Kat
Cradling a glass of 1982 Château Margaux in her hand, Kat regarded the carnage of presents, gift boxes, wrapping paper, and ribbons under the tree. It looked as though a storm had passed through their living room.
Christmas. It was her favorite day of the year, mess and all.
She wandered over to the dining room and gave the dinner table a last look. She and the girls had set everything out earlier, including the red embroidered tablecloth and napkins that David’s grandparents had brought over from Hungary . . . the napkin ring holders that her mother had made out of antique silver spoons . . . and the nice china, the white-and-gold Wedgwood, which had been her and David’s wedding pattern.
She knew she had so much to be grateful for. Beau. Her incredible children. The restaurant. She remembered those terrible days after David had died, not knowing if she was going to be able to survive, to raise the girls on her own, to pay the bills. But somehow, she had created a new life for them all. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Some days, it was even great.
And on this day, it seemed downright amazing. The delicious smell of roast turkey wafted from the kitchen. Her favorite Christmas CD, by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, was playing on the iPod dock. The Château Margaux was sublime, from David’s personal collection of “special-occasion wine.”
Unfortunately, she was down to the last three bottles of it. She wondered what it would be like when she opened the very last one.
She felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes. She raised her glass in the air and whispered, “Merry Christmas, sweetie, wherever you are.”
“Mommmmmy! Coco threw up on my shooooooes!”
Bree ran into the dining room, looking so pretty and way older than her ten years in her formfitting red velvet dress and red lipstick. Bree had taken to calling Kat “Mommy” lately, which pleased her to no end. (Their real mother, Angie, who was spending the holidays in the French Alps with a twenty-one-year-old ski instructor, apparently insisted that her children call her by her first name.)
Kat turned away slightly so that Bree wouldn’t see her crying. “Where did you get that lipstick, young lady?” she demanded.
“Ky let me borrow hers. Mommy, my shoes! They’re gross!”
Kat took a peek. Bree was holding a pair of black wedges that were most definitely “gross,” covered with something resembling guacamole. Coco had probably been eating crayons again.
“Set them down, honey. I’ll get some paper towels,” Kat said with a sigh.
At that moment Benjy and Kyle ambled into the dining room arm in arm. Benjy was so handsome and grown-up looking in a navy-blue suit, white button-down, and gray tie (which Kat recognized as one of Beau’s). Kyle was more casual (if that was the right term?) in a black vintage tux, Sex Pistols T-shirt, and purple high-top sneakers. Kat started to tell her to go change; dressing up for the holiday dinner was a die-hard Romero (now Romero-LeBlanc) family tradition. She herself was in an emerald-green Dior that she wore only for the holidays.
But she willed herself to keep quiet. It was Christmas, after all, and she didn’t want to get into an argument. Besides, Kyle was dressed up, in her own weird, unique, Kyle sort of way. She’d even bothered to style her short auburn hair in curls and put on glittery makeup.
“When’s dinner?” Kyle said, grabbing an olive off the crudités plate.
“Soon. Kamille and Chase should be here any second. And your dad—I mean Beau—is getting changed. Where’s Kass?”
“She’s upstairs taking a nap,” Bree piped up. “Mommy, my shoes!”
A nap? In the middle of the day? Maybe the Christmas-morning excitement had been too much for her.
Tending to Bree’s shoes, Kat thought about Kass, about all her children. They were doing so well these days—no major crises or drama. Thank God. Kass was done with her semester, and she seemed much more cheerful lately, and much less stressed. Kat had overheard her talking on the phone with someone last week—an Eduardo?—and her voice had sounded so animated, so happy. Maybe a new boyfriend was responsible for her good mood?
As for Kamille . . . her modeling career was thriving. She was still dating Chase, whom Kat continued to have doubts about, although their relationship seemed to have waned in the media spotlight, which was progress. Kat secretly wished Kamille would break up with him and find someone less . . . controversial. But that would come in time. Kamille was young, and Kat predicted many, many boyfriends in her future.
As for the other kids . . . well, Kyle’s GPA was up to a 3.2, and Kat had gotten only a couple of calls from the school administration recently (versus the usual two, three times a week). Benjy and Bree were such good kids and so responsible and never caused Kat or Beau a moment of trouble. She wondered, not for the first time, how they had turned out so remarkably well with the globe-trotting, booze-swilling, man-eating Angie as their mother—correction, one of their mothers. What had Beau ever seen in her? She was certifiable. Of course, she also looked like Sofia Vergara.
Beau came downstairs just as Kat was finishing up cleaning the green dog vomit. He was wearing his traditional Christmas outfit: black tuxedo pants, black smoking jacket, and a red silk tie with a picture of Santa Claus on it.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out. “Smells incredible. Everyone here?”
“We’re just waiting on Kamille and Chase.”
“Wow, you look hot. Am I allowed to say in front of the kids—hot?”
Kat blushed. “Yes, you’re allowed.”
“Ew, you guys,” Kyle complained. She, Benjy, and Bree wandered into the living room and started hip-hop dancing to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
Kat went over to Beau and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Do you love me?” she whispered, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
Beau hugged her fiercely. “I’m crazy in love with you, you know that,” he whispered back.
“And you married that other woman, why?”
“Because you were already taken. ’Sides, I could ask you the same question. About David. But I won’t.”
Kat pulled away and stared into Beau’s eyes, which had become dark, inscrutable. This was a subject they never discussed.
Although maybe, one of these days, they should open one of David’s special-occasion bottles of wine and do just that?
“I love you,” Beau went on solemnly. “The day we got married was the happiest day of my life, right there next to when Benjamin and Brianna were born.”
“Really?”
“Really. Darlin’, what is it about Christmas Day that makes you feel so . . . fragile? Is that the word I’m looking for?”
That was exactly the word. Kat smiled slightly, marveling at how her husband always knew her better than she knew herself.
“I just love you so much, and I love our children so much,” she said passionately. “I just want us all to be happy and healthy and safe and . . . well, you know.”
“I know.”
“I only wish that—”
But she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Kamille pranced in, hanging on Chase’s arm. Kamille had on her faux-mink jacket over a long, slinky black gown and pearls. Chase, in a dark gray suit and tie, was GQ-gorgeous, as always. They both looked a little drunk.
“Guess what?” Kamille cried out. “Guess what guess what guess what?”
“What, doll?” Kat pulled away from Beau to greet Kamille and Chase.
Beaming, Kamille held out her left hand and wriggled her fingers. On the ring finger was a ring.
A diamond ring.
An enormous diamond ring.
For a moment Kat couldn’t breathe. Or speak.
And then she found her voice. “Oh . . . my . . . God!” she burst out. “Kamille, I don’t understand. How can you even think about—”
“Can I be a bridesmaid? Can I be a bridesmaid?” Bree cut in excitedly.
Kyle sauntered over and kissed Kamille on the cheek. “Congratulations or whatever. Just promise me you’re not gonna wear one of those puffy white princess dresses, ’kay?”
“Yeah, ’cause you’re the fashion expert in this house?” Benjy joked. “Congratulations, you guys!” he said to Kamille and Chase.
Chase grinned. “Thanks, man.”
Beau enfolded the two of them in a massive hug. “Wow! I am speechless! And that’s not something that happens to me often. Kat, honey, let’s break open some champagne! The expensive stuff. I think we should have the wedding in Dodger Stadium, don’t you? Just kidding, I promise I won’t be one of those parents who take over the wedding planning . . .”
“You’re getting married?”
Kat turned around. Kass was standing at the bottom of the stairs, pale as a ghost.
“Kass, you’re up,” Kat said, forcing a smile. “Dinner’s ready. How was your nap?”
But Kass didn’t reply. She was staring at Kamille with an expression Kat couldn’t even begin to translate. Shock? Anger? Confusion? In response, Kamille was giving Kass an incredulous “what the hell?” look. And Chase—well, Chase had dropped his gaze to the ground as though his black Prada loafers had suddenly become very, very interesting.
What was going on?
“Oooo-kay, so who’s gonna help me get the champagne?” Beau said loudly. He, too, seemed to sense the weird tension in the room.
“Me me me!” Bree said, jumping up and down.
“All right, pumpkin, as long as you promise not to drink it all.”
“Ha-ha, Daddy!”
Still in shock over Kamille’s news, and now doubly worried about Kass’s strange reaction, Kat just stood there frozen as Beau and Bree went to get the champagne . . . and Kyle and Benjy went to change the music . . . and Kamille and Chase went to help themselves to the Château Margaux. (Couldn’t they wait for the champagne?)
Which left just her and Kass in the front hall.
“Doll, you okay?” Kat asked her gently.
Kass wouldn’t look at her. “I’m fine. I, um, need to go upstairs and, um, make an important call. I’ll be down in a sec, okay?”
“Kass, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just start without me.”
“But—”
Kass didn’t wait for the rest of Kat’s sentence. She turned around and raced back up the stairs. A moment later, Kat heard a door slam shut.
And now Kat was alone.
So much for a drama-free Christmas.