The Wrong McElroy

by K L Hughes

  Fiona shoved him. The snow shifted under his feet, and down he went, tumbling to the ground and pulling Fiona down with him. She landed on top of him with a grunt, and her loud laugh transformed into a cloud of fog. He smashed a handful of snow in her hair, then tried to scramble away from her before she could retaliate. “Hold still,” she said, “or it’ll be worse when I finally catch you.”

  “Oh, honey, see! I told you I heard something outside.”

  Both Fiona and Michael froze in place, Fiona on top of Michael and Michael wedged down into the snow. They turned toward the porch. Fiona recognized Michael’s parents standing inside the open front door, the light from the house haloing around them. They wore matching forest-green bathrobes over pajamas, and Charlie Sr.’s thinning orange hair stuck up on one side. He was tall and lean. His wife was the opposite. The top of her head barely reached his upper arm, and despite her thick robe, it was easy to see her body was curved like a country road.

  “Oh, hey!” Michael looked up at Fiona, still perched on top of him, then back to his parents. “Uh, hey, Mom, Dad. What are you guys doing up so late?”

  “I told you we were going to stay up until you got home, honey,” Rosie said as she smoothed down her coarse hair. “You didn’t tell us you were bringing a…a friend with you.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah.” He looked at Fiona again, but neither of them moved. It was as if the snow had melted through their skin and into their brains.

  “Uh, son,” Charlie Sr. said, clearing his throat, “what are you two doing out here, exactly?”

  Reality snapped into place, and Fiona shot off Michael as if he’d suddenly caught fire and she was afraid of getting burned. They jumped to their feet and brushed snow off their clothes as they mumbled about how they were “just playing around” and tripped over a snow…man, or something.

  “Right,” Charlie Sr. said as he and Rosie both visibly fought smiles. “Tripped over a snowman. Seems plausible.”

  “Shut up.” The words chirped out of Michael in the tiniest squeak Fiona had ever heard. He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his pants. “So, uh, anyway, Mom, Dad, this is Fiona. She’s my, um, girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend,” Fiona repeated with an awkward nod. The smile she plastered on felt as uncomfortable as it likely looked. “Super excited to finally meet you both.”

  The walk up the grand staircase and down the first hall went on forever. Fiona aged a year with each rapid-fire question Mrs. McElroy hurled their way. It seemed never-ending.

  “Since when do you have a girlfriend, Michael? Why didn’t you tell us you had a girlfriend? She’s beautiful, honey. Oh, silly me. Fiona. Fiona, isn’t it? Fiona, you’re just beautiful. Isn’t she beautiful, Michael?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Fiona, will you be staying the whole weekend with us?”

  “Yes, Mrs. McElroy, if that’s all right.”

  “Call me Rosie, and of course it’s all right. It’s wonderful. I’ve been hoping Michael would settle down now for ages. I always worry about him up there in St. Louis on his own. Don’t I, Charlie? Don’t I worry?”

  Charlie Sr. hummed in agreement from down the hall, trailing along behind them, and Rosie let out a sweet laugh. “Oh, Michael, honey, Charlie’s girls wanted to stay in your room, so you’ll have to stay in Jack’s.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “He face-called us just the other day, you know, and he practically has no hair at all now,” she said. “He just keeps cutting it shorter and shorter.”

  “It’s FaceTime, Mom,” Michael said. “And I’m pretty sure he has to keep his hair short.”

  “Well, I know that, honey, but that short?” She stopped at a door somewhat hidden in a nook at the end of the hall and opened it. “Here we are.” She heaved their suitcases, which she’d insisted on carrying, onto the bed. “If you need any extra clothes, I brought in some of your things from your room. They’re in the closet, and there are spare socks and underpants in the dresser for you, too.”

  Michael’s cheeks turned the same color as his hair. “Uh, thanks, Mom. I’m good, though.”

  “Okay, but you know you always say that, and then you never have enough.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’m good. Really, Mom. Thanks. I’ll just do some laundry if I need to.”

  “Well, they’re perfectly good underpants, honey. I don’t see why you don’t just wear what’s already—”

  “He’s fine, Rosie,” Charlie Sr. said from the doorway, and Rosie sighed.

  “All right, fine,” she said. “I know when I’m being hushed.” She patted Michael’s cheek, then turned toward Fiona. “Now, do I need to set you up in another room, Fiona, or did you two want to stay together?” She looked at Michael and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know your father and I don’t have any rules against your girlfriend staying in your room with you, honey. You’re a grown man. We just ask that you keep the volume down and be safe.”

  Fiona had only seen Michael so embarrassed one other time, and it was when he’d gotten food poisoning sophomore year and hadn’t made it to the cafeteria bathroom in time. He hadn’t even bothered washing his clothes after, because he’d refused to acknowledge what happened. Instead, he’d thrown it all away—his pants, underwear, socks, and even his shoes. She felt his pain this time around, though. Heat made the skin of her chest and neck itch, and she imagined she looked nearly as red and splotchy under her shirt as Michael appeared from the chin up.

  “Mom, really? Come on.”

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Michael. You know, Charlie and his wife used to—”

  “I’ll take my own room,” Fiona cut in, “if that’s all right, Mrs. McElroy. I mean, Rosie.”

  “Really, Fiona. You’re welcome to stay here with Michael. Don’t feel like you have to separate.”

  “She said she wants her own room, Mom.”

  “I heard her, honey. I’m just making sure you two aren’t—”

  “You know what?” Fiona clapped her hands together. “I’ll just stay here. If you’re sure it’s all right, then I’ll stay with Michael.”

  Michael bugged his eyes out at her, and Fiona mimicked the expression. They stared at one another until Rosie interrupted the showdown by yanking them both by their necks into a tight hug.

  “Okay, well, you kids settle in, then, and we’ll see you in the morning.” She released them and kissed Michael’s cheek. “I’m so happy you’re home. Lizzie will be here in the morning. She’s excited to see you since you two missed each other last year.”

  “Okay, cool,” Michael said, still red in the face. “Night, Mom.”

  Fiona felt her face stretch again into that same pained smile as before. She nodded. “Good night, Rosie.”

  “Good night, you two.” She shooed her husband down the hall, then closed the door behind her.

  The moment she left, Michael turned on Fiona. “Stay here? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking your mom was never going to leave until we made it clear that we love each other so much we can’t stand to sleep in separate beds. I was giving her what she wanted.”

  “You never give my mother what she wants. I told you this. If you give her what she wants every time she wants something, she’ll keep wanting things until you give her your freaking soul.”

  “Oh, Christ, Michael. The woman’s your mother, not the Grim Reaper.”

  “But she’s like the mother of all mothers. She could probably literally mother you to death.”

  “Fine. Next time, I’ll try to be more adamant in letting her down and disappointing her, then. I mean, what’s the big deal? It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

  “I know that.” He shoved his suitcase onto the floor and collapsed on the bed. “That’s not the problem.”

  Fiona grabbed a few
empty hangers from the open closet and began taking her clothes out of her own suitcase, hanging them piece by piece. “Then what is it?”

  “It’s that my parents and all my siblings and my freaking grandma are now going to think we’re in here boning every night.”

  The shudder that worked its way up Fiona’s spine couldn’t be helped. She tried to fight it, but there was no use.

  “See!”

  “Yeah, all right, that’s weird, but it’s not like we actually are in here boning, so who cares what they think? I mean, you wanted everyone to think I’m your girlfriend, right? So, there you go.” She stretched out beside him. “At least your mom gets excited for you. I texted my mom that I aced my Physiology exam, and she said, ‘Not bad. Your father bought lemon trees on sale for the garden. Buy one, get one half off.’”

  Michael laughed. “I love your mom.” He wrapped his arm around Fiona’s shoulders and sighed. “It’s going to be a long weekend, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter 2

  “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey, loser!”

  The words thumped through the haze of sleep mere seconds before the weight of a body slamming into hers jolted Fiona awake. She let out a horrendous scream as the person landed directly on top of her and yanked the comforter off her head. Her arms flailed helplessly as her hair clouded her vision.

  “Oh, holy shit! You are not my brother.”

  Fiona’s heart raced. Her eyes were sticky with sleep and blinded by hair, and all the oxygen in the room seemed to be evading her lungs. She quickly swiped her hair away and blinked up at the petite but curvy young woman straddling her and slowly calmed as she took in each feature: frizzy dark-orange hair, a toothy grin, one blue eye, and one green.

  “Lizzie, what the hell are you doing?”

  Fiona leaned up to see Michael standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, mouth covered in toothpaste foam and a towel wrapped around his waist. Clearly, he’d been up for a while.

  “Uh, apparently making a complete jackass of myself,” Lizzie said with an awkward laugh. She looked down at Fiona, red-cheeked. “Sorry. I’m Lizzie.”

  “Fiona.”

  “Oh, Fiona! Hey, yeah, Michael’s talked about you before. Nice to finally meet you.”

  Fiona pressed a hand to her heart and took a deep breath. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Yeah, the bloodcurdling scream sort of gave that away.”

  “Do you always introduce yourself by jumping on people?”

  Lizzie smiled, her entire face crinkling. Freckles spotted her face like a game of connect-the-dots, and Fiona suddenly found herself thinking of connecting them, one by one, with the tip of her finger. She used the sleeve of her dark-green flannel shirt to swipe a bit of hair from her face. “Only the cute ones.”

  A jolt sparked low in Fiona’s gut. She squirmed, surprised. They stared at one another for a long moment, unmoving, with Lizzie still straddling her and Fiona wondering where she should put her hands. She felt flushed and confused and entirely unwilling to contemplate the fact that the weight of Michael’s sister on top of her felt so much more pleasant than burdensome.

  “Uh, Liz?” Michael said.

  “Yeah?” Lizzie didn’t look at Michael. Her gaze was fixed on Fiona.

  “You can get off my girlfriend now.”

  Fiona blinked hard. Shit. For a moment, she’d forgotten she was there to be Michael’s Christmas girlfriend. Lizzie slid off her so quickly that she landed on her ass on the floor. She sprang up a second later, hair flying around her face and her thin sweater wrinkled up on one side.

  “Girlfriend?” she said. “Huh. Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Michael slung an arm around his sister. “Girlfriend.”

  Lizzie patted his back and ducked when he tried to kiss her forehead with toothpaste-covered lips. He laughed and went back to the bathroom to spit.

  “So, uh, how did you manage to convince someone to date you?” she called after him, her gaze returning to Fiona. “I mean, she’s a real girl, Mike, not the inflatable kind. I’m so proud.”

  “Ha.” The porcelain and tile made his voice echo. “Very funny.”

  “It definitely took some convincing,” Fiona said as she pulled the blanket up a bit higher to cover herself. It was silly since she was fully clothed, but she couldn’t help it. She felt uncomfortable and slightly aroused, which made zero sense. The lingering haze of sleep, paired with waking to a cute girl on top of her, had clearly caused her brain to short-circuit. Michael’s sister, she scolded herself. She’s Michael’s sister. The scolding didn’t stop her from tracing Lizzie’s curves with her eyes. She had her mother’s figure—full breasts, wide hips, and, like Fiona, barely passed the five-foot mark.

  Lizzie’s boisterous laugh was surprising for her size. The sound of it sent the same jolt through Fiona as before. Oh no.

  “See,” Lizzie said. “Even your girlfriend knows you’ve got no game.”

  Michael reappeared in sweatpants and a T-shirt, mouth clean of foam. He grabbed his sister before she could jump away. “Is that right?” He managed to get her in a headlock and knuckled the top of her head until her coarse hair was a frazzled mess of tangles. “Two years you don’t see me, and this is the treatment I get?”

  “Just telling it like it is, Big Brother,” she grunted from his armpit. She then managed to knee him in the back of the leg hard enough to break his balance. He stumbled, releasing her, and she smacked him on the back of the head before taking off out of the room. “I’m telling Mom!”

  “Big baby!” Michael called after her, then turned toward Fiona. “Still wish you had siblings?”

  The bathroom served as her safe haven for thirty minutes before Michael finally knocked on the door and said, “I hope you’re using the air freshener.”

  “Gross. Shut up.”

  “I’m just saying. I’ve known you for three years now, and I’ve never seen you take more than fifteen minutes to get ready.”

  “I’m preparing for my soul to depart from my body.”

  “I thought you said she was just my mom, not the Grim Reaper.”

  “After meeting her and your sister, I’m rethinking my position.” Fiona stared at herself in the mirror, her freshly showered face and damp black hair gleaming back at her. The brown skin of her face was bare and shiny from a wash and a tad paler than usual. Sun had become a foreign thing to her, as she’d spent her summer bopping back and forth between the university library and the hospital. She hated the way makeup clogged up her pores, so it never bothered her not to wear it. Not until now. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous, yet she found herself hiding in Jack’s bathroom, overthinking her natural amount of cuteness and wondering if she should, in fact, be considerably cuter. She couldn’t stop smoothing her hands down her plain white sweater and black leggings. I am a bland breakfast date. What if they don’t like me?

  “Let me in.”

  She popped the latch, and Michael squeezed in behind her, wearing a red St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt and gray sweatpants. At the sight, Fiona instantly felt better. His nose wrinkled as he closed the door behind him. “You could have at least lit a match or something.” Fiona smacked his shoulder, eliciting a laugh. “Everybody likes you, Fi.”

  “You have a point.”

  “I always have a point.”

  “And occasionally, it’s a good one.” She grabbed her brush from the sink and held it over her shoulder. “Braid my hair?”

  “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone it was me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Sit down.”

  Fiona settled down on the closed toilet seat and turned her back to Michael. She propped her feet up on the side of the tub and slouched her shoulders. Instantly, she heard her mother’s voice in her head telling her to sit up straight or else she would end up a
hunchback like her great-great grandmother who she’d never actually met. Fiona scoffed at the internal scolding and slouched even more. Behind her, Michael began to work the hairbrush through her hair, snagging a few times on tangles he then gently worked out.

  “Mike?”

  “Hm?”

  Fiona closed her eyes at the bristles scratching across her scalp. It was soothing. “What kind of couple do you think we’d be if we actually were one?”

  “That’s easy. We’d be the hermit couple.”

  Fiona snorted. “The what couple?”

  “You know.” He separated her hair with the brush and gathered up three thin sections to weave together. “We’d be the couple no one ever sees because all we do is sit at home together and watch our favorite shows and order takeout and fight over Mario Kart and whether Batman is really a superhero or not.”

  “Not,” Fiona said at the same time Michael added, “Which he totally is.”

  “You realize we’re never going to agree on this, right?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Fiona shifted on the toilet and sighed. “You really don’t think we’d be one of those fun couples everyone wants to hang out with?”

  “Sit still.”

  “Well, this toilet seat isn’t exactly comfortable, and you’re taking forever.”

  “Do you want a good braid or a sloppy one?” Michael thumped the back of her ear. “It’s not my fault you’ve got a bony ass.”

  “Just hurry up.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can. And no, I don’t think we’d be one of those fun couples. Not to say we aren’t fun. We just never go anywhere.”

  “We go places.”

  “The grocery store, each other’s apartments, and the movie theater on seven-dollar Sunday don’t count, Fi.”

  Fiona deflated. “I’ve become a fossil,” she said, “a sad, lesbian fossil whose longest relationship is with a ginger man, and I haven’t even finished graduate school yet.”

  Michael secured her braid with a rubber band from the countertop and said, “People love fossils. There are whole museums dedicated to them.”