The Wrong McElroy

by K L Hughes

  The hallway leading to the den was like a visual timeline. Photographs of various sizes bedecked the walls in clusters, and as Fiona slowly made her way from frame to frame, she was able to watch the McElroy family evolve. She carried a small, messy plate and popped forkfuls of pie into her mouth as she stepped from one to the next, observing with care. Strawberry-blonde infants turned to toddlers and those toddlers to fire-headed, gap-toothed kids. Awkward school photos showcased unfortunate tween acne and even more unfortunate bangs, not to mention a few unforgiveable perms. Baby-fat faces evolved into hard-angled jaws and peach-fuzz facial hair. Girls turned to women and boys to men, and the young, smiling parents of each and every one grew gray around the temples and lined around the eyes and became grandparents in photographs that made Fiona’s heart feel swollen and heavy. She couldn’t stop smiling as she took it all in—Michael’s family history.

  Her own family was scattered around the world. She knew her mother’s parents but not her father’s. She’d never met her uncles or cousins who lived in China, and the one time she’d been to Singapore to see the place where her parents grew up and fell in love, she’d been so young she hadn’t cared to take any of it in. So much of her life growing up in the United States had been spent ignoring the rich array of cultures that decorated her family history. She hadn’t much wanted to learn, and every time she’d been made to endure jokes about her eyes or her parents’ accents, she’d wanted to even less. Distance had felt good when she was a kid. It wasn’t until she was an adult that the distance had begun to ache, and playing the game of catch-up, trying to learn everything she could as quickly as she could, hadn’t made it ache any less.

  She’d had to slow herself down, give herself time to absorb it all, one precious piece of family history at a time. Embracing all she’d been encouraged to push away, however, was worth it. It was worth the time to learn, because it was a part of her, and the value in loving oneself and respecting oneself enough to truly know oneself was something she quickly realized she couldn’t put a number to.

  She didn’t have photos like this, a long, visual timeline to trace the moments and the years and the connections going back generations. She had only her own memories and photos, the short timeline of her less-than-thirty years and a few great shots of her parents from before they came to America. So it was nice to see a family so thoroughly documented, so many moments of sheer joy captured and immortalized on film. She was glad Michael had that, that he could point to an image and say, “This was the day my great-grandpa took me fishing for the first time.” It was a precious privilege not everyone had.

  An older photograph caught her attention, its color washed out and edges a little weathered. It appeared as if it’d been wrinkled up and tossed from box to box before finding its way to a frame. A large group of people filled in the space. An elderly man and woman stood at the back, posed solemnly in front of a large wooden barn. He wore a long-sleeved, button-up shirt with suspenders and she a floral-patterned sundress. Arranged before them were three rows of children—four teenagers, five kids, a toddler, and an infant. The boys wore denim overalls with no shirts, their pant legs rolled up at the ankles to reveal bare feet, and the girls each wore a plain, simple, short-sleeved dress suitable for presentation as well as play. The baby lay lopsided in the toddler’s arms, who sat on the ground in the same overalls and no shirt. His belly stuck out on both sides of the denim, and he stared at the baby instead of the camera.

  “Dad’s family.” Lizzie stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall, watching her. “Bigger even than ours.”

  “Hey.” Fiona smiled. “How long have you been there?”

  “Not long.”

  “You guys have so many photos.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed and moved toward her, arms crossed comfortably over her chest. “Mom’s a bit of a picture whore. She probably took a good fifty or sixty during the fight today. If you’ve got Facebook, just wait. She’ll be adding you just so she can tag you in every one.”

  Fiona laughed and scraped off another piece of pie. “I didn’t notice a camera.”

  “Oh, she finally joined the rest of us in the twenty-first century and started using her phone.” She tapped the faded photo with her index finger. “Grandma and Grandpa had this one done professionally in, like, 1970 or something. I don’t know. That’s Dad there.” She pointed again, this time laying the tip of her finger over one of the teen boys standing in front of the elderly couple at the back of the shot. The boy was young, mottled with freckles, and had his face scrunched up as if staring into a bright sun. “I think he was fifteen when they took this.”

  Fiona tried to imagine the boy evolving into the man she’d met, the one with the tired but happy smile and the wrinkles around his eyes. It didn’t seem possible. She stepped toward the photo and squinted at the woman in the back. “So, that’s Grandma Sophia?”

  “Yup, before the Arkansas sun turned her into an old prune. Well, that and the two packs of Virginia Slims she smokes a day.”

  “She looks…”

  “Miserable, yeah. None of them look happy in that picture. We make jokes about it all the time, but Dad says that’s how the photographer told them to pose.”

  “They definitely don’t seem overjoyed.”

  “Maybe they were wishing they had shirts on.”

  A smile touched Fiona’s lips. She shook her head. “That’s a lot of kids.”

  “Yeah, eleven altogether.” She tapped another kid in the photo, a teen girl with long, frizzy hair standing next to Charlie. “That’s my aunt Charlotte, Dad’s twin.” She grinned. “Michael didn’t tell you Dad was a twin, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Oh yeah. It runs in the family. His grandma was a twin, too.”

  “Wow. Do they come and visit ever? Or do you guys go visit them? Where do they all live?”

  “Well, most of them live in Texas. That’s where Dad was born. But, yeah, we see them every few years. We go there. They come here. It’s been a while since the last time, though, now that I think about it. We used to see them a lot when we were kids.”

  “So, your dad’s twin sister doesn’t live nearby? I always imagined twins being kind of inseparable.”

  “Oh, Charlie and Sophie are for sure. They literally live right next door to each other and hang out all the time. But Dad and Aunt Charlotte are more like Brian and Grace. They don’t need to be around each other all the time. I think Grace and Brian talk on the phone like once a week maybe, but that’s pretty much it. Grace is a lot like Dad, actually. Doesn’t talk much to anyone. Is kind of shy. She’s always been that way.”

  “Yeah, I noticed she didn’t talk nearly as much as everyone else. I was wondering how that was going to go over with her becoming a doctor. Lots of interaction.”

  “She’s in pathology, actually, so unless corpses start talking, I think she’ll be okay.” She straightened one of the crooked photographs on the wall. “What about you? Any sisters or brothers? A freakishly large amount, perhaps? We like that here.”

  Fiona laughed and shook her head. “Not a single one, actually. Sorry.”

  “Ah, well, you can have a few of mine, if you want. I’ll even give you Brian half-price.”

  “How generous.”

  “What about your parents? You said they were from Singapore, right? Do they have any family there still?”

  “My mom does,” Fiona said. “An aunt and a few cousins. The rest of her family lives in Malaysia; well, except my grandparents. They live in Los Angeles, just a few blocks down from my parents, actually.”

  “Oh, I bet that’s really nice for your mom, having them so close.”

  “As long as Gran’s not getting on her nerves, yeah, it is.”

  “Can totally relate,” Lizzie said with a smile. “What about your dad’s family? Do they live in LA, too?”

  “In
China.”

  “Oh wow. That’s far. Do you ever get to visit?”

  Fiona shook her head and shuffled a bit on her feet. She’d never had an easy time talking about her dad’s family, because he’d never had an easy time talking about them. “He doesn’t really speak to them anymore.”

  Lizzie frowned but didn’t push. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.” She could have left it at that, and part of her wanted to, but Lizzie’s smile was so welcoming, so warm. Her presence made Fiona feel safe and welcome and, in a weird but wonderful way, understood. They were worlds apart as people—who they were, where they came from, what their families were like—but Fiona felt comfort in Lizzie. She felt connection. “I’ve never met any of them either. They had a big falling out when my dad decided to marry my mom. His family’s apparently really traditional, and my mom’s not Chinese, so… He kind of left all of that behind when he and Mom moved here, and I guess that was the end of it. I think he misses his younger brother the most. I’ve caught him a few times looking at a picture in his wallet, but it’s not something we talk about. Like, ever.”

  Lizzie didn’t say anything for a long time. Instead, she shifted the slightest bit closer and let the warmth of her shoulder against Fiona’s be her answer. After a short silence, she looked down at the last lingering pieces of the pie on Fiona’s plate and asked, “How many pieces of pie is that now, by the way?”

  “One too many,” Fiona said with a laugh and a sheepish smile. She scooped off another tiny piece and ate it. There were only a few bits of filling left, then the crust. “I can feel it in my gut, but I can’t stop.”

  “We tried to warn you.”

  “I don’t even know what this yellow melty blob is, but I’m in love with it.”

  “Didn’t Mom tell you? It’s Ooey Gooey Butter Pecan Pie.”

  “Okay, I know, but that doesn’t sound like a real thing to me.”

  “Well, you’re eating it, aren’t you?” She looked at the disappearing pie, eyes wide with longing. It was pathetic and adorable, and Fiona couldn’t help but draw even nearer.

  “Okay, fine.” She dipped the fork into the last bit of filling. “You want a bite?”

  Lizzie didn’t say a word, just immediately opened her mouth like a baby bird in a nest, waiting to have its lunch dropped into its open beak. The second her lips wrapped around the fork, a moan that set Fiona’s teeth on edge slithered up and out.

  That seductive snake of a sound wrapped around Fiona’s body and squeezed, making every muscle tense and ache. Her thighs clamped roughly together as she watched ecstasy flood Lizzie’s freckled, beautiful face. “Wow,” she said, throat suddenly parched. “You really love this pie.”

  Another moan nearly made Fiona drop the plate. Her sweaty fingers actually did slide off the fork when Lizzie said, “I could kiss you right now.” Thankfully, Lizzie’s hand was already around the utensil. She smiled and licked between the tines.

  Fiona’s brow ticked up of its own accord. She could feel it, popping up there like an unsolicited email invitation: RSVP for one pie-flavored kiss! She tried to lower it back down, but it refused to listen.

  “Michael and Sophie are the only ones who ever share, and neither of them has won in a while.”

  “When was the last time you won?”

  “I don’t know. Three years ago? Four? Something like that.”

  “That’s a long time to go without this pie.”

  “Hence the kissing.” Lizzie stepped toward her, and the voice in Fiona’s head started to scream. Nothing clear, just loud, panicked screams that vibrated through her entire body, the kind that used to echo in her head when she was still in the closet and a pretty girl decided to exist within a fifty-foot radius of wherever she was standing. Fiona knew she should make a break for it but found she couldn’t move a muscle. Lizzie had gone full Medusa, her intense gaze turning Fiona to stone.

  “Hey, you guys are missing the movie.”

  Panic and relief made for a strange mixture. They tangled together and swirled about Fiona’s gut as Michael hovered at the end of the hall, waving them toward him. It was a familiar feeling, one she’d experienced several times as a teen—the feeling of almost being caught doing something she shouldn’t. Her stomach teetered on the edge of bottoming out, as if unsure of whether to feel guilty about what had almost happened or satisfied by the fortune of good timing.

  Lizzie didn’t seem to be experiencing any of it. In fact, she didn’t seem the slightest bit conflicted. She appeared, instead, to be rather annoyed by the intrusion. “Yeah, we’re coming,” she said, shooing him off.

  He disappeared around the end of the hall, back to the den where the home’s biggest television was kept, and Fiona and Lizzie were left alone again. “Here,” Lizzie said once he was gone. “I’ll take your plate back to the kitchen.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can take it.”

  “No, go on.” She took the plate from Fiona, their fingers slowly brushing together and lingering under the porcelain. “You don’t want to miss the movie.”

  “Guess not.” Fiona started around her but stopped again almost immediately. Lizzie’s hand gripped her upper arm, and with a gentle tug, pulled her back. Close. Lizzie leaned in, the tip of her nose rubbing through the baby hairs near Fiona’s temple. All the blood in Fiona’s body began to heat, working its way toward a boil the longer they stood there, lingering in that space, in that quiet, in all that delicious tension.

  Then, Lizzie kissed her. It was simple, short, a warm touch of her lips to Fiona’s cheek, just in front of her ear. “Thanks for the pie,” she said, her voice low and velvety, as rich as the dessert had been, and then she was gone.

  She headed off in the opposite direction toward the kitchen, and Fiona was left paralyzed. How this one woman had such an effect on her, she didn’t know, but it was undeniable. Lizzie McElroy was like lesbian catnip, or perhaps just Fiona Ng catnip. The smell of her, her touch, even just her presence made Fiona’s nerves pop and spark like firecrackers. She felt dizzy and out of her mind, yet at the same time, there was an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort as if she were always on the verge of drifting into a perfect sleep. It was confusing, maddening, and undeniably addictive.

  A steadying breath quivered its way up and out as Fiona stood in Lizzie’s wake. This one Christmas weekend had just transformed into the longest of her life, and she was still on the first day. How the hell am I going to last three more?

  She shook her head and made for the den. A movie was a good distraction, this movie in particular. Fiona had seen Frozen at least five times since its release, twice in the theater. She practically had the whole thing memorized. As the sounds of singing grew louder, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, to the place where Lizzie had kissed her, a soft and sweet and innocent kiss. And at that point, more than ever, she knew she needed to make like Elsa and let it go.

  “Why isn’t there a TV in here?” Fiona rolled over for the tenth time in as many minutes. “How did your brother survive teenagedom with no TV?”

  Michael, propped up beside her in bed with a book in hand, turned a page and smiled. “I told you to bring a book.”

  “We’re only here for four days. Excuse me for not thinking I’d actually have time to read a book.”

  “You always have time to read a book, because you hardly ever go to sleep before two in the morning.”

  “It’s not even ten o’clock yet. I’m going to die of boredom.”

  “Tragic. If only you’d brought a book like I did.”

  “Stop acting so superior. You’re not some sage old wizard because you brought a used copy of…” She leaned up enough to peek at the front cover of his well-worn paperback. “Tell me you’re not seriously sitting here reading The Call of the Wild.”

  “What’s wrong with The Call of the Wild?”

 
; “Only that it’s completely not you.” Fiona thumped the book’s back cover. “What? Did you google ‘manliest books of manliness?’ You’re a YA guy, and you know it. I don’t know why you don’t just own that. You love The Hunger Games and The Maze Runner and Legend. And every time you’ve ever tried to read something else, you complain about how boring and hard to follow it is. You even read the Twilight books.”

  “Okay, yeah, but I didn’t like them.”

  “Right. That must be why you flew through the entire series in less than two weeks. Because you just hated it so much.”

  “You know if I start something, I have to finish it.” He held his book stubbornly, staring at the page as if determined to burn a hole through it with only his gaze. “You know that.”

  “And you know you’re not actually reading anymore, so why don’t you put the book down and talk to me instead?”

  “I want to finish my chapter.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “I’m going to pinch you with my toes.”

  “You better not.”

  “And they’re freezing cold right now, too.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  “Fiona, I swear to God.”

  The longest, most dramatic whine she could manage pierced the air. Fiona put as much misery as she could into the sound. “Michael, please.” She wiggled up against him and stuck her face in the crook of his neck. She poked his jugular with the tip of her nose, hard, then poked him again. “Please. I’m so bored.”

  “Read on your phone.”

  “No. The screen is too tiny. It hurts my eyes.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if you’d upgrade from the iPhone Three, or whatever version you’ve been using for the last six years, and get a bigger screen.”

  “Excuse you.” Fiona jerked back and lay a hand on her chest, offended. “It is an iPhone Four, thank you very much. And why should I pay 600 dollars for a new phone when my old one still works fine?”

  He shrugged. “Well, tough, then.”