“Come on now,” I cut in. “Let’s not fight. Let’s just enjoy dinner and, I don’t know, catch up on what we all have been up to lately. I’ll start. I’ve been making candles for the Christmas rush. I’ve got a new candy-cane scented one that I think will sell well.
“And Jordan here has been working on the displays in my shop. He’s really talented.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said. “I’m having fun with it.”
“And it shows, dear,” my mother murmured, as she patted his arm affectionately. “I feel like you’re already one of the family. Well, one of the family members I look forward to spending time with, that is.”
“Now Fiona –” Tom warned.
“So, Plenty,” I continued, hoping to cut more of the tension, “what’s popular at the store you work at?”
“Oh, well, soon we’ll be pushing lots of Christmas gifts. Some with those makeup palettes, you know, the ones with all the different eye shadow colors.”
“Those are a lot of fun,” I said.
“It’s a great way to try a new color,” Jordan agreed.
“Do you want one for Christmas, maybe?” Plenty asked me.
“Sure. That’s the kind of thing I never would usually buy for myself, but it’s fun to get as a gift.”
“That’s code for she’s not interested,” my mother cut in.
“That’s not true,” I argued. To be honest I couldn’t find much use for a hundred eye shadows, but when it was a gift, sure. “It’s a splurge. That’s always fun.”
Plenty smiled.
“Well, I think we should change the subject,” Mom said. “I hear enough about makeup and you’ve only been here a few days. Makeup this. Makeup that. You need this primer. You need this foundation. You need this kind of blush or a bronzer. Blah-blah-blah, boring.”
“I think you’ve had enough, Fi,” Tom said.
“Yes. Enough makeup jibber-jabber,” Mom agreed.
“No, I meant you’ve had enough wine and how about having some of that chicken your daughter worked so hard to prepare.”
Mom snorted. “Puh-lease. This is an easy meal. It’s good, mind you, but it’s easy. Poppy just did it because it looks fancy and because it took almost zero effort.”
“Well, no matter how much or how little effort it took,” Roger said, “it is delicious.”
I smiled. I knew he meant it, but it was nice of him to say it, too.
“I agree with my brother,” Wyatt added as he gnawed on a drumstick. “This is fantastic.”
“Maybe I should get the recipe from you,” Plenty said, looking my way. “Especially if it’s not too complicated. I’ve been meaning to cook some more.”
“Sure. I could do that,” I agreed. “I’ll write it down for you. It’s pretty easy.”
“It’s still probably too complicated for Plenty,” Mom snapped. “Unless the chicken needs its asshole waxed or something.”
“Do you have to be snotty,” Aunt Lindy said. “All you’ve done since we’ve gotten here is guzzle wine and insult people.”
“I’m just returning the favor,” Mom said. “You know, how you bring up that my daughter is still single at age thirty and how time is surely running out. And how Plenty says what a shame it is that Poppy’s chubby.”
I gulped. Did they really say that? I looked at my mom, then my aunt and cousin. I caught a flash of embarrassment in their eyes, and I knew they’d made some comments of that nature.
“I’m not chubby,” I started. “I’m not skinny like Plenty is, but I’m not fat or chubby.” Unfortunately, at that moment it was easier to say it than believe it.
“No, of course not,” Plenty said. “I never said you were fat. I just said you had wider hips, like those Kardashians do. That’s very popular right now. Of course, your face and hair don’t look anything like theirs do, but you know, you’ve kind of got that, um, shape.”
I suddenly felt very annoyed and more than a bit hurt. I didn’t consider myself to be pudgy. Sure, I wasn’t a tall reed of a woman, like my cousin was, but I was average height and around one-forty. That number might go up a couple pounds in the winter, but I considered myself a good womanly example.
“I guess you would see me as fat,” I snarked, “since I’m not all bony and flat like you are.”
“You’re not chubby at all,” Roger said. “You’ve got curves and in all the right places.”
“I agree,” Wyatt said. He held his wine glass up to toast me.
“Wyatt, normally I’d say you’re being a pig, but considering the direction this conversation has taken, I hope you thoroughly enjoy the size of my ass.”
“Poppy!” Tom said.
“Oh, I do enjoy it. You’ve got a nice jiggle when you walk.”
“Hey!” Roger said. He shot a dirty look at Wyatt and then gave me a curt head shake. Sotto voce, he said, “Don’t encourage him. I have plans to admire and explore all of this … bounty … slowly and often,” he said, making a show of waving his hand up and down my frame.
“I’d rather you didn’t use a word that meant the same as abundance, for the record, when referring to my body,” I replied quietly. “But thank you.” Then, more loudly, “Tom, where’d you hide the wine?”
“Hide?” my mother choked. Her eyes darted around the room like she was a cat trying to lock down prey.
“Yes. He hid it,” I said. “But since my big fat butt and wide hips are a source of ridicule for at least one member of my family, I’m going to numb my pain with more wine.”
“I need some more numbing, too, because it pains me more to hear my daughter maligned,” my mother added, hoisting her glass up.
“Yeah, it hurts when you’re not the lone voice of criticism that’s directed toward me,” I snorted.
“What does that mean?” my mother asked.
I began to mime her. “Why don’t you go blonde, Poppy? All men love blondes. It’s a fact.”
“I was not telling you to go blonde,” Mom said. “I merely thought you could tone it down a bit. That color is jarring.”
“I personally like it,” Roger said. “It’s eye-catching.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to get in her panties,” Plenty offered.
“Thank you for your kind words,” I groused as I made my way into the kitchen. As soon as I uncorked a bottle of wine I clamped it to my lips and took a long pull. My mother followed, motioning with a heavily braceleted hand to give me the container when I’d finished. After we’d passed it between us a couple times, we’d drained the contents.
“Well,” I smiled. “That’s another one for the recycling bin!”
Tom clapped his hand to his forehead and groaned. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry. I baked two desserts. A chocolate cake and an apple pie.”
His expression brightened.
“I am not just trying to sleep with your cousin,” Roger said, directing his icy blue gaze at Plenty. “I happen to like everything I’ve seen of her, and that includes her bright red hair.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I said as I sat back down. “Extra dessert for you.”
“You should give him your mother’s portion,” Tom said. He turned to Roger. “Remind me why I quit drinking.”
“It was because you wanted me back in your life,” Mom said, as she returned to the table. “That’s how devoted you are to me.”
“I bet he’s regretting that decision now,” Aunt Lindy said.
“You’re just jealous because I have a good man,” Mom chided. She stood up and stared down her sister. “What do you have to show for yourself, huh?”
“Now ladies, let’s not get our panties into a bunch,” Tom warned.
“My panties can’t get into a bunch, hon, since you took them off right before we came here,” my mother winked in her husband’s direction.
Tom suddenly showed a great deal of interest in his napkin and hemmed and hawed, while my mother looked smug. Everyone
else around the table either glanced up toward the ceiling or began fidgeting with their silverware. I bit back the urge to laugh. I knew my mother might be telling the truth, but she also may have simply been trying to shock everyone.
Jordan leaned in toward me, his eyes covetous of my glass of wine. “Is this normal behavior for you all?” he whispered over my shoulder.
“Let’s just say I’m not surprised by anything I’ve heard over the last hour,” I offered.
My mother held up her wine glass. “Poppy, bring some more to the table.”
Jordan popped up and offered to get her a fresh glass. He took her goblet into the kitchen and returned a moment later with it full of white wine. His cheeks were suddenly glowing pink. “Oh, I forgot my ginger ale,” he said, and returned to retrieve it. I was a touch suspicious so I followed him, and sure enough I spotted him topping off his water glass with the Riesling. When he heard my approach, he quickly set his hand on a bottle of Canada Dry and mumbled an excuse about being extra thirsty that night. I pinched his cheek and gazed up into his eyes. “Your face is flushed and your eyes are shiny. Usually ginger ale doesn’t have that result,” I clucked.
Jordan drained his glass.
“I guess I can’t blame you,” I sighed. “You probably hate being around us right now.”
“No, I love you guys, but I don’t understand why you fight.”
“Neither do I sometimes,” I admitted. “There’s some long-standing tensions. In part it’s because my mom got less attention than her siblings growing up. I think at heart my mom is a wounded kid in some ways. Instead of us agreeing to support one another whole heartedly, we end up bickering.”
“You’re still closer than my family,” Jordan said. His eyes misted over, but he quickly blinked it away. I felt badly for him since I was certain he left under unhappy circumstances.
“We pretty much consider you a member of the family at this point,” I said as I patted his shoulder. “And if you one day want to tell me your story, I’ll be all ears.”
“Thanks.”
Tom had sidled up at that moment to refill his own glass with something nonalcoholic and gave Jordan a telling look before snatching the open bottle of wine.
“You’re going to let her have more wine?” I asked him.
Tom shrugged. “At this point, why not?” he said as he returned to the dining room. Jordan and I followed.
“It’s about time you see things my way,” Mom muttered.
“Your glass must have a little leak,” Tom said, as he poured an inch of wine into her glass, “since it seems to empty so quickly.”
“More,” she demanded, pointing inside the goblet.
“Let’s see how serious the leak is first,” Tom said, nonchalant.
“It’s not bad at all so long as I drink it fast enough, which I intend to keep doing,” my mother slurred.
Roger and Tom shot knowing looks in one another’s direction, since both were card-carrying members of Alcoholics Anonymous.
I poured the rest of my wine into my mother’s glass and stood. “Enjoy,” I told her. “Now would be a fine time to brew some java and dole out dessert, all things considering.” I returned to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
As I was scooping ground beans into my coffee maker, I felt a warm presence behind me and a pair of arms enfold me around the waist.
“I hope that’s who I think it is,” I teased.
“I’ll give you one guess,” Roger murmured, gently putting his hand over my eyes and giving me a soft kiss on the side of my neck. His lips felt warm and soft, but he had a bit of stubble on his cheek that gave a lively contrast and sent shivers down my spine.
“So, how do you think it’s going out there?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No, just talking to fill the silence,” I sighed.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re chubby, and I think your hair is beautiful. I always had a weakness for redheads.”
“Thank you,” I said halfheartedly.
“I mean it, too. I’ve been trying to imagine what you look like outside of your clothing. I can’t help but imagine smooth skin and soft curves.” He ran his hands up and down my torso and his fingers just grazed the sides of my breasts. His tongue flicked the ridge of my ear and I felt another tremor ripple through my body.
“Do you think I can send everyone home with leftovers in boxes?” I asked.
“You do have that option, but I have a feeling you’re not going to do that.”
“You’re right. At least not until I pour some coffee down my mom’s throat.”
“Your mom is bound to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, at the rate she’s going.”
“Just a bit of one. She tends not to get them too badly. She’ll have Tom pick up a pizza or burgers on the way home and pig out before bed, and be in relatively good shape tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I’d consider her lucky or unlucky on that,” Roger said.
“Do you ever get tempted, seeing people drink? My family can polish it off. Myself included in that company, at least from time to time.”
Roger shook his head. “Not any longer. I did when I went through some rough patches in the past,” he said, referring to the years after his sister had died in a car crash. “I kept away from bars and nightlife for a while, and then eased back in. I realized I’d rather not escape into booze and wake up from overdoing it feeling worse than ever. When you consider the aches and pains, as well as the emotional lows that follow, it got easier and easier to stay on the wagon.”
I knew what he was talking about. Sort of. I’d felt blah after over-imbibing from time to time. Of course, some of that hinged on if I felt I’d made too much of a fool out of myself.
By then the coffee had finished brewing, so I brought a large carafe to the table and began collecting people’s wine glasses.
“I’m not done yet,” Mom complained.
“Oh yes you are, my little cactus flower,” Tom said.
“You only call me that when you’re trying to get your way.”
“Sometimes, yes. I also call you that as a way of showing affection – not just when you’re being prickly.”
“I want more wine.” My mother stared me down, determined. I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood to fight, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear more family bickering either.
“If you stop drinking wine, I’ll buy you a nice present,” Tom cajoled.
My mother paused and looked her husband over. “How nice?”
“Maybe some sparkly jewelry? I saw you watching QVC the other morning. Did you see something you liked? I bet you did.”
She thought about it for a second and handed me the wine glass.
“Well, that was easy,” I smiled.
“Wait until you see what she picks,” Tom said. “It won’t be cheap.”
“She’ll earn it back with her knack for finding overlooked treasures at estate sales and auctions,” I said.
“You can count on that,” my mother agreed.
I poured coffee for all and served dessert. The sooner people burned off their booze buzz with a little caffeine, the better.
As I bent forward and handed Wyatt his plate I caught him eyeing my cleavage again. If I had to guess, he was a boob man.
Since Wyatt had flirted and hit on me a bit, I was feeling a bit smug. Even though I preferred Roger by far, I did take a bit of perverse pleasure in being ogled by my cousin’s date.
Plenty looked annoyed when she spied where his eyes were landing. She gave me a dirty look and then whipped out her compact to touch up her makeup.
“Here, Plenty? You have to fuss over your face now?” Mom griped.
Plenty shrugged and applied a peachy-pink lipstick. She angled the compact in such a way that some light caught the mirror and flashed around the room, quickly streaking across Wyatt’s face. His attention suddenly shifted, and he became intensely focused on Plenty.
He began running
a hand up and down her arm and shifting nervously in his seat, scooting closer to my cousin and wrapping a territorial arm around her slight shoulders.
I squinted and looked at his face and noticed something was off in his eyes, like he was in a trance.
“Are you okay, Wyatt?” I asked.
“I’m fine, perfectly fine,” he replied, never taking his eyes off Plenty.
I leaned over slightly, making it possible for him to see down my sweater. Nothing. I tried another tack. “Wyatt? What color shirt is Roger wearing?”
Wyatt ignored me. Something was clearly up. He’d been leering at my chest every chance he could get, and now I was invisible.
I wanted to mouth a question to my mother, but her eyes were glazed over with too much wine. She stood and tiptoed her way to the bathroom.
I sat and sipped my coffee and took a bite of cake. Aside from staring at my breasts off and on all through the evening, Wyatt also had been interested in the food and engaged with the other people at the table. Suddenly he only had eyes for Plenty. It was as if he’d forgotten everyone else existed as he tugged her closer and fussed with her blonde locks.
A moment later a loud popping noise broke the relative silence, and something whizzed by, hitting Wyatt in the forehead. He looked around, confused as the beagles roused and chased the flying object.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Where am I? What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes clear again as he took his arm off Plenty. He spotted his dessert in front of him, and forked his pie with gusto. Plenty frowned as focused on his food and ignored her.
“What was that?” I looked over and saw my mother by the fridge. She had an uncorked bottle of champagne and was filling a glass.
“You said you would stop the wine in exchange for a gift from Tom,” I reminded her.
“I did stop the wine. This is champagne.”
“You realize wine and champagne are made of the same stuff,” I pressed.
“I’m working all loopholes here so I can eat my proverbial cake and have it, too,” she said, sitting down with her bubbly. “Wrap me up some leftovers to go. I’ll eat later.”
I groaned, annoyed, but did as asked. The sooner this dinner was done, the better.
Plenty of Trouble Page 17