biz’s face fell as a bolt of recognition shot up her spine. She whipped around so her family couldn’t see her reaction, then heard Charlie’s muffled instructions. “Honey, you head back. Give me two minutes.” Honey?! Biz knew that voice. She’d grown up with that voice—ingenuous and unkind. The voice of a bully. Biz’s blood ran cold; she felt sick to her stomach. She turned back to the crowd, smiling, “Everyone say ‘Bon soir’!”
“But I still have time!” cried Charlie, his voice high and pleading. “I want to keep talking! I miss you so much! Please, don’t—”
“Uoy welb ti,” Biz said succinctly into the receiver, then shouted gaily, “Un, deux, trois!” She held out the phone, and they all chimed in, “Bon soir!” with additional choruses of layered “Merry Christmas!” “Don’t hang up!” Charlie pleaded as Biz walked the handset over to its cradle, but he was drowned out by the peppy chorus of “Jingle Bell Rock” muddled with sounds of people getting up out of their seats to refresh drinks and check the oven. “Out of time,” Biz said to no one in particular, and hung up without care.
Charlie had eighteen seconds remaining on his card.
Only Foster was still paying attention. He raised his glass with a slight nod to Biz before jiggling the ice over his last sip. As he walked by her on his way to the bar, he muttered, “Nice performance.”
She glared back. “Stop noticing so much. And stop this bullshit with Georgia. You’re pandering to my family. It’s pedestrian and obvious.”
“I like Georgie. And I like your family and they like me.”
“Well, I don’t like you.”
“Duly noted.”
Biz countered, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and put on a record.”
“Why don’t I,” said Foster, and pulled Vince Guaraldi’s Charlie Brown Christmas out of its album sleeve. He put on the song he knew would remind her of him. Biz beat him to the bar and poured herself a shot of tequila. She downed it in one pull, then poured herself another. Then took a breather.
Charlie Muir hung up the phone and wiped away a few errant tears. “Have a good cry, then splash your face and move on,” he could hear his mother saying. “Buck up, kid, everything’s going to work out fine.” It was one of the Thornden family mottos, for godssake. Charlie emitted a long, growling sigh, then shook his head back and forth quickly, intending to flick away the conversation and rebound like a champ. He knew his cousin well enough to know she wouldn’t hate him forever. He felt fairly certain she would eventually thaw and come around. Nana Miggs’s saying sprung to his mind: “Life is short and life is long.” He’d never thought the words useful. But now they bolstered Charlie as he walked briskly across the street and pulled open the heavy glass door of the crowded café. He had the rest of his life to make it up to Biz, and he would. A blast of steamy warm air hit his face. As he walked toward Piper, he pointedly tucked all thoughts of Biz away as if placing them in his coat pocket before draping it over a stool. He picked up his beer, kissed his bright-eyed girlfriend on the lips, and forced the sunny, dimpled smile that had always seen him through.
Upstairs, sitting at Cat’s hallway telephone table, Claire sat in a daze, the handset held loosely in her lap. Footsteps snapped her out of it, and she hung up the telephone extension as quietly as possible, forgetting that it no longer mattered—there was no one on the other end to hear the click. She’d barely taken her hand off the receiver when her sister appeared on the landing. Cat had needed a quiet minute in her room to let down her guard, maybe have a brief cry. She knew one day she might lose her son to his future wife’s family, but never expected he would choose to miss out before he had to. She saw Claire sitting stiffly with a look of incredulity on her face; Cat was worried someone had died. It wasn’t a look she saw often, but showed unmistakable concern. Something made her glance down at the telephone table. There, on its side, was a single emerald clip-on earring in the shape of a holly leaf.
“You were listening,” said Cat. “What was he saying on the other end?”
“I wasn’t. It was nothing.” Claire wouldn’t look her in the eye. She ran the edge of her pinky under her lower eyelid in case her mascara had run and primped her hair.
Cat said, “You heard something between them, something Charlie said on his end of the line, and now you know. You can’t pretend anymore.”
“I can do whatever I like,” Claire said, and reached out for the earring she’d removed in order to listen in on the conversation she shouldn’t have.
“It will eat you up,” Cat argued, “and it’s not fair to them.”
“It’s over between them anyway. He’s with Piper now.”
“Piper?! You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Claire said with unruffled authority, and clipped the earring back onto her ear.
Cat paused slightly before speaking. She was exasperated with her big sister and had been for most of her life. With the confident authority that comes with age, when a younger sibling finally finds an equal voice, Cat said, “It’s not over until they’re married to other people. And even then we both know not until they end it.”
Claire chided, “Model parent,” tossed her sister a dismissive glance, and headed down the back stairs without further comment. Her insolence pushed Cat’s buttons more than she’d anticipated so she followed with a raised voice, tired of not feeling heard. “Don’t you dare!” hissed Cat. “This has nothing to do with us!”
Claire stopped at the bottom of the narrow staircase and whipped around. “It has everything to do with us. We live in this town.”
“You’re the shitty parent, always worrying about what other people might say, putting your precious reputation before the welfare of your family.”
Claire wasn’t about to be lectured. She continued down the back stairs which led into the kitchen and stopped in the middle of the bustling crowd, thinking that would end it. But Cat followed her, irate, without regard for holiday decorum.
“If you paid more attention to your kids, maybe they wouldn’t have to come to me with their problems!”
“What problems?” Claire spat. The kitchen hubbub slowed to a murmur; their family froze, watching and listening.
Cat caught Biz’s eye and stopped short. “Nothing.” Thank God, Biz thought. She was drunk, but aware enough to be on guard. Claire was incensed. “What problems?” She fumed, “Is there more than the fact that your son attacked my daughter?” Biz piped up; she wasn’t quite slurring, but the alcohol dulled her acuity. “He didn’t—who told you that?”
E.J. said, “Told her what?”
Nana Miggs said to Rah, “Who are we talking about, dear?” Rah ignored her grandmother, riveted to the argument.
Claire announced to Cat, “They can never see eac
h other again.”
“That’s not for you to say.”
“Your inattentive parenting got them into this mess. You’re not supposed to be his friend, you’re his mother, for godssake. Parent him.”
“Ha,” said Cat. “Biz isn’t so innocent, she’s equally accountable. It takes two to tango, you know.” Biz blurted out a snort, then covered her mouth.
E.J. whispered, but everyone heard him, “Is ‘tango’ code for what I think it is?”
Cat said, “It’s no wonder she’s a mess. She can’t trust her own mother. Her father is out to lunch. Biz, you told me it wasn’t Charlie’s. Is that what this is about? Did you lie to me, too? Was it Charlie’s?”
Biz was swaying and confused. She held an empty glass in each hand and her shirttails were untucked. “I beg your bardon?”
“You’re drunk,” said E.J.
“And you’re short,” said Biz, aware she was drunk.
Claire snapped at Biz. “Was what Charlie’s?! What’s going on?”
Biz screamed, “Stop it! Stop talking!” She held the rocks glasses up to the side of her head like earmuffs. “None of you were there. None of you know anything. Charlie didn’t mean it, and he’s already apologized.”
Rah implored, “Apologized for what?”
Claire repeated herself. “Was what Charlie’s?” She glared at her sister who glared back.
Biz addressed the room with finality. She was shaking and quite possibly slurring. “You guys wanted us to be friends. It’s all your fault!”
“But you’re cousins,” admonished Claire. Cat’s mind raced: This is the moment I set everyone straight. The moment I stop lying for Charlie’s sake. But then we’ll have to start covering up. And Charlie will suffer. And it’ll never work, there are too many people. And it would break Daddy’s heart. And ruin Choo’s chances. I can’t. I just can’t.
Biz broke the silence. “It doesn’t matter when you aren’t cousins and it doesn’t matter if you are. None of it matters. It was just experimenting! It’s what kids do! We were little and we didn’t know.”
Claire said, “You’re not little anymore. You can’t use that excuse. It’s unacceptable and you should know better.”
Biz’s eyes welled. She looked over at her Aunt Cat, who was tearing up with the crushing conflict of her secret. She had to stay the course. Even if it meant betraying Biz. The alternative was clearly worse. And as much as she loved her niece, she loved her son a tiny bit more. Cat said solemnly, “She’s right,” and Biz was devastated. How could her Aunt Cat sell her up the river? She shook her head as if writing her off before speaking with unusual calm. Biz said, “You know what? You’re all shitty parents, and it’s none of your business. Charlie’s the way he is because of Uncle Dick, which is your fault, Aunt Cat, for marrying him, and I’m the way I am because of you, Mom. And Dad. And that’s your fault, for being horrible people.”
Under his breath, Foster said, “Where’s your uncle?” to Georgia, who whispered, “The eternal mystery.”
Biz continued, “I blame both of you for leaving us alone so you could go to all your stupid meetings and plan your precious parties. Did you get enough thank-you notes? I hope it was worth it.” Biz stopped talking, but no one filled the void. She said, “It’s too late to start paying attention now. We’re grown-ups and it’s none of your goddamn beeswax. And speaking of invitations, I invite you all to go to hell. Merry Christmas, everyone.” She looked over and saw Nana Miggs and Rah looking at her with big, worried eyes. “Okay, well, not all of you. You know who you are. Half of you can go to hell, and the other half can have a dumb dinner.” And with that Biz swung open the sliding door and marched in the deep snow over to her mother’s house next door without a coat.
Her heels snagged bits of dirt and grass from the wet lawn as freezing slush rushed the spaces between her toes. Sitting in his vacant living room amid the twinkling lights of their tree was Les, staring at the TV, watching Lawrence Welk. Biz screamed, “Why are you even here?” as sobs finally overtook her. She ran past him up to her childhood room, threw herself onto the twin bed, and screamed into her pillow. How dramatic the world could be about such inconsequential things, she thought, then emitted a drunken chortle realizing her drama. Biz assessed how much she hated her mother for listening in on her conversation and generally being a raving bitch. And she was furious at Aunt Cat for doubting her, which she knew wasn’t fair considering how supportive she’d always been. Normally, Charlie would have consoled her and said something funny, but not anymore. She was now profoundly alone.
Catching her breath, Biz forced herself to think of the bright side: at least dating would be easier now that Charlie was with Piper. All she’d need was to find the right guy, rent a little storefront for her costume business, and become a smash success—maybe in California. She’d pop out some kids and fly home twice a year to visit. It was an easy plan, practically a foregone conclusion. Nothing was going to stop her from following her dreams and being happy—especially not her bogus family. Charlie and I will be friends again, someday. She hadn’t known her life to transpire without him.
“No one can know,” said Claire to the stunned room.
“Know what?” said Georgia. Foster squeezed her hand to quiet her.
Rah added, “If you don’t tell us what happened, we’re only going to think the worst.”
E.J. said in an aside, “Our Thornden worst.”
Cat railed at Claire. “You’re just going to behave as if everything’s normal? You have no idea what I know!”
“And you have no idea what I know,” Claire challenged. “Everything is normal. And if any one of you ever says otherwise, I’ll deny it.” She said it with a veneer of merriment that disgusted Cat. Foster raised an eyebrow at Georgia. Rah and E.J. exchanged looks. And Grandpa Dun could be heard shuffling about the living room like a bewildered, off-duty Santa. He called out, “There seems to have been a mass exodus of elves! Who’s going to refill my bourbon?” Claire remained steely and gave orders. “Everyone refresh your drinks. E.J., please tend to your grandfather. Someone put on Bing Crosby. We’re eating in fifteen minutes.” Foster headed for the record player. Rah grabbed the crystal water pitcher, and Claire stirred the creamed onions like the seasoned pro she was.
After the meal, as plates were being cleared, Aunt Cat snuck next door before dessert was to be served. She felt partially responsible Biz had missed Christmas dinner and knew Claire would do nothing about it. She also needed a break. Cat walked into her niece’s old childhood bedroom and found her asleep, fully clothed, under the covers. A Teen Beat pullout of the Hardy Boys was still on the wall next to framed posters of Cher, Prince, and the Police. Cat woke her gently, smoothing the hair off her forehead, and told her to come back over, that they’d saved her a plate. Biz roused herself slowly; her eyes were moist. She’d been dreaming Shirley MacLaine was her mother. Shirley had just been pounding on the counter to get nurses to give Biz her shot. It was dark in her room and she felt hungry. She also felt without shame. I have to eat, what the hell, she thought. Biz swung her legs onto the floor and ran a brush through her hair. Cat said, “I do accept responsibility, you know. You’re partially right in blaming us. We should have been paying closer attention. We didn’t realize—”
Biz said, “I know, Aunt Cat. It was no big deal to us. Kids are supposed to run around and get into trouble. I mean, imagine what our childhoods would have been like if you’d been in our faces all the time. We never could have sneaked the car out to go to the diner.”
Cat held out Biz’s sneakers. “Imagine wanting to spend that much time with your children. Heavens!” she laughed. “When did you sneak the car out?”
“Oh, my god. All the time when you guys were passed out.”
“When did you start doing that?”
“Like fourteen. We wanted fries.”
“Criminy. I wasn’t even drinking then. I had no excuse.”
“We rolled it down the driveway with the l
ights off. We were super stealth and you were all very sound sleepers.”
“Apparently.”
Biz was glad to see her aunt’s sense of humor returning. She hated being mad at everyone. She put down the hairbrush and laced her shoes. Aunt Cat asked, “How are you two now, you and Charlie? Your mother was listening in on—”
“I know. She’s horrid. I guess poisoning her is out of the question.”
“It is.”
Biz thought about how she would distill her relationship with Charlie into a bite-sized morsel. “We’re too close, which is why we had that fight—which was unimportant, and not worth going into, trust me.”
“Did he … hurt you?”
“Not really. It’s okay.”
“Did it have anything to do with—”
“He doesn’t know I was pregnant.”
“But did he actually, literally hurt you? Claire used the word ‘attack.’”
“Mom’s crazy. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Charlie and I got into a massive blowup and he left. I know you miss him, but he needed to get away. From me. And Uncle Dick, and the rest of the family. I guess we kind of all do, eventually. But don’t worry, Piper will take good care of him. He’s getting everything he deserves.”
Twisted Family Values Page 16