Authors: Brandi Megan Granett
She swung into the driveway and almost rear-ended a station wagon. Bumper stickers covered the entire backside of the car. Miranda couldn’t imagine Avery being friends with anyone who wanted to Visualize Whirled Peas or vote for the Green Party. Maybe the housekeeper had a new car.
She walked through the front door, not knocking, though each time she returned here she felt more and more like she should knock. The blare of some television program from the den hit her; her father, almost deaf, was obviously watching some nature documentary.
“Avery,” she called out. “I’m home.”
The house smelled clean like every surface had just met a rag soaked in Lemon Pledge.
Avery strutted past on the balcony over the foyer, waving with one hand, cell phone clutched in the other.
With Avery indisposed, Miranda decided to rouse her dad from his television stupor. If he wasn’t at work, he liked to be in front of the television. Financial reports, sports programs, and the occasional crime drama. Typical stuff. Though once or twice, she and Avery had come home early and caught him watching Oprah. Sometimes when he gave her advice like, “you should always let the man call back first” or “never wear a short skirt on a first date,” Miranda and Avery would chide in unison, “Did you learn that on Oprah?” Her father’s rich olive skin would grow pink on the tops of his cheeks and nose, a trait of blushing that both he and Miranda shared.
“Dad,” she called out, loudly as she entered the den. Walnut bookshelves lined the room; an espresso leather sofa and plush easy chairs circled a massive, sixty-two inch flat screen, Stanton’s only request when Avery redecorated the last time. One room, he said, one room completely arranged to his likes instead of the whim of the latest designer. “A man cave,” she said. “How cliché.” But she told the designer to do it anyway. Though Avery may look every part the wicked, gold-digging stepmother, she had loved Stanton since the first time they had dinner together at a legal conference two years after Louise passed away. It didn’t help that Avery looked much younger than Stanton. For every bit of exercise he avoided, she did double, making their seven-year age difference appear to be fifteen or twenty. After she hit sixty, her hard work really began to show. Their mutual friends got soft in the middle, lost their ability to walk in heels, and started getting their hair cut in very short, manageable dos. Avery instead took up Pilates and started green juicing.
“Dad,” Miranda called out again, stepping down into the sunken room. The plush carpet mimicked walking on thick grass in a forest. She studied the big screen for a moment. A scene from some nature movie where the female penguin gives the male penguin the egg to keep warm played out in full high definition and Dolby sound. The sweeping views of the frozen world and James Earl Jones’ heartfelt commentary swallowed Miranda whole; mesmerized, the scene held her transfixed.
“Hello,” said a voice that was clearly not her father’s.
Miranda looked down. A short girl about six or seven with a chin-length brown bob sat on the chair, a bottle of Coke balanced between her knees. Her eyes were the most stunning shade of green. “Who are you?” the little girl asked.
“Hello,” Miranda said. “I’m Miranda. I live here. Well,used to. My parents live here.”
“I’m Lynn. They said you were coming soon.”
The screen changed to a scene where a polar bar is beaten back by a walrus. Lynn and Miranda turned in unison to stare at the screen. When the polar bear finally stalked off, leaving the walrus pups unharmed, they turned back to each other. “Is my dad around?” Miranda asked.
“Yeah, he’s outside with my dad. Golf.”
“Oh, golf. Your dad likes golf, too?”
“Just started. Right now he says he is trying to find his Zen with the clubs and just enjoys the walk. I think that means he sucks.”
Miranda smiled at this girl, liking her spark. “I just can’t get the hang of it. Does your mom golf, too?”
“I don’t know.”
“She hasn’t tried yet?”
“No, I don’t know. I don’t know her that well. She isn’t around.”
“Oh,” Miranda said, the sting of her own childhood hitting her. “I can understand that. My mom passed away when I was twelve.” She regretted saying this immediately. But before she could take it back, the girl spoke.
“I’m sorry,” Lynn said. “That’s really bad. My mom isn’t dead, though. Almost though I think, but I’m not supposed to know that.”
“Oh, oh—” Miranda said. She remembered the limbo of her mother’s illness and how hard they tried to hide it at first; her heart ached for this cute button of a girl.
“No, it’s okay. I just don’t know how you say it. It’s not like I don’t know who she is. It’s more like she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t come around. It’s just me and my dad.”
“Oh,” Miranda said, desperately wanting some other adult to stop this conversation. “Does your dad work with my dad?”
“I don’t think so. He said Grandma and Grandpa Cramer wanted us to come here. Something about family friends from way back.”
“Cramers? Your grandparents are the Cramers?”
“Yup, me, too. Lynn Louise Cramer.”
“Louise was my mother’s name. Your grandmother was my mom’s best friend.”
“Oh,” Lynn said, shooting a glance toward the door. Miranda could tell that now Lynn clearly wanted someone to jump in on this conversation, too.
They both heard the back door close and the stamping of feet to warm up.
Stanton’s voice boomed out. “I’m just going upstairs to check on Avery and see when Miranda is due.”
“Sure, sure,” the other man said. “I’ll go watch more nature with Lynn.”
The light from the rest of the house framed him as he entered the darkened den.
“Scott,” she said, pulling herself up straighter.
“Hey,” he said. “They said you would be here later.”
“It’s been a long time,” she said. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands to encompass the whole of the room. Lynn didn’t notice; she turned back to her video. Butterflies migrated and filled the screen. A soft music to echo what their wings would sound like filled the room.
Miranda hopped up the two stairs to exit the den, but Scott still stood in the doorway. She moved to the left to get past him, just as he moved to his right. They collided. She could smell his cologne, still Old Spice of all things. Neither moved for a very long minute.
“Ah,” he gasped. “I can explain.”
“Explain, really? I don’t think that is even possible,” she said, ducking under his arm.
Grabbing her bag from the hallway, she took the stairs to the second floor two at a time and quickly shut the door to her room behind her.
She barely thought Scott would actually show up, and she never expected he would show up early. With a kid. His kid. A kid who didn’t have a mother. Or did. But didn’t. Miranda shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had wanted him to call her for so long only to find out that he was off starting a family of his own and cutting them all out. Cutting her out. In what universe was that even possible? And what on earth was she supposed to say now? She thought about all her childish fantasies. She cringed, remembering all the times she had imagined him coming back after that night and kissing her again and how many nights she had stayed in, hoping that it would be the night he finally returned her calls. She burned now with both embarrassment and rage. She could have accepted him walking away from his parents, from the Wall Street job, and the life they had always planned for him. It made sense; people rejected their parents’ values and joined communes or the Peace Corp. But to run off and start a family? Why did any of them need to be cut out of that part of his life? It didn’t make sense. This required answers, but she didn’t want them from him; she didn’t want anything else from him ever again if she could help it.
She found Avery in the kitchen reading the housekeeper’s directions for how to reheat the Thanksgiving dinner that lay spread about the kitchen covered in foil.
A stray blonde hair fell from Avery’s bun at the nape of her neck. Miranda reached over and tucked it back behind her stepmother’s ear.
Avery leaned over and kissed Miranda’s cheek. “I’m glad you came. Did you meet Lynn? Isn’t she just divine? Quite the surprise, but a lovely one!”
“You’re taking this very well.”
“How else can you take it? Look at that girl! Don’t tell me she doesn’t make you melt.”
“Sure, she’s a cute kid. But what on earth is going on here?”
“Dear, it’s Thanksgiving, you know that. We’re celebrating like we always do.”
“No, it’s like we used to, only plus one. I thought Bunny and Linden didn’t know anyone named Scott. I used to think I did, but I was told not to ask about him anymore.”d
“It was a very hard time for everyone. You can understand that.”
“No, Avery, I can’t. All you said was some trouble with a girl. And I’m sorry, but that little girl doesn’t look like trouble. You just said so yourself.”
Avery sighed. “Please don’t be difficult. I have a hard enough time keeping up with Bunny’s mood swings through all this. Something changed, and they patched it all up; it’s not polite to probe. Bunny asked me to invite them. And I’m glad she did. I missed him, too.”
“Seriously? We are just going to pretend the last six years didn’t happen.”
Avery put down the directions and looked up at Miranda. “Surely, you can’t hold a grudge? There’s obviously more to this story than we know.”
“I can. He was my best friend.”
“He still can be. Sometimes you have to forgive.”
“Was he married?”
“I don’t think so. Bunny and Linden don’t really talk about it. You’ve witnessed that first hand; it’s no different for me, either.”
Stanton’s booming voice filtered in from the foyer.
“Avery,” he called.
“In the kitchen,” Avery called back.
“Avery, I sure did witness it, but that didn’t make it any easier. How can he just show up like nothing happened?” “I thought you emailed her about this,” Stanton said.
“I told her he was coming.”
“Miranda, dear, you knew he would be here. Why the fuss?”
Before Miranda could roar back, “why the fuss,” a crashing sound came from the den. Avery rushed to the hall. “Is everyone and everything okay?” she asked.
“It’s okay,” Scott called out. “We’re playing Jenga. Come play, too.”
Avery returned to the kitchen. “That is not my cup of tea. Speaking of which, Stanton, would you like one? Miranda?”
“I believe I will, dear, and I will stay in the kitchen. Miranda, you go play with them. I can’t fathom any game that makes a sound loud enough that I can hear it.”
Miranda looked at them. “Are you serious?”
“Come on, Randa Panda,” Scott called out from the family room. “It’s only a game.”
Randa Panda. She thought it wouldn’t still feel like this. Like a helium balloon in the place of her stomach, lifting her feet off the ground. She wanted to be angry. Gnashing teeth and sharp words. Or even better, calculated silence and pointed stares. Instead, she felt sixteen again.
“Miranda, I understand you might have feelings about this,” Stanton said. “But we should set those aside to enjoy the holiday. This isn’t open for discussion. Please be a good host.”
Lynn and Scott sat side by side on the floor beside the leather ottoman under the giant television screen. Instead of scenes of butterflies or battling polar bears, college football players ran back and forth. They balanced the Jenga tiles on the teak serving tray that turned the ottoman into a coffee table of sorts. With all the lights on, the den gelled seamlessly with the warm butters and creams of the rest of the house. It was like being inside a carton of caramel swirl ice cream. And Scott and Lynn only completed the tableau.
Lynn leaned over and pulled out a particularly difficult piece from the side near the bottom of the tower. It wobbled slightly but did not fall.
“Whoa, I don’t want to go next,” Scott said. “Randa, you do it.”
“Randa Panda, go on,” Lynn said.
He didn’t deserve to call her Randa Panda any more, and it certainly wasn’t right to use Lynn to smooth things over.
Then Lynn erupted in a fit of giggles. She burrowed her head against Scott’s chest to stifle them.
“What’s so funny?” Scott asked her.
“Miranda doesn’t look like a panda at all,” Lynn finally announced after catching her breath. “But I like the way it rhymes. Like a poem.”
Miranda felt some of the melting Avery mentioned. “Okay, I’ll play,” Miranda said. She took a deep breath but didn’t move right away.
“Come on, then,” Scott said. He locked eyes with her and then turned away.
She took a seat on the opposite side of the ottoman, placing herself in front of Lynn. “So, Lynn, what happens when the tower falls? Do you have anything riding on this game?”
“Riding?” Lynn asked.
“Any wagers or bets.” Miranda said.
“Oh, like Daddy and the Gators. He has big money on them tomorrow.”
“Oh, sugar, you aren’t supposed to mention that,” Scott said.
“Mention what?” Miranda asked.
“Daddy’s gambling problem,” Lynn said in a serious voice before breaking out into more laughter.
“I guess some things never change. Has he told you about the marshmallow eating bet?” Miranda reached over and pulled out the block opposite the one Lynn just took. The tower now hinged on a single brick, but it did not fall.
“Marshmallow bet?” Lynn asked.
“Yup, your dad wagered my cousin that he could put more marshmallows in his mouth at one time without swallowing them.”
“But how do you know if he didn’t swallow them?”
“Count them! I counted them going in and then again as he spit them out.”
Scott surveyed the Jenga tower very carefully. His hand hovered over piece after piece, backing away from each choice after a few moments.
“You did that?”
“Gross, huh?”
“No, cool! Do you think Mrs. Avery has any marshmallows?”
Scott finally settled on a piece. The tower gave way before he could get the block free. Blocks flew everywhere.
“Loser buys the marshmallows,” Lynn and Miranda said at the same time.
“Jinx,” Lynn said to Miranda.