by Kitty Parker
"But-" I cut off Allan's protest. I wasn't intimidated by her manner, and I had seen Mom's flush at her words. I could and would speak for myself- I didn't care what it brought me.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," I explained as courteously as I could, trying to keep the indolent tone that I usually used when angry out of my voice, "But I don't drink." A stunted gasp from the audience.
"That's foolishness," she retorted matter-of-factly, as unconsciously arrogant as I had ever seen Darien, "Drink up. Nothing wrong with it. It's what the rest of us are doing. Or are you too good for us?"
"Not at all, I'm sure," I attempted to keep my patience, but I was never a long-suffering person and my short thread was running dangerously small. "But-"
"Are you squeamish 'bout it?" a new voice chimed in, all earnest encouragement. The whole table was staring at me now, as if I was some sort of foreign animal in a zoo. "First time? Nothing wrong with that. If you get drunk, we'll put you to be easy."
"No, that's not-" someone else cut me off.
"No big deal, just drink!"
"Come on, we need to get on with the toasts!"
"Drink!"
They were all gazing at me, confused as to why I was making such a large deal about something that seemed to them so small. They couldn't know why drinking was so abhorrent to me, why I had stopped. They hadn't been there.
But still, all those eyes… I hated being the center of attention more than anything, especially of audiences who, for Mom's sake and mine and even Jack and Allan's, I needed to impress with, if not my skill, at least my good-nature.
"Fine." I announced, trying not to sound as vindictive as I felt. I don't think I succeeded; though- my cold voice cut through everyone else's like butter. "I'll drink to my new family."
Into the silence my curt words produced, I downed the whole glass in one practiced chug and sat down, hard. I knew that skill could come in handy some day- at least this time it was good quality. I had always preferred wine to beer.
A moment of shocked silence, and then the person on my right stood and broke it, beginning, "I'm thankful…"
The ritual continued, but any enjoyment I once had in it was gone. The tension was still lurking there, waiting to break out again- I had to leave before it did. I wouldn't be able to keep my temper a second time. I had just broken- sort of- a promise I had made to myself 3 years ago in the aftermath of blood and pain, and I could not deal with these too warm, too inquisitive people on top of that.
I fidgeted in my chair until the toasts were over, than I rose and snuck behind Jack's chair. Out of all the people here only he and Mom knew why I didn't drink- he would understand why I needed to escape.
"I've got to go for a run," I whispered insistently to him. He didn't give me a second look, only nodded and aged with a grin,
"I'll distract the old dragon." I returned his infectious Lexington smile half-heartedly.
Allan gave me a weak smile of his own when he overheard.
"You okay?" he asked, peering anxiously into my face. He had no clue why I was so affected, didn't even begin to understand, but that didn't matter to his doggish loyalty. He was worth 10 of me any day.
"Fine," I managed to bluff as I adeptly slipped out of the gathering are of the house and into the family wing. I stopped in my room only long enough to toss the long, infernally formal green dress necessary for Thanksgiving with the Lexingtons onto the floor and pull on comfortable sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt. Creeping downstairs, I made my way out of the house with none being any the wiser. Finally, I was free.
I took off down the street, my feet pounding rhythmically against the pavement. I didn't care about my usual light, silent step- my fury was channeled into the movement. AS my anger and frustration wore off, though, my sprint diminished into an easy jog I knew I could keep up for hours. Now this- alone, in the dark, with the night wind playing with my hair- was what I was truly thankful for.
I let my mind wander, my feet choosing a path of their own accord. Today, that happened to lead past McGavern Manor (only a few blocks away). I wondered idly if Darien was having a good Thanksgiving. Knowing his family- or rather, knowing what I had heard in his hints and half-truths- I doubted it.
I settled onto a swing of the neighborhood playground, but didn't begin to swing. My feet traced patterns in the woodchips underneath the swing.
Darien and I had begun an odd sort of acquaintance after the events of earlier this month. He knew one of my secrets- I had inordinate amount- and that drew us closer whether we liked it or not. We were school friends, bantering during school, or occasionally he would stop by the café when I was working. It was relaxing not having to keep up a façade with someone other than Allan, and I think he enjoyed (not that he would ever admit it) someone who would argue with him with impunity. If I had been a bit more noticeable, the school would have been in an uproar, but I was just high enough on the social ladder to be an acceptable platonic friend.
But- he confused me as not many others did. He respected intelligence, but thought more of money. He hated and guarded his parents. He was cold as ice, but loved his brother fiercely. Witty and amusing, cold and arrogant. His letters to the Matchmaker were cordial and courting, but at any mention of the Matchmaker his face would freeze with hatred. He was a bundle of paradoxes and-
"Need a push?"
Well, think of the devil and he shall appear.
* * *
Darien
* * *
I loathe Thanksgiving. There's nothing more to it. Everyone else is celebrating with their families, and I'm trapped in a horribly formal room with my parents and brother, pretending that there's nothing wrong with our family and we really do love each other. Occasionally there's someone else there as well, a cousin or protégée of my parents, hoping for patronage. They're generally a few years older than me, but as easily quelled by one of my looks as any of my peers. We'll eat the many courses, make small talk about our unrelated lives, and make believe that my parents care about Troy and me. A wonderful way to spend a holiday.
Needless to say, Troy and I escape as soon as possible. Troy disappears first, slipping off somewhere in a way I can't emulate, and then I stalk out soon after. Not that it matters to my parents. They're always too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice, let alone care. My Thanksgivings are usually spent, not frolicking with my family like Brock and Lex describe, but in my room, alone. There's never any parties-everyone is with their families, and everything is closed. So my main pastime is staring out the window, watching the occasional car rumble past on the street outside with unwarranted concentration.
That's why I noticed the body-shaped patch of deeper darkness running by the house. I watched it jog past as the only break in the monotony of the road, but I only noticed who it was when a street light glanced off her white skin and illuminated her long (for her short legs), determined stride.
But what was Emma doing out here, tonight of all nights? While I wasn't as shocked by it as I once would have been- Lex's house (and her's) was only a block or two away- I still took me by surprise. For all her blustering, Emma was very much a family person. She should have been either at the massive Lexington family party that Lex tells about every year, or with her father- wherever and whoever that was. Not only that, but, while I had seen Emma running before, she had never run like this. Her head was down, her feet heavier than usual, and she was nearly sprinting.
But she wouldn't appreciate any sort of interference on my part, as she had long since driven through my thick skull (her words, not mine). Questions offended her and helpful suggestions made her angry, so I would leave her alone. It would be her fault if some creep decided not to take Thanksgiving off.
But- a breath of air would be nice, and a bout of Emma's dry wit might wash away the sickly sweet pleasantries of my so-called family. I cold probably still catch up to her…
I shrugged a jacket on over my polo and slipped on some sneakers, scrawling a note for Troy (if
he happened to wake up) on some scrap paper before I pounded down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring the non-existent calls to hold me back.
Emma was long gone, of course, but I had seen which way she was going and the neighborhood wasn't that large- it was too exclusive. I finally caught up to her at the playground, and I stopped as she settled onto a swing and sat without swinging. I crept up behind her, pleased that for once I had managed to sneak up on her. I don't give a damn if she was stone drunk; I'm not letting her forget this.
"Need a push?" I asked into he ear, waiting for a shocked squeal, or, at the very least, a jump. AS per usual, though, she didn't seem surprised. All I got to slake my confidence was a sharp intake of breath- but that was enough to prove to me that she hadn't noticed me before. She turned to me with a lopsided smile that didn't reach anywhere near her eyes.
"I don't think it'll hold my weight if I do anything more strenuous than sit," she admitted with a dubious look at the plastic-wrapped chains that were holding her up. That look only betrayed that she had only lived here a year, and that she wasn't used to quality.
"This isn't some second rate elementary school playground," I informed her loftily, giving her a push to emphasize my words, "This is maintained well enough to hold anything. And anyway," I added as I pushed her again, "You don't weigh anything."
"I would take that as a compliment," she retorted over the creaking of the swing set, "If only you'd meant it that way."
I shrugged, forgetting that she couldn't see me. She understood the sentiment, though because she didn't bother to linger on that point. She could be way too telepathic sometimes.
"And I don't need you to push me," she continued, "If I ad wanted to swing," a quiet, surprised chuckle belied her words as I sent her soaring upwards with a particularly strong push, "I would have done it myself."
"Fine." I grabbed the chains and the swing stopped abruptly, sending her groping to hold into something to keep her seat. Partially to my chagrin, partially to my relief, she succeeded.
"Bastard," she spat as I anticipated the elbow to my ribs by stepping prudently backwards.
"I don't think so," I retorted with an exaggerated expression of contemplation, "But you'd really have to ask my mother."
She shuddered theatrically, twisting her back unnaturally to look at me. Normally, her eyes would be blazing during one of our pseudo-arguments, but today they weren't. They were dull and lifeless.
"Your word is good enough for me," she assured me, then immediately looked shocked at what she had just said, "No offense, I'm sure your mom is a lovely person, she just scares me-"
"It's fine," I told her, trying to believe myself but no succeeding, as I never did, "She scares a lot of people, there's no shame in your cowardice." And she's not a lovely person, I added silently. Thankfully, Emma's telepathy didn't work this once I really didn't want or need her knowing that me mother's public face was her only face, and that my arrogance wasn't all my personality.
"I'm not a coward," she snapped, still contorted to look behind her. Her scowl deepened, and I raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. "Sit down," she ordered, gesturing to the swing beside her, "You're giving me a back ache."
I obeyed- no, I deigned to take her suggestion into consideration- and gingerly tried my weight on the swing. For all my patronizing words to Emma, I was significantly heavier and I did not want to end up in an undignified pile on the woodchips. Having decided it would hold, I relaxed into the long-forgotten plastic seat.
We sat in silence for a while- not an uncomfortable silence; we just didn't have anything to say for once. The swing set groaned quietly as Emma began to swing gently, but the sound was swallowed quickly into the abyss around us. Finally, I broke the silence.
"Why are you here?" I asked casually, running a hand through my hair, "Don't you have thanksgiving stuff to do?"
"Don't you?" she countered, coming to a halt. She leaned her cheek against the chain, facing me. I shrugged.
"I needed some air," I replied. It had the dual perks of being true and noncommittal. But she smirked, and I knew she had seen through my tactics.
"As did I," she agreed amiably. I grimaced at her, mad at having been beaten at my own game. She was the only one who ever did that to me. She grinned back at me, far too innocent for comfort. "Now really," she continued, rolling her eyes, "Why are you out here? I would think your family has some big, pretentious affair."
'What Family?' I almost spat before recollecting my pretensions to a happyish family. I swallowed and tried again. "It's just too formal," I told her. True, as far as it went, and it was too dark for her to see my eyes anyway. She couldn't, wouldn't know I was lying. She nodded absently, though I bet she was filing away the information to pull out at the most inconvenient (or maybe crucial, but I didn't have high hopes for that) time.
"Now you have to tell me," I stated, not leaving any room for argument, "I shared, after all."
"Oh, it's not really anything," she prevaricated. I looked skeptically at her, and she caved. "All the Lexingtons are wonderful people I'm sure," she admitted slowly, reluctantly, "But there's just so many. I hate it! I hate having to talk to people I don't like and who don't like me!"
Nonplussed by her unusual candidness, I asked the question that had been bothering me since I learned Emma's real identity. She was in a confiding mood- maybe I would learn the truth, for once.
"Why don't you just go to your dad's, then?" I inquired, trying to couch my question in the least intrusive way possible for such an intrusive question, "It would assumably be more what you're used to.
Again, she gave me the lopsided, insincere, cynical smile.
"That would be difficult," she informed me gently. Then, after some thought, she added, "And lonely."
Was her father dead? That thought bit through even my admittedly thick skin. She saw my look of horror- moonlight has a way of piercing my barriers just like it does everyone else's- and interpreted it correctly.
"No, he's not dead," she reassured me. She thought a bit again, and once more she had to amend her statement, just to confuse me farther, "At least, I don't think he is."
"What the hell are you talking about, Laycha," I growled. I hated how she was deliberately misleading, especially when I was getting all hopeful that she would confide in me. I don't even know why I was so enthusiastic to know more about her- except she was… different than other girls. She had layers, for one thing. And I couldn't intimidate her into telling me everything I wanted to know.
Emma smiled softly at me, her verdant eyes walled in the reflective moonlight. I suddenly regretted I had asked. Anything that could make her look like that was not for me to know. But I had a right to, right? She shouldn't keep things from everyone. It wasn't good for her.
"I don't know who my father is, Darien," she informed me gently. My mouth dropped in amazement at her for the 2nd time in a month. She really had to stop doing this to me- except she had way too many secrets for me not be stunned after each revelation.
"But-what-how do you not know? I stuttered, trying not to sound too chagrined at having asked. I do have better feelings, I just don't use them much- but this was one of the times I wished I had used them. "Are you adopted or something?"
"Nope." Now that she had told me that, she seemed more cheerful. Maybe the fact that she didn't really have a family like the Lexingtons was weighing her down, and after telling why she didn't have a family, she felt better? I don't know, I prefer to leave the interpretation of girls' minds to girls or the most intrepid of my sex. But she continued calmly, regardless of the reason, "I'm my mom's biological child. What you see before you is the product of an inadequately protected one night stand."
I was gaping unabashedly at her. That was… unexpected, to say the least. I mean, I knew that sort of thing happened, but I didn't know it happened to people I knew, or had even heard of.
"You have no idea?" I blurted out before I realized how horridly insensitive that was. A
rrogant asshole I may be, but that, intentional or not, was a low blow. If anyone had a right to snipe at other people's families, I did- but no one had that right. Families are sacrosanct. Emma must have picked up on my chagrin, because she grinned comfortingly up at me.
"It's okay, Darien," she chuckled. I scowled. I didn't like my missteps providing amusement for anyone. "I've long since accepted that fact. My mom's my family. And now I guess Jack and Allan and all those other stupidly kind Lexingtons back at the house. I don't need a father, compared with all that." Her merriness, while true, struck a dissonant note with me
The swing set creaked as Emma began to swing again, the rhythmic sound lulling me into contemplation- not that I needed much encouragement. To have never had a father… I couldn't comprehend it. My father had shaped me, as much as I disliked admitting it. His presence in my life, looming, silent, ignoring, had made me what I was, whether he meant that or not- I guessed not. For all my incomprehension, though, I couldn't pity Emma- at least she had never seen her father turn his back on her again and again and again.
"You don't know how lucky you are," I muttered into the not-quite silence. For a long moment, I didn't think she had heard, but then the swinging stopped and a white hand squeezed my shoulder gently.
"Yes, I do," she told me before she slipped away into the dark. I sighed. She hadn't understood, just like everyone else- I was a fool to think she would be different.
Chapter 17
* * *
Emma
* * *
There was something wrong with the innate structure of the universe, I mused as I collapsed into my seat for first period class, when you're looking forward to the start of school after a short vacation. Not that I disliked school-not this one, anyway- but what teenager doesn't like a break from work?
But the return of school meant that all the Lexingtons were finally gone, I had my precious solitude back, and normality was restored. Well, as normal as things can ever be for a high schooler with an alter ego who's being not so subtly wooed by her normal persona's… cordial acquaintance for reasons she doesn't know and can't even begin to guess. There was a time when I would have welcomed this excitement, once when I was still young and naïve. Very young and naive-enough to think this was real drama.