At the Stroke of Midnight

by Ember Flint

  He gives me a close-mouthed, little smile, thumb and forefinger torturing his perennial five o’clock shadow.

  “I know that, Eve, but it’s still embarrassing that I didn’t see it coming. Also I didn’t want for my parents and hers to bear the brunt of the gossip, you know.”

  I grasp at the lapels of his long charcoal coat as if to strangle him. “Why do you have to be so damn level-headed all the time?!”

  His little smile grows. “It’s a curse I have to bear along with being stuck with you for life.”

  I pinch him on the neck, making him jump a little.

  He mock-glares at me, slapping my hand away.

  Okay, maybe we need to grow up a little, but we have always been like this and it’s too difficult to change now; I love goofing around with him.

  “What did she want from you?” he asks, serious again.

  I roll my eyes. “She wanted to know which color I would wear tomorrow.”

  Seth chuckles.

  “She also called me round, unfashionably tall amongst other things and gave me a Marie Antoinette’s let-them-eat-cake-like speech about my volunteering.”

  Seth glowers looking in front of him, his lips pursed. “She is such a selfish, pretentious bitch!”

  I laugh. “Don’t I know it! You really pick them well, dahling.”

  Seth turns to the side and gestures between us: “Pot, kettle.”

  I sit back, looking to the side and out the window at the swirling snow and the unending streams of taxis around us.

  “Why do our love lives suck so much, Seth?” I ask, only half-joking.

  He reaches out to squeeze my arm. “Because desolation is the first step in the making of true romantic heroes?”

  I laugh bitterly. “Tragic heroes, you mean, but I don’t want to be tragic, Seth: I want to be happy.”

  He tilts his head and looks down at me. “You will be one day. You just have to be patient. We both have to be.”

  I snort. “With me beeping only on the radars of jerks and you only attracting praying mantis types, we’ll have to be patient for a long time I’m afraid.”

  He playfully slaps my forehead. “Snap out of it, Eve. One conversation with Gillian and you turn into this doom and gloom creature? Does this mean I have to be the funny one now?”

  I giggle. “I would like to see you try.”

  He nods thoughtfully. “Well, yours would surely be big shoes to fill for most with you being this unfashionably tall, but not for me.”

  “Ah, ah. Not bad.”

  He slides down a little, his long legs cramped even in the considerable space left available in this big car; hands back on his head, pulling at his slightly in need of a trim hair.

  “Seriously though, we have to find a way to keep her from velcroying herself to my arm, otherwise it’s really going to be a very long party. Any ideas on how to accomplish that?”

  I side up to him, crossing my arms over one of his. “Actually, yes,” I say, grinning.

  Seth shakes his head slowly, sighing. “I know that grin. I’m not going to like what you have to say, am I?”

  I punch his shoulder. “Oh come on! It’s not that bad, I promise.”

  He turns sideways to look in my direction and for a moment I can feel his chin resting on my head. “Alright, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

  I move back a little to look up at him again. “It’s simple enough. You need protection: something to stand between you and her.”

  I can see one of his eyebrows arching up. “Are you suggesting I hire a bodyguard to bring to my parents’ place for the night or are we talking more like a Kevlar vest here?”

  I laugh. “A girl, Seth. Someone to bring along for the party as your date.”

  As I say the words out loud, I feel a pang I don’t understand and I frown.

  Seth’s incredulous chuckle brings me back to the conversation.

  “A date? You crazy? The solution is worse than the punishment that standing near Gillian would be. With my luck, I’ll pick a serial killer or something.”

  I push myself up until my chin is resting in the crook of his neck. “Oh, come on, don’t be so negative! It wouldn’t be a serial killer, more like a psycho stalker I would say.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Eve. Can’t you be my date and save me from her grubby hands? We can be each other’s Suxon repellent and I can keep Ross at bay with my patented scowl for you.”

  I smile at him. “Sorry, you’ll seriously need to find someone, Seth. I happen to already have my own personal Kevlar vest for New Year’s Eve.”

  He grins a little. “You mean you have a date for tomorrow? Who’s the lucky guy? Do I know him?”

  I can hear a protective note in his voice and it makes me smile bigger. “Barely. It’s Daniel Burns. One of the new researchers at BWB. We all had coffee together at the start of the month, remember?”

  “No…” Seth shrugs.

  “There was this epidemiologist, Julie, who kept trying to shove her plastic tits in your face and ended up splaying cappuccino all over your suit?”

  He briefly closes his eyes. “I had tried to blot out the whole event from my memory, thank you very much for reminding me.”

  I pick up my phone and show him a group picture on the screen, I tap and pinch with my fingers to enlarge it and show him a close-up of Daniel.

  “Don’t remember him.”

  I beam. “What do you think? Isn’t he cute?”

  Seth glares at me. “Oh yeah, I’m sure he’s a total babe,” he jokes.

  “And you’ll be nice to him, won’t you?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure…” he grumbles. “After I finish vetting him,” he adds.

  I stomp on his huge foot. “Don’t you dare!”

  We both laugh.

  For a little bit we don’t speak and I can see a thousand conflicting emotions dancing on his darkening profile as he stares out of his nearly completely frosted window.

  “What’s going on in that big head of yours?” I ask concerned.

  “Why the constant bad luck, Eve, seriously?”

  I bite my lip. “I… Seth, you’re a great guy, you know. Also you’re hot…”

  He laughs, his big shoulders shaking a little.

  I smile at him. “You just have a penchant for ending up in doomed relationships with women that are all wrong for you, it’s not your fault.”

  I can see a grin spreading on his lips. “And every time you always know before me. How can you tell? How do you always know they’re wrong for me at first sight?”

  “Well, it’s not that difficult and it has little to do with me, Seth, and a lot to do with you.”

  I can see his eyes growing round. “With me?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I can see they’re wrong from the way you are around them: you’re never yourself.”

  Seth stares at me, saying nothing, his brow knitted.

  “You’re probably right,” he states softly after a long while.

  I take a breath and try to think of something to say to lighten the mood again —I hate seeing him sad.

  All right so maybe no ‘Emma’ for this evening?

  “What do you say I’ll give Mr Knightley a rest for tonight so we can watch ‘Trading Places’, instead?” I ask, smiling up at him.

  It’s his favorite holiday movie.

  He grins a little. “What would I do without you, Eve?”

  I fake a Gillian-like demeanor and nod to myself. “You’ll be utterly lost, dahling.”

  He laughs, shaking his head at me and as usual having restored his good mood, I feel better and everything is once more all right with our world.

  Chapter 4

  SETH

  I hand Eve her much worn and much loved copy of ‘Emma’ —the last present her mother ever gave her the Christmas when she was twelve— and she smiles up at me, stepping into her room.

  I stand the
re, until her door closes with a soft thud; the words she spoke during our drive still at the forefront of my mind.

  I walk toward the noise in the huge kitchen, following my parents’ voices and narrowly avoid a direct impact with a marching quartet of waiters from the catering company.

  It’s December 30 and as usual this place resembles more a beehive full of people on crack than the home of a quiet, middle-aged couple.

  There must be nearly sixty people running around between our staff, the caterers and the guests already.

  I see Mrs. Perry, our housekeeper, rushing past me and going to get the door.

  Some more out-of-town guests just arrived.

  Thank God we own the whole building or it would be fucking impossible to house them all.

  I finally reach the kitchen and immediately spot my mother, iPad in hand and, judging from her wide-eyed stare, clearly with too much caffeine in her system right now.

  She’s once more going over the list of all the arrangements; she won’t be happy with less than perfection.

  “Hello,” she smiles grimly, her fingers tapping away at the tablet.

  “Hey Mom, how’s it going?”

  She sighs, a weary expression on her face. “As well as it can be expected.”

  I roll my eyes unseen and my dad chuckles.

  “It’s a party, Mom. Say it with me: just a party and you know it’s going to be great, all the usual last minute’s crises notwithstanding.”

  She comes over the breakfast bar, her brown eyes briefly flicking up to me and then refocusing on the all-important screen.

  I lean down as she reaches up to kiss my cheek.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Also Evelyn just went to change, she’ll be right back, won’t she?” my father asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. She’ll help you sort out everything. Can I do something in the meantime?”

  She grins, a glint in her dark eyes and I immediately regret my words, because I can already imagine what she’ll say.

  “Nothing, sweetie, you know you could burn down a kitchen just by standing in it for too long, you’re just like your father…”

  “Thank you, love,” my dad mutters and she smiles sweetly at him.

  “You know it’s true,” she turns back to look at me again. “And Seth, if you really want to help me: go in the living room and entertain our guests. Also, you and Evelyn could play something for us later.”

  I smile. All right not so bad then. Just public humiliation.

  “And before I forget, Mr. Suxon and his family are about to arrive. He just spoke with your father, so of course you must keep Gillian company.”

  Oh fuck, here we go.

  “Mom…” I start, following her out of the kitchen as she sprints toward the corridor, clicking away in her heels.

  “Not now, darling: someone’s at the door. Could you get that? Mrs. Perry is busy with the head chef right now.”

  I frown, wondering how could she know that and that’s when I spot the walkie-talkie hanging from her wrist.

  I turn to look at my dad as we both walk to the door. “Walkie-talkies too? What next? Code-names? We have to stop this madness, Dad.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “Now, why would I do that, Son? It’s our holiday routine: first Christmas, then New Year’s Eve party craziness and finally I get to take her away for a week and have her all for myself,” he concludes, his voice soft and almost dreamy, his eyebrows wagging.

  I grimace at that. “Eww, Dad… you guys are cute and all, but I really don’t have time to add sessions with a therapist to my busy schedule right now.”

  He just grins and slaps my back. “One day, Son… one day soon, I’ll be the one mocking you, you’ll see.”

  I shake my head. “Not likely.”

  I see surprise on his face. “What about Gillian? Your mother said—”

  “I know what she said and no, Dad: I’m not getting back with her and trust me, you guys should be happy about it.”

  He sidesteps to avoid some waitresses coming down the hall at full speed. If my mother saw the reckless way they’re transporting her inestimable china, she’ll either faint or commit a mass murder. I’m happy she’s not around. Catfights can be hot, but certainly not if your mother’s involved.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about this, okay? Let’s just say she’s not what she pretends to be.”

  My dad frowns. “Did we put you on the spot by inviting them to come over both today and tomorrow then?”

  I look away. “Don’t worry about that, Dad.”

  It could be worse: they could have invited her and her family to spend the whole fucking holiday here, so I should be thankful for small miracles that bumping into her in the middle of the night won’t be on the list of things I have to watch out for.

  “Maybe if you brought a date to the party…”

  I sigh. “That’s what Evelyn suggested.”

  He smiles. “Leonard told me she’s bringing someone.”

  “Yeah…” I pass one hand over my face. I’m starting to feel a headache coming. That’s just fucking perfect.

  “Do you know the guy?”

  “Vaguely…”

  My father sighs. “You never know, Son… he could be the one for her, but you’ll never find someone if you don’t risk a bit of yourself, Seth.”

  I glower down at my shoes. I’m inexplicably tired of this conversation.

  I should be happy for her, shouldn’t I?

  Am I so selfish that I can’t hope for her to meet someone special just because there’s no one in my life?

  Being happy and in love it’s all she wants after all and I want her to have everything that her heart desires, it’s always been this way.

  “Seth?” my dad asks, staring at me from under a furrowed brow.

  We finally reach the door.

  I stop him as his hand tightens on the knob.

  “I need to take a shower and change, Dad.”

  “Go ahead. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  I smile and head back, again avoiding another collision with what looks to be a very pissed-off sous-chef.

  “Seth?”

  I turn around. “What?”

  “What do you want to do about Gillian when she gets here?”

  I huff. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ll try to be charming, see if I can persuade her to follow me to the rooftop and once I’m there, I’ll either drown her in the pool or simply shove her down the building.”

  My dad cringes. “That bad, uh? Whatever she did to you?”

  I hear knocking again. “The door, Dad,” I say, distracting him from his question and taking advantage of an all-clear moment in the hall, I jog back toward the bedroom I use when I sleep over.

  I gratefully get inside and close the door, leaning against it for a moment. Then I start to pull at my tie, walking toward the en-suite bathroom.

  I have a flash of that bitch Gillian slipping inside while I’m in the shower and I stride back to lock the door, leaving the key in.

  I’m not sure she’s aware of the exact location of where I’m staying, but I can’t put below her level the possibility of her entering uninvited in each room of this loft until she tracks me down.

  Thank you, but no fucking thank you.

  I finish undressing as I go and turn on the multiple shower-heads system.

  I stay out of the huge glass box until I see it completely fill with steam and then I step in, closing my eyes under the main spray; my tense muscles relaxing under the hot jets.

  I blink, combing my hair back and away from my forehead, tilting my head upward.

  I see Eve with my mind’s eye, her deep blue eyes full of concern for me.

  She’s right about what she said, I know that, but is she right also about what her words implied?

  I haven’t had that many meaningful relationships in my life.
I can count the women I dated and considered girlfriends on the fingers of one hand.

  Then there are those who never made it past that first date, those I never called back.

  Bad luck aside —those five girlfriends I did have, were really batshit crazy, downright horrible or simply wrong for me or I for them—, is it true that I don’t even try?

  Have I never tried at all as my dad said?

  But am I really that unlucky or there’s a reason I’m not seeing behind my seemingly picking always the wrong ones?

  I grab my white musk and citrus shower gel and I frown at the bottle.

  I’ve never been myself with any of the women I dated, but why?

  Why should it be so difficult to open up to a woman?

  I might be serious and a bit taciturn sometimes —boring and dour in Gillian’s words— but I’m not overly shy.

  It’s easy to be myself around my parents, my friends and Evelyn of course.

  Evelyn.

  Why can’t she almost never go beyond a first date as well?

  She’s so open, so warm and loving. She’s a wonderful woman.

  Bad luck plays a part too in her zombie love life, but if my problem is that I pick always the wrong woman, hers is that she never picks at all.

  I could swear I’ve never seen her make a first move with someone.

  Sure, if a guy asked her out —like this Daniel person did— she would probably say yes, as always afraid to hurt his feelings with a rejection.

  She’d go out for a coffee or maybe for dinner once and that would be it and in most cases that’s more than fucking fine by me, ‘cause she’s right when she says she’s forever attracting jerks and users, but in just as many occasions she’d lament the absence of the elusive spark and never go out with a guy a second time.

  How many boyfriends, real boyfriends, has she had?

  I can come up only with two losers’ names.

  But it can’t be right, can it?

  Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated all the time?

  What’s wrong with us?

  Why can’t we found our way out of whatever thing is messing us up?

  Are we plainly unlucky?

  Stunted?

  Broken?