Sarah rang the bell, and the occupants of the blue house spilled outside to a rousing version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” and the way we were heading, this was a real possibility. However, given my father had been roped into dressing like Santa Claus later to hand out early gifts, the thought made my head spin contemplating the future therapy bills.
I faded into the back of the group to keep an eye on Tie and to come up with a plan. What, though? She wasn’t the type to scare easily, and I had zero dirt on her. You know it’s bad, Lizzie, when you’re thinking of ways to blackmail your sister-in-law on Christmas.
Maddie.
She could help me formulate a plan.
I inched closer to my favorite shit-stirrer and tugged on the hem of her puffy jacket.
Confused, she swiveled her neck and mouthed, “What?”
I motioned with my head, indicating I wanted a private consultation.
She mouthed, “Now?”
I repeated the motion with more force.
She rolled her eyes.
As the group launched into the chorus, I said to Maddie, “Tie. You need to help me take her out. Not literally, but… you know.”
“Just how in the world do you think we can do that without it blowing up in our faces? Tie isn’t stupid. And she’s meaner than a rabid dog.”
“There has to be a way. That’s why Sarah’s inviting everyone over. To stop Tie from whatever the hell she’s planning.” I had a decent idea of what her plot entailed. A pregnancy bombshell, but I didn’t know how she planned to deliver it. Parachute in a pregnant lady as everyone opened their gifts on Christmas morning? Would she do that to her daughter, though? Or was she banking on Demi being too young to remember? What about my children? They were also young, but I didn’t want them around this type of behavior. Not at all.
Maddie’s head bobbed up and down. “That makes sense. I was starting to think being married to you had completely warped Sarah’s mind.”
I put a gloved finger on my nose and then pointed at her. “That. I need you to do more of that but not directed at me. Take her out, Maddie.”
“Carte blanche?”
“As long as no one gets arrested or maimed, yes. Do your worst or best.”
Maddie knitted her brow. “Do I have a deadline?”
“Uh, tonight, but that might be asking too much, even for you.”
The carolers finished, and we walked ahead of them in order not to be overheard.
I put a hand on Maddie’s shoulder and whispered, “It’s up to you, Mads. Don’t let Sarah down.”
“Seriously, Lizzie. You need to work on your dramatic flair.”
“Stop wasting time on me!” I whispered harshly in her ear.
Maddie started to roll her eyes, but they clouded over. “I wish I had more time to prepare. Taking down the likes of Tie isn’t a simple matter.”
“Oh, please. You’ve been wanting to do this since you found out she was Peter’s mistress.”
“Wanting and doing are two different things. And I haven’t given her much thought in months, really.”
We trudged through the thickening snow on the way back to our house.
Gabe, Allen, and Ethan had their arms locked, walking in exaggerated goose step fashion, belting out “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
It seemed Sarah’s caroling plan had accomplished one goal at least; it was hard to feel Scrooge-like when spreading Christmas cheer with friends.
Tie inserted herself between Maddie and me, looping an arm through each of ours. “Isn’t this a magical night?”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Maddie said.
“Maybe there’ll be a Christmas miracle or two,” Tie continued. “Wouldn’t you like that, Maddie?”
“Do you have a miracle in mind?” Maddie responded.
“Oh, I don’t have control of these things, but I do think things will change so you can be reunited with someone from your past.”
Was she going to announce her impending separation from Peter at dinner, releasing my brother from his miserable marriage to allow him to chase the girl that got away: Maddie? As far as I knew, Sarah and I were the only ones aware of Peter’s threat about hiring a divorce lawyer. The frost between them, though, wasn’t difficult to decipher.
How would Tie’s professed miracle impact my stepbrother’s plan to ask Maddie, Peter’s ex, to marry him?
If this were a movie, viewers would think it unrealistic.
But this was my life.
For better or worse.
Chapter Ten
While I was heading back downstairs after tucking in the twinks, a cowbell rang, and Maddie announced in a booming voice, “Dinner is served!”
Sarah’s frosty glare made it crystal clear to me Maddie had improvised her announcement duties. Never ask a practical joker/interior designer, who’s latest project was a palatial ranch for a cowboy tycoon, to take her announcement duties seriously. The guests seemed to appreciate the effort, including Tie. Would it fit over her head so all of us could take a turn gonging the bell? Was this step one in Maddie’s destroy Tie plan? Torture by cowbell? That might be hard to prove in court? Premeditated cowbell?
To avoid potential conflict at the dinner table, Sarah and Maddie had devised a seating chart. At each place was one of the pinecone things I’d made and the person’s name, although with Lisa’s absence, we had an extra space. Sarah had the presence of mind to remove the pinecone and chair, leaving a gap between Peter and the person to his right.
Much to my dismay, I was wedged between Tie and Ethan. Had they thought this one through, considering Ethan’s marriage woes and Peter’s earlier threat? Even if the threat had been uttered after the chart had been finalized, we all had a stake in the when will Peter divorce Tie bet.
Allen, Troy, and Ethan had been enlisted as servers by Sarah weeks ago, and each wore a red apron stating Christmas calories don’t count. Did that go for marriage woes, threats, or whatnot? Gabe wore an elf hat and a gray so-called man apron, an early Christmas gift from Maddie, that had pockets for a phone, ketchup, mustard, beer, and matches according to the sketches on the fabric. Since ketchup, mustard, and matches weren’t needed for this evening’s soiree, he filled those pockets with candy canes, presumably for those who finished their meals. A still-capped New Belgium Accumulation, a winter white IPA, resided in the beer pocket. He plunked the twenty-pound turkey at the end of the table.
The servers, also in elf hats, arranged the side dishes in the center of the table, offering mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, parsnips, sausage stuffing, green bean casserole, and candied yams.
“Just for you, Lizzie.” Ethan placed piping hot macaroni and cheese in front of me.
“You shouldn’t have,” I joked.
“I didn’t. Your wife did.” Ethan took his seat on my left, not bothering to take off his apron or hat.
I glanced at Sarah, once again reminded how much effort she’d put into everything.
“Do you intend to share?” asked Allen, right across from me, with Casey on his right.
“Only to those who behave.” I made my voice a smidge too threatening, causing Allen to gulp. I waggled my brows to put him at ease, but my charm had the opposite effect.
Fortunately, Gabe fired up the electric knife, getting down to business and nullifying conversations for a brief respite. The decision about who should carve the turkey had been a no-brainer to me, although Maddie and Sarah had gone back and forth on it. Dad was useless when it came to matters like this, a fact he owned. Arming Peter seemed much too dangerous, and I’d thought that before the scene on the back deck. I had no intentions of cutting up a bird. Nor did Sarah or Maddie.
Gabe seemed to take a short break but kept the blade going. Had Sarah or Maddie given him a look to take meticulous care when carving to keep the racket up for as long as possible? What was next? Blasting Christmas music over the speakers? Was Alexa smart enough to pick up verbal clues to drown
out dinner-party spats?
Peter, on the other side as far away from Tie as possible, looked shell-shocked. Every time Gabe sliced another piece of white meat, Peter turned a shade greener.
The process of dishing out sides began in earnest, and I passed Ethan the mac and cheese after serving myself a healthy portion.
Some initiated table talk to those sitting next to them, and the only ones who looked as if they were enjoying themselves were Rose, Troy, and George. Gandhi circled the table, his tail wagging. Hank was nowhere in sight. Leave it to the prey animal to know when to scram.
Ethan nudged my side for me to accept the green bean casserole from Allen. I handed it off without scooping any on my plate, but I did steal a crispy French’s fried onion in the process.
“Cheater,” he said, sounding like a 1920s’ gangster.
“Are you going to make me swim with the fishes?” I scooped parsnips, one of the few veggies I’d eat, onto my plate and handed the dish to Allen, who regarded it suspiciously before taking a tiny serving and then holding the platter for Casey.
“Perhaps. Or torture you.” Ethan plopped mashed potatoes onto his plate.
Casey eyed my parsnip portion and matched it.
Sarah cleared her throat. Had she overheard the mafia conversation and wanted to nip it in the bud before giving the reprehensible guests certain ideas? She rose to her feet, holding a wineglass. “I want to thank all of you for coming tonight and making this holiday special.” Her smile, even to a casual observer, was forced.
Feeling compelled to add to her sentiment, I got to my feet, clutching my crystal water glass filled with Perrier. “Yes, thank you for coming out on such an awful night—I mean, weather-wise.” Unsure where to go from there but wanting to issue a clear directive that no one should do anything else to unravel all of Sarah’s hard work, I raised my glass and said, “To my beautiful wife, who slaved away for weeks to make this evening special.” My eyes swept all of the guests before I took a sip.
There were several hear, hears, and the group tucked into their meals with gusto. It didn’t take long for a sprinkling of conversation and laughter to trickle throughout the room.
Tie leaned forward to lure Ethan into whatever trap she had opted for. “What are you going to do about your marriage?” She stage-whispered the last word, and I could only hope she did so since Casey was seated across from us.
Ethan’s eyes darted to his young daughter, who was more perceptive than most adults walking the earth, and didn’t take the bait, pretending not to hear Tie. Casey, much to my relief, didn’t react to the question. Or was she acting?
“Allen, how are your Russian lessons coming along?” I spoke in a commanding voice to steer the conversation to something safer.
Allen covered his mouth to avoid spraying food and spoke around a bite, “They’re fun. The tutor you found is quite the character, but it’s not an easy language to master. The tricky part is getting accustomed to the grammar structure.” He visibly swallowed, pressing a palm onto his chest to aid the process. “Once I master the alphabet, it’ll be easier to pronounce the words. They say words like they’re spelled. Also, their sentence structure is simpler. For example, in English, I’d say, ‘Lizzie, can you please pass me the parsnips?’ While they’d say, ‘Give parsnips please.’”
I nodded. “It takes some getting used to. Being so direct.”
“And the parsnips?” Allen’s eyes fell to the plate that had found its way back to me.
“Oh!” I passed him the tray. “My apologies. I thought you were simply edifying.”
“Killing two birds with one stone.” He smiled.
“Give mac and cheese.” Casey waited several seconds before adding the word please.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that, Allen. I have a feeling that’s going to stick.”
Allen stood to reach the mac and cheese dish and held it for Casey. After setting it back, Allen retook his seat and said to Ethan, “You know, Casey would excel with foreign languages. Does her school have a program?”
“Nope,” Ethan said a little gruffly.
Was he angry with Allen for planting the seed in Casey’s brain or with his inability to pay for private lessons? With the Internet, finding videos wouldn’t be all that hard. That probably wasn’t the issue, though. It was yet another reminder of how strained his finances were and the challenge of providing for an off-the-charts intelligent child who was more than likely bored with her public-school education. I wouldn’t be surprised, given the right support, if she’d graduate high school in her early teens and head off to the likes of Harvard before she could drive.
“Anton, my tutor, is moving to Fort Collins, so I’ll be coming up here once a week. She can join my lessons.” Allen met my eyes as if it just struck him that he shouldn’t have said anything before consulting me since I was paying for said lessons.
To put Allen at ease and to cut off Ethan’s gut reaction to say no to gifts or any type of assistance, I said, “That’s a great idea. I’ll speak to Anton.”
I had zero issues paying an extra fee to help Casey get a leg up.
Casey hopped to her feet and raced to Ethan. Seizing his hand and yanking his arm up and down like an old-fashioned water pump, she pleaded with imploring eyes, “Can I, Daddy?”
Ethan knew he was licked. “As long as you behave, and please, don’t learn any curse words. Your mother wouldn’t be pleased.”
“How would she know?” Tie speared a carrot with her fork.
“She has a way of knowing everything.” Ethan patted the top of Casey’s head.
She stole a cheddar-topped roll off Ethan’s plate and headed back to her side of the table.
Again, I roped Allen into my efforts of shoving Tie out of all dinner conversation. “Will your visits coincide with dates with a certain nanny I know?” I sipped my Perrier. Bailey, our nanny, had gone to her grandmother’s in California for winter break, and I suspected Allen missed her more than he cared to admit.
Allen’s cheeks tinged. “Perhaps.”
Next time, Lizzie, don’t ask a question that will embarrass him.
Miraculously, Tie picked up on this thread. “Ooooh. Are you dating Lizzie’s nanny?”
Surely, she’d known this. Allen and Bailey had been at Thanksgiving, and it was apparent to all they were dating. Quite possibly she thought the situation would get under my skin. Did she think I was so much like my cheating brother and had my sights on Bailey? Was that why she’d gone on earlier about Petries being dawgs? But that didn’t make sense, since I clearly didn’t show any animus just now. Or was Peter fucking Demi’s nanny? Was he that much of a cheater’s stereotype?
There was a lull in the dinner conversation, and the effect of being around so many potential bombshells had taken a toll on me. Exhausted, I let my guard down and concentrated on eating.
This turned out to be a mistake.
A terrible one.
George, perhaps feeling pressure to fill the void, announced yet again, “I love dick.”
Seriously?
Couldn’t the man have had a different phrase on some weird loop in his head? “Cheerios are the best,” or something like that?
Casey asked, “Is that—?”
“The TV show starring Kevin Bacon, yes.” Sarah set her wineglass down. “Does anyone need more turkey? Let’s not let this beautiful bird go to waste.”
“Who’s Kevin Bacon? His name conjures up some tasty images.” George’s smile was oddly intimidating.
“You don’t know the actor in the show you like?” Casey asked, squinting one eye. I wondered if Ethan ever missed Casey’s newborn days, when he still had a chance of being one step ahead of his daughter.
“He looks different in the show.” Sarah handed the turkey platter to Peter, who still hadn’t touched his plate, but he obligingly added another slice onto his pile.
Tie piped up, “Do you know who else likes dick—the TV show?”
“Give parsnips!�
�� I blurted.
Maddie grabbed the plate and stood to hand it across the table, briefly blocking George from Tie’s view. “Lizzie is just mad about parsnips.”
George eyed the platter. “They look like shriveled—”
“Weeds,” I said. “Tasty weeds. I could live on them.”
George’s mouth opened, but Ethan beat him to it. “Charades. We should play charades. After dinner, that is. Not now.”
Maddie retook her seat. “I love charades.”
I didn’t, but it didn’t seem like the right time to point that out.
“Casey, what did you ask Santa to bring you?” Gabe asked, clearly wanting to do his part to keep the conversation away from dicks.
Honestly, never in a million years did I foresee a Christmas like this one.
With her fork loaded with mashed potatoes, Casey stared at Gabe a tick longer than normal. “Do you believe in Santa?”
Gabe flinched as if not knowing how to respond. Yes, so not to burst her bubble or no and potentially look a fool in front of the brainiac? He opted for yes.
“Me too. The kids at school tried to tell me otherwise, but why would my parents lie to me?”
Ethan swallowed, his eyes on his plate as he scooted mashed taters to scoop up a pool of gravy.
“I know he wasn’t really here earlier.” She eyed my father, who’d gotten into costume while we caroled to hand out gifts to the little ones, including Casey, before putting the twins to bed.
Tie leaned forward and latched onto the part I feared. “Oh, people lie all the time. Isn’t that right, Peter?”
Peter, much to my surprise, refused to take the bait. Instead, he shoved half a slice of turkey into his mouth, the first morsel he’d eaten.
“It’s not right to lie,” Casey said matter-of-factly. “Is it, Daddy?”
“I think Lizzie has studied that. From a historical perspective, that is, and she could educate us all.” Ethan’s face had grown whiter.
“Lying is a theme in history, yes.”
A Woman Loved Page 11
