The Wrong McElroy

by K L Hughes

  “Yes, you said.” Rosie’s voice was quiet, so quiet it danced around the edges of a whisper. Her eyes were on her hands in her lap, and at that moment, she and Lizzie seemed nearly identical. Fiona looked between the two of them, their body shapes and sizes, their hunkered postures, their bowed heads. Rosie appeared to be the mirror image of Lizzie, just aged up a couple of decades.

  Silence took up residence between them, so thick and uncomfortable it made Fiona feel she couldn’t properly breathe. Her chest was tight. Her stomach writhed, and she was torn between running for the door and wrapping her arms around Lizzie to comfort her. She desperately wished she could do both. Or rather, she wished she could take Lizzie out of there, Lizzie and Michael, somewhere where they could rediscover that safe, comfortable place they’d been in before. Somewhere free of this tension, this torment, this bubbling confusion making the air nearly effervescent. She couldn’t take it much longer, and she knew if her own skin was crawling, Lizzie’s must be on the verge of cracking open.

  Nerves upon nerves upon nerves, multiplying with each second the silence persisted, yet no one said a thing. No one moved. Fiona ached to dispel the tension herself, but it wasn’t her place. She couldn’t be the one to stir up the settling dust. Lizzie would have to do that for herself.

  “Mom, come on.” Or Michael could do it for her. He let go of Fiona’s hand, leaving a stain of sweat behind, and wiped his palm on his pant leg. “You have to say something.”

  Rosie looked up at him, sheer torture written across her features. She appeared as helpless as Fiona imagined Lizzie felt. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything to me. Talk to Lizzie. Tell her what you’re thinking. Tell her how you feel. Tell her you love her and that this is okay, because you do and it is.” He paused, staring intently at her. “It is. Right?”

  “Is that what you thought? What you were afraid of?” She looked to Lizzie, who kept her head down and refused to meet her gaze. “That I wouldn’t love you anymore?” A sniffle sounded from beneath the waterfall of hair hiding Lizzie’s face. “Oh, Elizabeth. Look at me.” Lizzie didn’t move but to cup a hand over her mouth and sniffle once more, but that seemed to be all Rosie needed. She dropped from her chair to kneel on the floor in front of her daughter. Her hands settled atop Lizzie’s knees, thumbs rubbing back and forth. “Honey, look at me.”

  A tug on Fiona’s arm drew her gaze away, and she was grateful. She felt as if she was peering in on something she shouldn’t be, a private moment she was never meant to be part of. Michael motioned for her to follow him. She carefully wriggled her hand from Lizzie’s, giving it one last squeeze, and followed Michael to the bathroom. They didn’t close the door but stood just inside the frame, close enough to jump in for comfort but far enough to give Rosie and Lizzie a little bit of privacy.

  Michael looked at Fiona as they leaned against opposite sides of the door frame. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d strained to keep them dry. He’d always hated to cry. Fiona reached over and took his hand. Their fingers looped loosely together and hung in the space between them. Fiona closed her eyes and rested her head back against the door frame. Together, they listened to Rosie’s soft, murmuring voice.

  “You know I could never love you any less, Elizabeth. Never, not for anything. You’re my sweet girl. You’ve always been my sweet girl, and you always will be. You understand me?” When Lizzie didn’t respond, and the silence began to creep in again, Fiona opened her eyes to see what was happening. Rosie remained on the floor, but one hand had released Lizzie’s knee to tuck away her waterfall of hair. “Honey, please. Will you look at me?”

  Lizzie finally looked up, tossing her hair back with a flick of her head. She blew a rush of air up toward her wet eyes. The sigh she let out bordered on a growl. “I hate crying,” she said, now staring at the ceiling instead of her lap.

  The quiet laugh Rosie released comforted Fiona from a distance. She hoped it served to soothe Lizzie as well. “I know.”

  “So then why couldn’t you have just said all that right away instead of letting me sit here in this dumb silence, afraid you were about to disown me?”

  Rosie’s laugh, this time, jumped free, loud and wet. She wiped her eyes with one hand then grabbed onto Lizzie’s knees again. “Oh sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just, I guess I was a little taken by surprise.”

  “Really?” Lizzie’s body sagged, the tension in her back giving way. “You walked in on me kissing a girl, and you were surprised when I said I was gay?”

  “Well, I never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box, now did I?”

  Lizzie snorted and placed her hands atop Rosie’s, who turned hers up so they could clutch onto one another. They looked at each other and started laughing, low and slow at first, but it quickly evolved into something loud and untamed. It was as if the absence of tension triggered all that pent-up adrenaline their nerves had produced, and all they could do was tremble and laugh and be.

  The sound filled the room, lighting it up brighter than the early morning sun now beaming through the windows. Fiona looked from the two currently in stitches to the man across from her and found him looking back. A smile pushed at his lips, pushed and pushed until he was on the verge of laughing himself. His wide grin was infectious, and Fiona found herself smiling back at him, relief and joy rushing through her.

  When they, too, erupted in laughter, Rosie pulled away from Lizzie and pointed their way. “Now, you two,” she said. “Get in here.” Fiona’s laugh died an instant death. She choked it back with a painful swallow and glanced from Michael to Lizzie. “Come on, now. I’m not going to bite you.”

  Michael led Fiona back into the room where they reclaimed their places at Lizzie’s side, and Rosie grunted her way back into her chair. She rubbed her knees and sighed. “Now,” she said again, “I’ll admit I didn’t respond the best way, but it wasn’t because of what you told me, Elizabeth.”

  “Mom.”

  “Fine. Okay. Lizzie.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, you have such a beautiful name. I don’t know why you hate it so much.”

  “I don’t hate it. I just associate you saying it with me getting in trouble. It’s not my fault it’s a trauma trigger, woman. Blame yourself.”

  “Oh, you.” Rosie waved a hand at her. “Don’t make it out like you ever got anything more than a swat of a towel to your behind or, God forbid, no dessert for a night. No one beat you.”

  “No dessert is traumatizing when you have to sit and watch nine other people eating it around you, and you get none. If that’s not torture, I don’t know what is.”

  Fiona’s stomach rumbled at the mention of dessert, and though she hoped it wouldn’t make a sound, it yawned and groaned and drew everyone’s eyes to her. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess my stomach is ready for breakfast.”

  “We ought to get down there and get to eating it,” Rosie said. “Hopefully the oven’s keeping it all warm, but I’ll have to nuke the biscuits, I’m sure.” She sent a smile Fiona’s way. It helped alleviate some of Fiona’s nerves.

  Things seemed civil enough, at least, for now. She hoped she was reading the woman the right way and that everything could remain with her as it had been—good, comforting, like family. Fiona wanted so much to be a part of this family in whatever way they’d allow her, if they’d allow her. She hoped that not really being Michael’s girlfriend wouldn’t prevent that from happening.

  “But first, you two need to explain what’s going on here with the two of you.” Rosie cocked her head at her son.

  “Right,” Michael said. “That. Uh, so I may have lied a little bit about Fiona being my girlfriend.”

  Lizzie leaned forward and bugged her eyes out at him. “A little bit?”

  “Okay. I lied a lot of bit.”

  Rosie shook her head. “Why on earth would you even lie about something like that, Michael
?”

  “Honestly?” he began.

  Fiona tensed again, convinced, for a moment, that they were about to go through the motions of another sexuality-based confession. But it didn’t come. “I just got tired of you and Grandma and everyone always teasing me about not having a girlfriend and needing to find someone to settle down with.” Fiona didn’t blame him for not telling Rosie about possibly being asexual, not because it was something he should hide, but because he wasn’t terribly sure of it yet himself. He wasn’t ready, not the way Lizzie was and had been for some time. He needed to find his own time, his own way. “I think maybe you guys don’t even realize how much you do it, but it started to feel like I couldn’t ever come home or even talk to you on the phone without it coming up. It just got exhausting.”

  “Oh, Michael.” Rosie patted his knee. “We do that to all you kids. It doesn’t mean you have to get a girlfriend. It’s just that we want you to be happy, and so many of you are away from home. It breaks my heart to think you might be lonely.”

  “I know, Mom, but you never do it to Brian or Jack the way you do me, and maybe it’s because Brian has the business with Charlie and Jack’s got the Marines, but I’m doing stuff, too. I’m working and going to school and trying to make a life for myself, and it just feels like that’s not enough for you guys sometimes.” He shrugged. “So I asked Fiona to pretend to be my girlfriend for Christmas. I just thought if you guys thought I had someone like that, you’d drop it for once. Just once, you know?”

  Rosie glanced Fiona’s way. “Well, you must be a good friend to go to all that trouble.”

  “Oh, the best,” Fiona said with a smile, hoping it would land well. It did, drawing a chuckle from Rosie. “Except for the whole falling-for-his-sister part.”

  Lizzie bumped her shoulder. “Totally understandable.”

  “All my babies are beautiful,” Rosie said, and Fiona nodded.

  “Yes, they are.”

  Rosie clapped her hands to her knees and stood. “All right, kiddos. Let’s go. Time to face the music before the food sits too long.”

  “So, you’re okay, then?” Lizzie asked, drawing her back. “Mom?”

  “Okay? Of course. What do you mean?”

  “With me being gay.”

  Rosie shooed Fiona and Michael over so she could sit beside her daughter. She drew Lizzie to her side and held her close. “I’ll admit it’s not something I understand very well. You know, I didn’t grow up around people who were openly that way, and I was always taught it wasn’t right.” She patted the side of Lizzie’s head and kissed her hair. “But I figure it’s as simple as this: You’re my baby, and you finding love and being happy can’t be wrong, now can it? Hmm? Because that’s all I really want. That’s all I want for any of you, is for you to be happy and safe. That’s what matters. Understand? I’m going to be in your corner, always, no matter what.”

  Lizzie smiled, a genuine toothy smile that made her appear so much more like herself, like the Lizzie Fiona had come to know and care for. An airy, feel-good smile. She was free.

  Chapter 11

  “Are we ready for this?” Michael stood just outside the bedroom door, staring down the hall after his mother. “You know Mom going down first is only going to help so much. It’s still going to be awkward as hell.”

  “I think that’s an understatement,” Fiona said.

  “I think, maybe, I need a minute.”

  She looked up at Lizzie at the same time Michael did. He frowned. “You okay?”

  Lizzie stood between them, hands knotted together in front of her stomach. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, hollowing out one side of her face. “Yeah, I just, I need a minute.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay with you. You want me to stay with you?”

  “No, it’s fine, Mike. Go ahead. I’ll just take a minute then be down after you.”

  He turned toward Fiona, looking worried, so she encouraged him on. “She’s fine. I’ve got her. Go ahead. We’ll see you down there.”

  “Okay.” He moved to stand in front of his sister. One big hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her toward him until her cheek lay against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m just gonna be downstairs if you need me.” Over Lizzie’s head, he pinned Fiona with a hard, pleading stare. Fiona gave him a small smile. She’d heard him loud and clear. She would take care of Lizzie. And with that, Michael planted one more kiss on the top of Lizzie’s head and left.

  For a long moment after he was gone, Fiona and Lizzie didn’t stir. They remained stuck in their positions, Fiona on the bed and Lizzie standing in the middle of the room with her back to her. Fiona didn’t want to push or bother her. Lizzie had said she needed a minute, and Fiona didn’t want to deny her that, but she also wanted to make sure Lizzie was truly okay. Before she could ask, though, Lizzie finally shook up the stillness, crossing to the door and closing it, shutting them in together. She lay her forehead against the door, hand still poised on the doorknob.

  Fiona stood. “Lizzie?”

  All she heard in response was the click of the lock being pressed in. Then Lizzie turned, and something sparked inside Fiona. The look in Lizzie’s eyes was pure heat, unexpected, terrifying, thrilling. Her tongue darted out, slid along her bottom lip, and when she spoke, her voice rasped as if strained.

  “Come here.”

  Those two little words were a lasso, thrown with expert precision. They wrapped around Fiona and tugged, hard, nearly pulling her to her knees. She felt weak. “Are you okay?” She swallowed and forced her feet to remain rooted to the floor.

  “Come here.”

  “Maybe we should talk.”

  “Or we could not talk, and you could come here.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “Okay, fine.” Her shirt landed silently in a crumpled pile on the floor. “I’ll come to you then.” Gray bra on display again, she crossed the room in five short steps and reached for Fiona’s hands. She didn’t have an ounce of hesitation in her when she placed them directly on her barely covered breasts. “Do I need to be any more obvious?”

  Fiona stared at her hands covering Lizzie’s breasts. Her fingers spread of their own accord and squeezed, their natural reaction to the wonder that was a beautiful woman’s body. She didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. Her tongue had shriveled to a prune. Her throat was dry land and scorching heat. Her brain might have even short-circuited for a moment, because all she could do was stand and stare and squeeze.

  “Well, you’re squeezing them, so that’s a good sign.” Lizzie snapped her fingers in the small space between them. “Fiona.”

  The choked sound that escaped Fiona’s throat embarrassed her. She clamped her thighs together and looked up. “Huh?”

  “Is this the first time you’ve ever seen boobs? Because it gets better. Just wait. There are nipples in there and everything.”

  The humor shook Fiona out of her stupor, and she laughed. “Shut up.” She pulled her hands away. “Of course I’ve seen boobs before.”

  “Well, you seemed pretty mesmerized there for a second.”

  “I guess I just didn’t expect you to whip them out like that and, you know, hand them to me.”

  “Seems to work for guys. Figured I’d give it a try.”

  Fiona snorted. “Never take sexual cues from guys.”

  “Good point.”

  “But feel free to put my hands on your boobs any time you like.”

  “So, are we done, then? With the hesitation? Because I’m ready. If you’re ready, if you want to do this, I’m ready.”

  “Your entire family is downstairs waiting for us.”

  “I really don’t care.” She reached back and popped the clasp on her bra. It opened, and Fiona’s eyes shot straight down. She watched as Lizzie slid the straps off her arms and tossed the scrap of material to the side. Her p
lump, heavy breasts sat beautifully on display, large pink nipples standing at attention as if eager to be tended to. Lizzie was just as freckled under her clothes as she was everywhere else, and just as beautiful.

  “God, your body is amazing.”

  “Thank you.” Lizzie smiled, and despite having just boldly stripped her top bare, it was a shy smile, shyer than Fiona was used to seeing on her face. Still, she held her head high when she propped her hands on her hips and said, “I’d like to see yours, too.”

  Fiona was caught in that place between awkward and aroused. She was wet and wanting, could already feel her underwear sticking to her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she’d let herself go with Lizzie. Rosie’s stricken face, her standing in the open doorway. She glanced nervously past Lizzie to the closed door.

  “I locked it. Don’t worry.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Maybe you should check it.”

  “It’s locked, Fiona. Trust me.”

  “Have you ever done this before?”

  “What?” Lizzie moved closer and placed her hands on Fiona’s shoulders. They skirted down her arms then under to her sides. “Secretly had sex with a girl in my brother’s room while the rest of my family was downstairs?” Her fingers curled under the hem of Fiona’s sweatshirt and tank top and played across her stomach. Fiona closed her eyes and reveled in the touch, the way it made her itch with want. She trembled under each tickling, teasing dip of a finger beneath the waistband of her shorts. “Oddly enough, yes, I have.”

  Fiona’s eyes shot open. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, though it wasn’t Jack’s room. It was Charlie’s.”

  “I feel like I shouldn’t find that as hot as I do.”

  Lizzie laughed out loud, hooked a hand around the back of Fiona’s head, and jerked her in. The sound of her laugh vibrated against Fiona’s teeth as they came together in a hard, hilarious, wonderful kiss. It was playful and eager, messy, and the push-pull of it nearly knocked Fiona off her feet. She stumbled backward, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the bed, and caught herself with one hand on the mattress.