Authors: Sheila Roberts
“She’s not uptight,” Keira said before I could formulate the perfect reply. “She’s probably bored. She’s used to eating at Sardi’s.” The way she said it made eating at Sardi’s sound like a crime.
Gabe cocked his head. “Is that it? Is it boring here?”
“With my family? You’ve got to be kidding.” But there were different kinds of excitement, and I preferred New York’s with its fabulous nightlife and unlimited opportunity.
“We’re not so bad,” Keira said.
“We’re certainly not boring,” I said diplomatically.
“Your family’s great,” Gabe said.
“Is that why you dated half of us?” I asked.
Keira disappeared behind her menu.
Gabe looked irritated, but he recovered quickly. “Rejected by two Hartwell women. Pretty sad.”
“To get rejected by somebody you have to first want them,” Keira said from behind her menu.
There was a cryptic remark. What did it mean?
Nobody explained. Instead, Keira announced, “I’m going to have the Hail Caesar Salad. What about you guys?”
“I guess I’ll have the Toss Your Tacos,” Gabe said. “It’s the only meat I’m going to get here.”
“You could have the Curried Clucker,” Keira suggested. “That’s got chicken.”
Gabe made a face. “Yeah, but it’s also got curry and green olives. And apples.”
I read down the menu: Leaf Me Alone, We Cantaloupe Fruit Lovers Salad, and the Berry Pleasing Northwest Mix, which was basically a tossed salad with blueberries and walnuts and a berry vinaigrette dressing. The soup names were just as bad. In the Spuds Potato Soup? Was that supposed to make me want to order? Whoever had come up with these names should have been drowned in Thousand Island Dressing. I mean, I like cute, but this wasn’t Disneyland. It was an upscale restaurant. Supposedly. I wondered who did their advertising.
And speaking of advertising.
No, don’t go there
.
Our waitress arrived, resplendent in black pants and a green polo shirt. She was wearing a white apron printed with vegetables and a cap on her head that I guessed was supposed to look like a tomato. Sadly, it looked more like the world’s largest Superball.
“We need to leave her a really big tip,” I said after she took our orders and hustled off.
Gabe raised both eyebrows. “She hasn’t even served us yet.”
“She deserves a reward just for being willing to wear that getup in public,” I said.
Gabe gave the woman an assessing look. “It’s not so bad.”
“Andie doesn’t like Mom’s jacket, either,” Keira explained.
“Well, who would?” I protested.
Gabe came to Mom’s defense. “It’s just in fun.”
I pointed a finger at him. “You should be offended. You’re a man.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a half-grin. “You noticed.”
I shook my head in disgust.
“She doesn’t mean anything by it,” Gabe said. “Anyway, it’s probably good therapy or something.”
“Or something,” I muttered.
Gabe changed the subject. “So Keira, which house did you like the best?”
“The first one. It’s got to be the first one.”
“It’s a great house,” he agreed. “And the value can only go up.”
Like Spencer’s blood pressure when he found out how much money his future wife was committing them to spending.
“I just have to convince Spencer it’s worth it. We may have to be DINKs for a while.”
Double Income, No Kids. I doubted Keira’s salary at The Coffee Break was large enough to make her and Spencer a double-income couple. How would you describe them? As an INK? An INK and a half?
And what was I? One Income, No Kids. Hmmm. That made me an OINK.
“Are you okay?” Keira asked suddenly.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
“You looked like you were in pain just now.”
“No pain here.” I was perfectly happy being an OINK.
My phone rang just as the waitress showed up with our salads: one Toss Your Tacos, One Hail Caesar, and one Curried Clucker.
“I hate it when people have to talk on their cell phones every minute of the day,” Keira grumbled.
I ignored her and answered it.
It was Iris. “Beryl’s meeting with the Nutri Bread people next Wednesday. She said to let you know.”
“Next Wednesday?” I had to have misheard.
“What’s next Wednesday?” Keira demanded.
I turned away from her, getting slapped by the Venus human trap plant in the process. “But Beryl knows I’m not going to be back until after New Year’s.” Which was, of course, why she’d done this. “What’s the meeting about?” Dumb question, of course. It was about Beryl holding center stage, hogging the glory and presenting our media strategy for the next five years
sans
me.
“So, should I tell her you won’t be able to make it back in time?” Iris asked.
I’d have done Christmas with the family by then. It was all I’d really committed to, anyway. I made a quick, decisive decision. The Carol fireworks would have to take place without me. I suffered a moment of guilt, knowing my family (well, mostly Mom and Grandma and Aunt Chloe) would be disappointed. But a career girl had to do what a career girl had to do. They’d simply have to accept that fact.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll tell her,” Iris said and hung up.
Good. This was working out perfectly. I wouldn’t miss the action at work and I’d make it back to New York in time to see the ball drop. And I’d have done my duty and had Christmas with my family.
Keira barged into my thoughts. “You’ll be where?”
“I’ve got a big meeting with the Nutri Bread people next week.”
“Next week! You’re supposed to stay through New Year’s.”
“Well, I’ll be here through Christmas.”
“But Spencer and I are having a party for you before the fireworks.”
That was my sister. She lived for parties.
“Everyone’s going to be there, and they’re all looking forward to seeing you.”
She made it sound like I was running out on her wedding. We needed to put this in perspective. “Who’s everyone?” I asked.
“Me, for one,” Gabe said.
“I’m already seeing you. Right now.”
“And doesn’t it make you want to see me more?”
I gave him a get-a-grip look and he shrugged and dug into his salad.
Keira was scowling at me. “I’d think being with your family for the first time in two years would rate higher than some dumb meeting about bread.”
I didn’t need a second mom for Christmas. “Not all of us are marrying a sugar daddy.” I was sorry the minute I said it.
“I love Spencer,” Keira said, stung.
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. And I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to plan this party. We’re having it at Spencer’s. And it’s catered.”
Oh, boy
.
“Mom’s not going to like this.”
I was barely home and we were already falling into old patterns. Keira should just as well have said, “I’m telling.” “Look. Let’s not spoil Christmas. Okay?” I pleaded. “And you can still have your New Year’s Eve party.”
“It won’t be the same without you.”
I suddenly remembered how Keira had always wanted me at her parties when we were kids and how she tried to horn in when my friends and I sprawled around my bedroom and talked about boys. She was my little sister, and she’d looked up to me.
And I loved her. So to prove it, I was escaping back to NYC as quickly as possible. I felt like a rat.
Until I remembered about my sister dating Gabe. Then I felt justified in ducking out on her party. Anyway, she hadn’t said anything about it until now, so it wasn’t like I was deliberately ditching her.
I pointed that out.
“I didn’t see any need to tell you since you were supposed to be here.”
“Well, I was planning on it.”
“And now you’re not.” She looked at me in disgust. “What if a big meeting comes up on my wedding day? Will you bug out on being my maid of honor?”
“I wouldn’t have a meeting on a weekend.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have a meeting during the holidays, either.”
“Hey, you two. The blood’s starting to splash everywhere and you’re ruining my appetite,” said Gabe.
Keira shut up and glared at her salad.
I stabbed a piece of Curried Clucker, then put it in my mouth and chomped down hard.
Are we having fun yet?
Chapter Six
Keira didn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon. I could live with that. Happily. What I didn’t want was for her to start talking when we got home. To Mom.
Thankfully, she didn’t rat me out when we got back. This was because Mom was having a teleshrink session with Dr. Phil and wouldn’t have heard the ratting.
Mom’s obsession with Dr. Phil. Now, there was an interesting phenomenon. I watched her staring at the TV while he counseled a couple in crisis and thought of that old saying about shutting the barn door after the horse was already gone. In Mom’s case it was more like shutting the garage door after the Jag had vroomed off.
So instead of tattling, my sister disappeared into the kitchen. Not a bad idea. My salad had long worn off. I wandered in for a sugar fix and opened the Tupperware container in search of a Christmas cookie. I stared in disbelief. Empty, bare, nada, zip. I looked up and saw my sister quickly stuffing the last frosted tree in her mouth.
“You ate the last one,” I accused.
“There’ll be more at the New Year’s Eve party,” she said, shooting crumbs at me. Then she made a so-there face.
I glared at her and pulled a mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Never mind. I’ll make more.”
She swallowed the last of her cookie. “I helped pay for that ticket, you know.”
“I’ll pay you back your share. With interest.”
Keira frowned and turned to go.
“Come on, Keir. Try to understand,” I pleaded.
“Oh, I already understand,” she said. “I understand more than you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
She shook her head, the picture of disgust, and left me with the empty Tupperware container.
Of course she couldn’t answer me. She had no idea what she was talking about. She was just trying to sound dramatic and mysterious. It was all those plays she’d done in high school. If she wasn’t so invaluable at the coffee shop, she could have become the next Julia Roberts.
I looked to where Mom sat in front of the TV. What was the big deal, anyway? I wasn’t leaving until after Christmas. And I’d told Mom I couldn’t stay more than a week. It wasn’t my fault she hadn’t listened. Nobody in my family listened. Ears were wasted on them.
Of course, I should have let my sister’s pettiness go. But I didn’t. Instead, I fumed as I flattened and cut dough, generating enough heat to bake cookies without the oven.
Dr. Phil finally finished giving Mom her daily dose of relationship advice, and she joined me in the kitchen just as I was taking a batch of Christmas trees from the oven. “More cookies?”
“Keira ate the last of the rolled ones.” I sounded whiny. Well, a little sugar would fix that. I stuck another sugar tree forest in the oven.
Mom didn’t ask if I wanted help. She just got out powdered sugar, butter, and milk and started making frosting. I watched as she dribbled in a couple drops of rose extract. Mom’s secret ingredient for great frosting. I remembered all the times as a kid when we had helped her frost cookies, piling on mountains of sprinkles, sampling so many trees and Santas that we buzzed for hours after.
She smiled at me over her shoulder. “Do you do much baking in New York?”
“No time.”
“You like to bake,” Mom reminded me.
“No, I like to eat what I bake.”
Mom grinned. “You’ve always been big into treats.” She reached out and patted my arm. “Speaking of, it’s a real treat to have you home.”
I almost felt a tiny Keira dancing up and down on my shoulder, screeching, “See? See? You need to stay.”
I gave her a mental swat and sent her flying. I didn’t need to stay. I was already staying through Christmas and that was enough.
“It was really sweet of you to buy the ticket,” I said.
“Your sister and brother chipped in. And Aunt Chloe. We all wanted to see you.”
“Remember, Mom, I told you I couldn’t stay all that long.”
Mom turned her attention back to the frosting bowl. “I know. But we figured it was the holidays, and you wouldn’t be all that busy. Anyway, who knows when you’ll make it home again.”
Probably not for another decade
. I was just working up my courage to explain about the important upcoming meeting at Image Makers when Aunt Chloe made her grand entrance.
“I’m here,” she announced, lumbering into the kitchen. She held a bulging bag. “Brought dinner from the deli,” she said, unloading imitation KFC. “Ooh, cookies,” she said and helped herself to one.
I sighed inwardly. Now that Aunt Chloe was here any chance of getting my fill of frosted trees was officially gone. Like my chance of breaking the news of my early departure to Mom.
I guess I could have told both her and Aunt Chloe right then and there in the kitchen that I would not be here come New Year’s, but they were both smiling, looking so pleased; with life, with me, with the cookies. It seemed a shame to spoil such a happy, not to mention normal, moment. I opened the deli bag and took out a chicken leg to munch, then tried not to feel like a cannibal as I bit into one of my own kind.
Cluck, cluck, cluck
.
“It’s way too quiet in here,” Aunt Chloe decided. “We need some Christmas music.” She flipped on the stereo in the living room to the local station and the voice of Burl Ives started to wish us a holly jolly Christmas. She turned around and held out both hands. I half expected her to take a bow. “There. How’s that?”
“It beats The Little Drummer Boy,’ ” Mom said as she slathered green frosting on a tree. “Barely.”
We had just finished frosting the cookies when Keira returned. I was sure her nose had led her. The kitchen smelled like a bakery early in the morning.
“Well, we’re all here,” said Aunt Chloe around a mouthful of chicken. “I guess we can eat.” As if we hadn’t been for the last ten minutes.
We settled down at the kitchen table with Aunt Chloe’s take out offering. I tried to enjoy the food, but dread that Keira would announce my early departure did bad things for my appetite.