We Are All Made of Molecules (18 page)

I LOVE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. I
mean, I really, really,
really
love Christmas holidays. It's the best time of the year. What's
not
to like? No school for two whole weeks; sleeping in; the hustle and bustle of downtown, all the beautiful lights; even the Christmas music! I could listen to “A Holly Jolly Christmas” twenty million times in a row and never get sick of it. There are also our Christmas traditions: Mom and I always spend a day shopping downtown, and we always have high tea at the Hotel Vancouver, and I let myself eat all the little sandwiches and cakes, and I don't even care if I bloat.

And I'd be totally one hundred percent lying if I didn't admit that I also love the presents! I love buying them for
other people; I put
a lot
of thought into it. But mostly I love opening them! Anyone who says “It's better to give than to receive” is just trying to look good. Receiving is way more fun.

Of course, Dad's newly discovered gaiety put a damper on last Christmas. Mom insisted we invite him for dinner, and even though he gave me some amazing, spot-on gifts, I was determined not to say a word to him, so it made for a long, awkward evening.

This year, Christmas Day will be even worse. Not only will it be our first Christmas with Lenny and Squiggy, but it will also be our first Christmas with Dad
and
his boyfriend. Yes, that's right: Mom has invited Michael to come to dinner, too.

I know that on the very first Christmas a cruel king forced people like Mary and Joseph to travel a long way on a donkey just to pay taxes. And I know that there was no room at the inn, and poor Mary had to have her baby in a stable full of pigs and goats and chickens. But on the bright side, they got a famous kid out of it, right?
My
Christmas Day won't have a bright side.

Still, there's a lot of Christmas holiday that isn't Christmas Day, and when the bell rang on the last day of school, I felt pretty excited and also relieved. We'd received our report cards the week before, and I only had two As, one in home economics and one in phys ed. Every other course was a C or a D. English was marked “incomplete” because I still owed Mrs. Donnelly a new essay on
To Kill a Mockingbird
.

For the first few days of break, I mostly slept in and used
my sewing machine to update some of my clothes. It's amazing what changing a hemline or a neckline can do to recharge your wardrobe.

Mom and I had our downtown day, just the two of us. I got the most brilliant gifts for everyone: a pair of burgundy leather gloves for Mom; a basic black sweater for Leonard; a purple pocket square for my dad, which will look spectacular with not just one but two of his suits; and some silver hoop earrings for Lauren. After high tea, Mom reminded me I still had to get something for Stewart.

“Do I have to?”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

In the end, I got him a book. It's called
How to Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting to Kill You
. I figured he'd get a kick out of it.

I also got Jared a gift, even though I wasn't totally sure where we stood. Since he'd slipped the rose into my locker, we'd hardly had any one-on-one time 'cause he'd had so many basketball tournaments and practices.

Then, on Monday—the day after Mom and I had gone shopping—the doorbell rang. I answered it in my Lululemon pants and top, straight from doing yoga with Mom.

Jared stood on the doorstep, holding a bouquet of flowers. “They're beautiful,” I said, reaching for them.

“They're not for you. They're for your mom. This,” he said, taking a jewelry box from behind his back, “is for you.”

Mom was so impressed with the flowers that she let us go to my bedroom to do a gift exchange, as long as we kept the door open.

We perched on my bed. I gave him his gift first: a dark
gray wool scarf speckled with tiny flecks of white like snowflakes and a matching hat, from Topman. They looked fantastic on him, which I, of course, knew they would.

Next I opened the carefully wrapped jewelry box. Inside was a silver necklace with two intertwined hearts. I felt totally one hundred percent overwhelmed with emotion. “Jared, it's beautiful.”

“Let me put it on for you.” While I held my hair back, he did up the clasp. Then he kissed my neck. It gave me tingles all over.

I knew what this necklace meant. It meant that we were now officially exclusive. Or, as my mom would say, using one of her quaint expressions from the Olden Days: We were
going steady
.

“My folks are taking me to Whistler over Christmas. But I'll be home by New Year's Eve…. Can we get together then?”

“For sure.”

Jared and I kissed for a long time after that, and it felt so good. Any lingering doubts I had about him disappeared. All I kept thinking was
I am in love, I am in love, I am in love
.

Oh, and also,
Our children will be so gorgeous!

Christmas Day arrived, and I got up at seven a.m. because I can never, ever sleep in on Christmas. Stewart was already in the family room; he'd been up since six. “I spent an hour under my mom's afghan, with Schrödinger,” he told me. “Just thinking about her and telling her I love her, and singing her a couple of her favorite Christmas carols.”

“You're weird,” I said, but not in a harsh way.

Lenny and Mom were still sleeping, so Stewart and I
checked out the presents under the trees (they had split them evenly between his ugly, fake tree with the hideous ornaments and our gorgeous Douglas fir, which smelled heavenly and was decorated in white and gold). I think Stewart enjoys Christmas as much as I do because he didn't bat an eye when I started picking up boxes with my name on them and shaking them; in fact, he sat down beside me and joined in.

Finally, at eight-fifty, we started blasting Christmas music so Mom and Len would get up. Mom made us have breakfast first. She made a delicious baked egg dish, which took
forever
. Finally, by ten-thirty, we were all in the living room in our pajamas, opening presents. Naturally, everyone loved mine.

I got a good haul, too. Leonard got me a subscription to
Vogue
magazine. I have to admit, that was pretty cool. My mom gave me some clothes, with the gift receipts enclosed in case I wanted to exchange anything (I will exchange everything). Stewart gave me a pair of cat slippers that were surprisingly cute. I'd already slipped them onto my bare feet when he said, “I bought them at the thrift store on Main Street.”

I shrieked and pulled my feet out. “They're used??”

“Only gently.”

“Ewwwwwww!”

“Ashley, for heaven's sake. We can throw them in the washing machine if it'll make you feel better,” my mom said.

Lenny got my mom a romantic getaway, just the two of them, at a fancy spa on Vancouver Island over New Year's. Mom got all misty-eyed and kissed him on the lips, right in
front of us. I'm pretty sure there was even some tongue action. Stewart and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

“How long will you be away?” Stewart asked.

“Just two nights,” Leonard said. Then he added, his gaze on Stewart, “Is it okay with you?”

“Of course it's okay with him,” I said.

But Leonard just kept gazing at Stewart, waiting for his response. “It's fine,” said Stewart. “But who's going to look after us?”

“We don't need anyone to look after us,” I replied.

“Home alone over New Year's? I don't think so,” Mom said. “I'll ask your dad to come over.”

Speaking of Dad: At five p.m. on the dot, he arrived with Michael. Having Dad over on his own was less weird now; since Stewart forced that first dinner on us, we'd made it a weekly thing. Once I even let him take me downtown, but only because he promised to buy me a pair of J Brand jeans on sale.

Having his boyfriend over was a whole other matter. It's one thing to try to accept your dad's gaiety in theory; it's another thing to have to see it in action.

I will say that, much like his choices in clothing, shoes, hairstyle, and interior design, my father has impeccable taste in men. Michael is beautiful; younger than my dad but by just a few years, with flawless skin. When I answered the door, Michael was wearing a pair of navy dress pants with a pink V-neck sweater over a plain white dress shirt. For a moment I wondered if the pink was making a statement, but then I thought,
No, he just knows that color looks really good with his skin tone
. I was about to tell him that, but thought
better of it. I didn't want to mislead them into thinking I was cool with this. I was determined to be a bitch all evening.

But then Michael totally ruined my plan by being awesome.

What a one hundred percent total jerk.

SOMETIME IN THE LATE
eighteen hundreds, a Russian physiologist named Ivan Pavlov figured out that if he always rang a bell before giving his dog food, the dog would start to salivate
at the sound of the bell
—it became a conditioned response.

Watching Ashley with Phil's boyfriend was kind of like witnessing a unique version of the Pavlovian response. She so wanted to hate him, but everything he said to her was like another little ring of Pavlov's bell. She couldn't help but salivate.

We were all a bit nervous having Michael over for the first time. My dad talked in a loud voice, like we were all partially deaf, which is a thing he does when he feels anxious. And I noticed Caroline giggled nervously a lot for the
first hour. Even though Michael behaved like everything was hunky-dory, I am pretty sure he was more uneasy than any of us because when I shook his hand at the door, it was moist, and I had to discreetly wipe my palm on my jeans afterward.

But Michael was so easy to talk to that everyone settled into a groove after a while. The best part by far, though, was watching Ashley.

First, there were her presents: a fashion sketch pad and professional pencils from Phil, and a skirt from Michael. “It's a Desigual,” Michael told her. “I got it at their flagship store in Madrid.”

Ashley couldn't help herself. “I love Desigual,” she blurted. Then she immediately tried to cover. “I mean—it's okay.”

Caroline grinned at Michael. “You did a much better job than I did. She's exchanging all the clothes I gave her.”

Later, over a delicious dinner of turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, carrots, and brussels sprouts, Ashley took a pass on the potatoes—and so did Michael. He caught her eye and smiled. “Low-carbing?”

“Yes!” Ashley exclaimed. “I keep trying to convince my mom to try it, even just a watered-down version, 'cause it would totally get rid of her muffin top.”

“Leave my muffin top out of the conversation, thank you very much,” Caroline said.

“I happen to love your mom's muffin top,” said Dad.

“And I love carbs,” I added.

Ashley sighed. “See what I have to live with?”

Michael smiled. “Your dad's no better. You love your
pasta, don't you, Phil?” he said, turning to Phil and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

For a fraction of a second, everything grew quiet. Phil turned beet red; Ashley stuffed a brussels sprout into her mouth. Then Caroline, sitting on the other side of Phil, gave her ex-husband a kiss on his
other
cheek. “I just wanted to say: I'm so happy to see
you
so happy.”

Phil's eyes got really watery, and I wondered if he might be allergic to Schrödinger, who was lying under the table hoping for turkey scraps. He raised his glass of wine and said, “And I'm so happy to see
you
so happy.” We all clinked glasses and drank.

Except for Ashley. She just stared at her plate. Michael cleared his throat and said, “Ashley, I have an upcoming event you might be interested in.” She didn't look up. “Twice a year I have a private sale of top-of-the-line clothes I've bought for various films and commercials, and also things I've designed myself. We're talking stuff that some of your favorite actresses have worn. And you're so tiny…you'd fit into
a lot
of it.”

Ashley's version of Pavlov's bell was madly ringing, I just knew it. She couldn't stop herself from salivating. I counted the seconds.
One, two
—

Bing!
She looked up.

“In fact,” Michael continued, looking at Phil, “maybe we could get your dad to bring you down for a sneak preview. You can set aside the stuff you want before I open it up to anyone else. I can cut you an amazing deal.”

It was truly pleasurable, watching Ashley's face at that
moment. Her eyes lit up; then, realizing she looked happy, she tried to frown; then, realizing she really, really wanted this opportunity, she settled for a look that she hoped was somewhere in between, but actually made her look like she was straining to fart. “I guess that would be okay,” she said.

I think it finally dawned on her that trying to hate Michael was a fool's game, so she picked up her knife and fork and finished her dinner. She ate pumpkin pie, too, even though it contains carbs.

All in all, it was a very nice Christmas. Certainly much nicer than our last two, which stank. When we were done eating, Phil brought out a bag of Christmas-themed fortune cookies that a client had given him. We took turns reading our fortunes out loud.

Ashley's said,
Ho-ho-ho! Do not fear what you do not know
. It seemed highly appropriate.

Mine said,
Merry Christmas to you! Your greatest wish will come true
. And I thought that my greatest wish already
was
coming true: we were starting to feel like a family.

It was a great Christmas holiday.

Until it wasn't.