“Okay, I know why we’re here,” Tom says, taking the exit that leads to our parents’ house. “But why would you do this to yourself, CiCi?”
“On purpose, even,” I add.
She shrugs beside me in the back of Tom’s rental car. “My folks are going to Italy for a romantic vacation Thanksgiving this year. Plus I’d never miss a chance to see Mama Montgomery in her natural habitat.”
“Oh god,” I say. “I didn’t see you before you put your coat on. What shirt are you wearing?”
She grins, and I half expect canary feathers to fall out of her mouth. “It’s a surprise.”
We all start laughing. “The holiday is definitely looking up,” Trina says.
Pulling onto my parents’ street, all my customary childlike panic comes flooding back. “I hate that no matter how old I get, every time we come back here, I get this feeling of dread, like she’s going to retroactively ground me for breaking curfew in high school.”
“I don’t know,” CiCi says thoughtfully. “Maybe it won’t suck as much this year.”
I turn to her and glare. “You have a penis on your shirt, don’t you? A giant rhinestone penis.”
“If she has this car towed, you’re paying the fee,” Tom mutters as he slides into a spot on the crowded street. It looks like we must be some of the last to arrive.
“If it gets towed over a rhinestone penis, I’d be willing to chip in for that,” Trina says.
We’re all giggling like children as we gather the stuff we’ve brought—a host of store-bought pies and breads put into our own dishes to make it look like any of us has an iota of the skill required to make such things.
“You know she’s going to be pissed we’re all staying at a hotel, right?” I grumble as we make our way up the sidewalk. “We should have warned her.”
“Like she wouldn’t have called every hotel within a two-hour radius and canceled the reservations,” Tom argues.
“And it’s a great hotel!” CiCi adds as we hit the porch.
“I really wish you’d let us pay for the rooms, CiCi,” I whine. “It’s too expensive. I start my new job in a few weeks, so it’s not like I need the charity anymore.”
She reaches over and pats my head. “Trust fund, cupcake. Plus, I had points, so it was practically nothing.”
Without speaking, we all take a deep breath in unison, and Tom rings the bell.
“We could just go in,” CiCi says with a laugh.
Tom and I look at her like she’s lost it.
Then the door opens, and there’s Mom. “Hi, everyone! You’re late!”
I drop my head. “Nice to see you, Mom.”
She ushers us all inside, and my dad comes in to relieve us of our Thanksgiving offerings. “Hey, Dad!” I say, giving him a big hug. I haven’t seen Dad in a few months, and his hair is noticeably thinner, but still the same dark brown that genetics passed on to me and Tom. We both got the hazel part of our greenzel eyes from Dad, too.
“Hi, Bug,” he says, managing the hug despite the parcels. “Son!” More hugs to Tom, Trina, and CiCi.
“May I take your coats?” Mom asks, in full hostess mode.
Those of us who rode with CiCi all turn to stare at her as she unbuttons.
With a perfect smirk, she peels off her coat and reveals a low-cut black tank top with big glittering letters that say, MY IDEAL WEIGHT IS CHRIS EVANS ON TOP OF ME.
Tom, Trina, and I can’t help it. We snicker as my mom purses her lips and scowls.
“So nice to see you again, Mama Montgomery,” CiCi says and hands over her coat, all smiles.
Mom turns on her heel and goes to tuck the coats away. I put my arm around CiCi’s shoulders and whisper, “I fucking love you so much right now.”
She wraps her arm around my waist and leads me toward the living room. “Remember that feeling in three...two...one...”
I turn to her, confused. Tom and Trina are walking in front of us and stop dead in their tracks with a loud gasp, and I slam into them.
“Uh, your brake lights are out, guys.”
Tom reaches around and grabs me by the arm, yanking me into the living room.
Standing by the coffee table, surrounded by my uncle Jack and aunt Susan and a dozen or so cousins, is what is obviously a hallucination.
“Hello, Clara,” says Caspian Tiddleswich.
Cl-AHR-a
I blink. I blink harder.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish, the ability to form words completely lost.
I also appear to have forgotten how to breathe.
CiCi slams a hand between my shoulder blades, and I suck in air.
“What...what are you doing here?” I manage to squeak.
“I invited him, remember?” Mom says, pushing past us into the kitchen.
“I—I do, but I didn’t... I mean, I never...”
“You never told him?” she says with a smile. “I know, dear. Who taught you to behave so rudely, I’ll never know.”
I look at CiCi desperately. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now. Am I dying? I feel like I’m dying.”
CiCi smiles beatifically at the room, takes my hand, and says, “Excuse us. Clara and I need a minute to freshen up after the car ride.”
I’m glad she keeps hold of me and pulls me along down the hall, because I have no control over my legs anymore. She shoves me into the half bath and shuts the door behind us, wisely locking it.
“What’s happening?” I gasp, dropping my head down to my knees and trying to breathe.
“Remember how you said you love me?”
I whip up so fast I almost fall over. “What did you do?”
CiCi looks very pleased with herself. “Do you also remember how you said that if there was going to be a grand gesture, it should be him doing the gesturing?”
“What did you DO?”
“I sent him a text and asked for his email address and maybe implied it was for you and then I gave it to your mom.”
“CiCi!”
“Well, I didn’t want to give her his phone number. I didn’t want to kill the poor guy.”
“I’m going to kill you!”
“Totally worth it,” she says with a grin. “All right, so, the facts are, he was pestered to death by your mother to come here, a few thousand miles out of his way, and he showed up. He showed up, because seeing you and talking to you is that important to him. Because feelings.”
“You’re cracked!”
“Yes, I am,” she says, looking way too pleased with herself. “And I also told him Mama Montgomery changed the schedule, and it started two hours ago, which means he’s been here this whole time alone with your parents, and he hasn’t run away screaming.”
“Okay, so he’s cracked.”
“If he wasn’t before, he is now.” She nods. “But put all that together, and this is the picture of a man who really, really wants to try to make things up to you. Now, if you hear what he has to say and you still want to tell him to fuck off, then I support you 100 percent, and we will spend the rest of our days having a good laugh over the well-earned payback he’s currently suffering through.
“But if you can manage not to kill him, and realize that possibly a big motivator for you refusing to hear him out at all was because you didn’t want to admit to having the gooey feelings for him and getting your heart broken when he left town—well, I’d say the fact that he’s willing to put up with your mother and come all of this way just to see you is a pretty solid indicator he’s not going to fly off into the sunset unless you want him to.”
“Oh my god,” I hiss, “I feel like you should be twirling a spindly little mustache or something.”
“Definitely. But you’ve been miserable since he left, cupcake. Like, peel-off-the-floor sad. And I know you think you’re doing a bang-up job of hiding that, but like I said before, you’re a shitty actress. You dig him, he digs you, and if you’re too stubborn to do something to mutually express the digging, or at the very least get some closure from the situation, then it’s my job as your best friend to do what needs doing.” She reaches out and opens the bathroom door. “Oh, and he’s staying at our hotel, which is why I picked it. So, good luck, and remember you loved me three minutes ago!”
“CiCi!” I shriek after her, but she’s already gone.
I wonder if I stayed locked in here for the rest of the day, would anyone notice?
Who am I kidding? I figure I have maybe sixty seconds until my mom takes a nail file to the doorknob.
All right. Okay. This is all fine. I’ve got all of dinner to get through before I have to decide what I’m going to do. I put my hands on the sink for support and take in as many deep breaths as I can while mentally counting down.
There’s a knock on the door. Son of a bitch, Mom.
“Clara, we have company.”
I look up at myself in the mirror and make an annoyed, incredulous face. I call out, “Yes, Mom, I am aware. I am part of that company.”
“Well, if you’re aware, it makes it all the more disrespectful for you to stay hidden in there, doesn’t it?”
I need to get really drunk, really fast.
I sigh and head back out. Mom is still standing by the bathroom door, arms crossed. “I’m here, I’m going, god,” I mutter and walk past her.
Back in the living room, I still have trouble comprehending what I’m seeing. Caspian stands out like he’s actively on fire. He looks so shiny and out of place.
Huh. Maybe he does have the full Anthony Hopkins sheen after all.
He’s staring directly at me, I assume waiting for some acknowledgment of his presence that isn’t hyperventilating.
I raise my eyebrows and give him a small smile while stiffly swinging my arms at my sides.
“Excuse me, please,” he says to the gaggle of my family surrounding him, and carefully extricates himself to walk over to me. “Hello.”
“Uh. Hi.”
Smooth.
I feel horribly on display. Everyone is gawking at the pair of us, and I want to crawl out of my skin.
He leans in slightly and whispers, “I know this is unfair, and I’m sorry. If you want me to go, I’ll tell everyone something came up and leave immediately. I just... I needed to see you.”
I nervously slide my foot over the carpet. “You really must have, to come here willingly. I only showed up because Mom would have sent a strike team to get me if I hadn’t.” I look up at him, and he’s got a half smile going. “Have you really been here for two hours already?”
Caspian nods. “I really have. Credit where credit’s due to CiCi for that one.”
“Crafty little minx, she is.”
“Indeed.” He looks nervous, and in a way that has nothing to do with being surrounded by the bulk of my immediate and extended family. “Do you want me to leave? No hard feelings whatsoever if you do.”
I press my lips together and try to look very interested in the ancient painting of peonies in a vase hanging on the wall beside us. “I guess it’s okay if you stay.”
“You’re sure?”
I look up again and feel a bit annoyed at the flip in my stomach. “I’m sure. But you realize, the tables have kind of turned here.”
He seems confused. “How so?”
“Now you have to pretend to be the boyfriend. And this isn’t for some gross gossip magazine. This is for my family. You’d better sell that shit.”
He tries to hide it, but he chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, it’s going to take more than that. My mom is like a dog that can smell fear, but put her in a room with the rest of her family, and you’ve got a wolf-pack situation on your hands.”
“I see,” he says, still smiling. “Same parameters?”
“Ahh, the hand-holding and whatnot,” I say with mock seriousness. I try to weigh the potential damage I’ll do to myself if I spend the night back in this place with him versus having my mom shout across the table demanding to know why we aren’t holding hands over the cranberry sauce, and decide I can take the personal hit if it’s coming. “Yeah, sure. Same parameters.”
He tries to keep his tone light, but his eyes look a little pained when he softly asks, “Would you punch me?”
My stomach flips again, and I am so not ready to have this conversation while standing by watercolor peonies in front of my entire family. “I don’t know yet, but Mama Montgomery definitely would.”
I take him by the hand and lead him into the fray, and he quietly says, “Duly noted.”