“I think I can live with fewer vitamins if it means I can eat hot soup.”
“Suit yourself, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be eaten. You might as well go out and order a burger.”
That actually sounds like a great idea.
“Why don’t you give Julia’s cooking a try,” my mom intervenes. “She’s put so much effort into preparing this lovely dinner for all of us.” She gives me a long, now-be-good-and-eat-your-disgusting-cold-soup stare.
I sit back down, resigned, and do my best to force a few more spoonfuls of this cold poultice down my throat. Cold soup in December! This is a madhouse.
Unfortunately, the main course—tofu steak—doesn’t prove any tastier or more filling. The only saving grace is the salad side. Not really much you can do wrong with a salad, even if Dad isn’t allowed to use his favorite ranch dressing as it has dairy in it, which is supposedly even worse than meat. Cow Milk & Co are guilty of containing lactose—we don’t possess the enzymes to digest it—as well as casein, a dreadful animal protein capable of causing cancer, respiratory problems, inflammation, bloating, headaches…
Makes me wonder if at the agency we should put side-effect warnings at the end of our food commercials like we do with pharmaceuticals.
As for me, I’m happy I’m allowed to use olive oil to dress the salad, even if the salt gets rationed down—it’s bad for blood pressure.
The cherry on the cake of the most horrible dinner ever is the dessert: an oatmeal pudding made with maca root powder, so dense it has the consistency of glue. Of course, not a pinch of sugar in it.
I really try to finish mine, but I can’t; each tiny spoonful I ingest makes me want to gag more than the previous one. Diego, definitely a much better sport, manages to finish all his pudding, and even has the poker face to compliment Julia, gaining an appreciative nod from my mom.
And so, after an hour and a half of suffering, we’re all allowed to retire for the night and go lick our wounds in private. I don’t know if this is a behavior typical of herbivorous or carnivorous species, but right now, I’m only hoping I can find a cereal bar hidden at the bottom of my bag.
Thirteen
Pizza Gate
Later, in my room, Diego and I are lying on opposite sides of the bed, wrapped in utter misery. Mr. Darcy, who wasn’t forced to eat a vegan cat dinner, is curled up at our feet, much more contented. Barely half an hour since we left the dinner table and I’m already famished. So much so that my stomach grumbles loudly, prompting Diego to turn toward me.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Yeah, you?”
“Starving. Does your mom have any of that mac and cheese left?”
“Even if she did, we can’t go downstairs and heat it up in the evil microwave. If Julia found out, she’d throw the tantrum of the century.”
“Right now, I’d gladly eat it cold.”
“Nah, I’ve had enough cold food for one night.” I sigh as my belly complains again.
I can’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. There must be a way to get a proper dinner without Julia finding out…
“Wait,” I say, and grab my phone to text Blair.
Where are u?
U coming over?
Yeah, just finishing walking Chevron
Be there in ten
Any chance you’ll pass near the pizza place by the corner?
Standing right in front of it now
Why?
Can you order two giant pizzas to go?
Sure
I ♥ you
When you get here come in through the back door
It’s open
Come upstairs immediately and be stealthy
No one can see you
???
I’ll explain once you’re here
But Julia can’t catch you
Make sure she’s nowhere in sight before you enter
And hurry
We’re hungry
Half an hour later the door of my room bursts open and Blair enters in a blur, balancing two giant pizza boxes in one hand while trying not to stumble over Chevron. The dog has barreled into the room, slaloming between her legs.
“I’ve made it,” she says.
I get up to relieve her of the pizzas, and carefully close the door behind her.
“Did anyone see you?” I ask.
“Your dad, but he’s promised to keep quiet.” Blair bites her lower lip. “But I suspect he might come over and ask for a pizza bribe in exchange for his silence. He was looking at the boxes like he’s never seen pizza before. Did you guys all skip dinner or something?” She removes her coat and goes to sit at my desk.
I jump back on the bed, handing Diego a box and opening mine while Chevron sniffs every corner of the room. When she gets near the bed to sniffle out Mr. Darcy, the cat’s only reaction is to lift his head and throw the dog a disdainful stare. Subdued by this display of animal hostility, Chevron lets out a low whine and settles on the rug by the bed.
Before answering Blair, I can’t resist a quick bite of pizza. It tastes delicious. The place by the corner makes a thick dough and always puts loads of extra cheese—real, made with milk that came from cow’s cheese—on top. But it’s not just that; this pizza is the taste of my youth. I can’t even remember how many Blair and I shared over the years.
When my grumbling stomach is somewhat placated, I finally show enough restraint to stop scarfing down pizza and talk. “Worse than skipping dinner,” I explain. “Julia cooked.”
“Oh, is she that bad?”
“No idea, but tonight she made us a vegan meal.” I switch my tone of voice to talk like a yoga teacher. “To help us cleanse our bodies before the coming days of unchecked indulging.” I go back to my normal voice. “And half of it was raw vegan cuisine, in the middle of December. Can you believe it?”
“Mmm… But you like it when I make you vegetarian dinners…”
“Yeah, because A, you can cook, and B, you actually cook your vegetables. Plus, vegan is extreme: no cheese, no eggs, no butter. And she only allowed gluten-free bread. The entire dinner was disgusting, and we were both hungry again half an hour later.”
Blair laughs. “Yes, I guess vegan eating can be hard.”
“Thanks for the pizzas.” Diego lifts a slice toward her as if he was toasting a glass of wine. “You’re a life saver.”
“Wouldn’t want anyone to starve.” She smiles, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “So, how did today go? Did ‘the family’ buy your story?”
I’m about to reply when there’s a knock on the door and my dad quickly sneaks into the room.
“Ah.” I look at him. “Come to exact payment for your silence, I see.”
Dad puts on an innocent face that doesn’t reach his mischievous, twinkly eyes. “Would you refuse an old man a slice of pizza?”
“Here.” I grab a napkin and place a big slice on top, handing it to him.
And, old man or not, he looks like an excited kid as he takes it from me.
Dad hasn’t finished his first bite when the door opens again and Paul slips inside, clearing his throat. “Err… I heard there was black-market pizza here.”
I throw a killer stare at my dad, who promptly justifies himself. “Found him in the kitchen scavenging for food. Couldn’t let the poor fella starve.”
I roll my eyes and hand them my box with the remaining half of my pizza. Diego, the saint, nudges his box toward me and I gladly take another slice.
That’s when Mom arrives. She stares at us, asking, “What are you all doing up here?”
Why no one ever knocks in this house…?
Dad swiftly ushers her inside and closes the door behind her. “Shhh, Dory. You want to get us caught?”
Mom scowls at him. “Your daughter worked so hard to cook you dinner, and if she were to find you all eating pizza behind her back she’d be crushed.”
Dad keeps eating, unperturbed
. “And that’s why I ate my dinner in silence like a good father would. But if my other daughter decides to sneak pizza into the house later, it’s only fair I accept all of my offsprings’ culinary offerings.”
“Two dinners are too much at your age,” my mom insists.
“Oh, come on, Dory dear. Only a slice.” He turns the open box toward her tantalizingly. “Get one yourself and relax; it’s Christmas.”
Mom stares at the pizza for a while, indecision clearly written on her features. She’s just reaching for the slice when the door opens again and Julia enters, saying, “Nik, do you know where everyone went?”
We all freeze, caught in the act.
Julia takes in the scene, and her jaw drops just before her eyes go all watery. “If you didn’t like dinner, you could’ve said so,” she wails dramatically. Then her gaze narrows on Mom, who’s standing immobile, arm still stretched forward, reaching for the box. “I could’ve expected it from them.” Julia points at me and my dad. “But I hoped for better from you.” Then she turns toward Paul, points an accusing finger at him, and hisses, “And you.”
With that, she turns on her heel and flees the room. Mom retracts her arm and runs after her. “Julia, baby… Wait.”
Paul, on the other hand, shrugs and serenely finishes his slice. “She’ll get over it,” he reassures us, before going after his fiancée.
Dad, equally nonplussed, says, “Well, since we’ve been busted, I can go finish this downstairs.” And he, too, leaves, bringing the pizza box with him.
“So,” Blair says, when it’s only the three of us left in the room—five, counting pets. “I guess it’s been a regular day in the Moore family and no one suspects anything.”
“Pretty much,” I confirm. “What about you? How were your parents?”
We complain about our respective families for another hour or so, before Blair lets out a very loud yawn. “Sorry, guys. I’m beat. Time to go home.”
“I’ll walk you downstairs,” I say.
She and Diego say goodnight while I check the hallway to make sure my sister isn’t around. I know she’ll make me pay for the pizza stunt, and I’m not looking forward to the moment she’ll decide to take her revenge. Luckily, she seems to have already retired to bed, and Blair and I don’t meet anyone on our way to the front door.
“How much do I owe you for the pizzas?” I ask, unhooking my bag from the entrance rack.
“Oh, please. Pizza’s on me tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Good night, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We exchange a quick hug, and I’m about to draw away when she pulls me back in to whisper in my ear, “Oh, and enjoy your first night in bed with Diego.” There’s plenty of mischief in her voice.
“Blair,” I hiss, outraged. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m just saying that if your hands happened to wander a little under the sheets in the middle of the night, no one could really blame you.”
“Only sue me for sexual harassment.”
Blair finally lets me go and, with a wink, she adds, “You should try to have more fun.”
I shoo her out of the house without comment, taking a moment afterward to rest my back against the door, her words still ringing in my ears. Am I nervous about sleeping in the same bed with Diego? A little… but we’re both adults and professionals. The situation might be awkward, but we don’t have to make a big fuss about it.
When I get back upstairs, Diego is not in the room. He probably followed me downstairs to go to the bathroom to get ready for the night. He and Paul are using the guest bathroom downstairs, while Julia and I share the one on this floor, and my parents have an en suite.
Did he overhear Blair and me talking? No, impossible. We were whispering.
While he’s gone, I shed my clothes at the speed of light and quickly change for bed, feeling glad I opted to bring un-sexy, warm PJs. The thought of bringing lacy lingerie instead had crossed my mind as I was packing, but then I decided that my butt would’ve frozen in skimpy underwear. And, honestly, the embarrassment of wearing close to nothing in front of Diego would’ve been too much. And anyway, it’s not like I have to seduce him or anything.
The door opens, and he walks in wearing only a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants—guess he doesn’t need special lingerie to look hot.
He eyes my outfit, the corners of his mouth curling up. “You’re sleeping in that?”
I stare down at my plush black hoodie, complete with kitty ears, and the matching mint leggings covered in a black cat print. “Yes, why? You don’t like it?”
Diego shakes his head. “Actually,” he says, as if he can’t believe his own words, “it’s kind of cute.”
So now I’m cute?
No, Nikki, the PJs are cute, not you.
Right.
“Well, thanks,” I mumble, trying not to blush. “And you’re sleeping in that?” I ask, pointing at his clothes.
“I don’t usually keep the sweatpants on, but I can tonight if it bothers you. I mean, am I even sleeping in the bed?”
“Mmm, yeah, where else would you sleep?”
“I thought you might send me to the floor.”
“No, no. There’s plenty of space in the bed, unless you… want to sleep on the floor?”
“No, definitely not.”
“Great,” I say, still feeling awkward. “I’ll go brush my teeth. Be right back.”
In the bathroom, I also splash my face with cold water. Why am I feeling so nervous? It’s ridiculous. And okay, I’m about to share a bed with a relative stranger, but there’s no romance involved, no expectations… So please, Nikki, stop being such a wuss and go sleep with the guy.
Diego is already under the covers when I get back to the bedroom, and the first thought that crosses my mind is: Has he kept the sweatpants?
Easy to find out…
I circle to the left side of the bed and slide under the sheets next to him, casting a furtive glance at his legs—the sweatpants stayed.
“Is the cat sleeping in bed, too?” Diego asks.
“Yeah, Mr. Darcy always sleeps with me when I’m home. You don’t want him?”
He squirms a little in the bed. “It’s just that he’s right on my feet. I don’t think I can sleep with him there.”
I bend forward and gently move Mr. Darcy to the foot corner on my side of the bed. He regards me in outrage, incredulous that I would dare disturb him. But then he starts kneading the comforter and settles down without further protest.
“Better?” I ask Diego.
“Yep, thank you… So, I guess it’s goodnight.”
I kill the lights. “Night.”
I feel Diego shifting under the covers, probably to sleep on his side, but I keep rigidly supine and immobile, careful not to touch him even with a toe, and also attentive not to disturb Mr. Darcy. I’m never going to fall asleep this way, too many variables. I stare into the dark for a long time. But then Diego’s breathing becomes low and regular, and Mr. Darcy starts purring, and both sounds kind of lull me into sleep because I feel my lids getting heavier and heavier and…
***
What time is it? Where am I? What’s this thing between my legs? And what’s pushing me from behind?
With horror, I realize that it’s morning, and I’m at my parents’ house. That the thing between my legs is Diego’s right thigh, and, if I had to guess, I’d say the weight pushing at my back is Mr. Darcy.
The new position is all the cat’s fault. During the night, Mr. Darcy decided to expand into my area of the bed, prompting me to leave his feline majesty all the space he required and to shift toward Diego. But what prompted me to wrap myself around Diego like a baby koala remains a mystery.
I look up at him and find two crinkly green eyes staring back at me. “Morning,” he says.
I make an effort to ignore how good it feels to have my body pressed against Diego’s, and in
stantly thrash away from him, retreating to my side of the bed and sending Mr. Darcy tumbling down to the floor. I’m so embarrassed I don’t even care about the indignant, “Meow,” and the kitty evil eye the cat throws me.
“So sorry,” I babble. “I don’t know what happened. Usually I’m not a hugger.”
“Relax, boss.” Diego smiles. “It would’ve been worse if you were a snorer.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry anyway.” And with that, I get up. “I’m heading down for breakfast. Join us whenever you want.”
Even the thought of having to face my sure-to-be-angry sister can’t keep me in this room right now.
Weird.
At breakfast, Julia at least waits until after my first cup of coffee to punish me for the pizza.
I’m reaching for my third slice of toast when she snaps, “Shouldn’t you be watching how many carbs you eat at your age?” I’m still debating if she’s calling me fat, old, or both, when she adds, “I mean, after all that pizza last night.”
I stop buttering the toast to look at her. “I’m not the one getting married, so, no, I don’t need to go on a neurotic diet.”
To make my point, I take another generous slab of butter and spread it on my slice.
“Well, even if you’re not the one getting married”—she says it in a nasty, as if tone—“you still need to fit in your bridesmaid dress.”
“Are you really being this petty over pizza?”
My mom is not at the table, leaving only the male population to witness this exchange. My dad doesn’t seem to care; he’s used to our bickering. He’s reading the paper, face hidden behind it, while Paul and Diego are doing their best to stare at their plates, pretending they don’t exist.
“If you didn’t like dinner, you should’ve just said so, instead of being dishonest and eating pizza behind my back.”
“Dishonest? I was hungry, and I ordered pizza. Big deal! You want honesty? Your vegan cuisine sucks, as do all your other eating habits.”
“What other eating habits?”
I start talking in a mock shrill-posh voice. “No sugar, no dairy, no meat, no gluten, no salt…”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be my maid of honor after all.”
A Christmas Date Page 11
