by Kitty Parker
Allan decided to take mercy on Darien and Troy, who were so overwhelmed that they were simply standing still, lost between their deeply bred formality and my mother's persistent maternal instinct.
"Diana," he told her patiently, interrupting her flow of words with a rudeness I had to train him to do, "We're in the middle of a game."
"What?" she glanced at the board. "Oh, of course. I'll leave you to it, then." She bustled out of the room, an amused Jack trailing behind her. From the doorway, she threw back over her shoulder, "By the way, boys, Emma's beating you all."
"Mom!" I yelled as the boys frantically counted their money and reckoned up mine in shocked incredulity. "So not cool!"
"I've told you before, honey," her voice drifted back down the hall, mixed with her merry giggle and Jack's rumbling chuckle, "At least give them a chance."
* * *
Darien
* * *
If it had been any other family, dinner would have been beyond awkward. No matter how many courtesies were uttered, Troy and me were disrupting the family dynamic that the Lexingtons definitely had, even if it was 'Mom and Jack' rather than 'Mom and Dad' (or Dad and Diana for Lex). But Mr.-Lexington-call-me-Jack and Mrs.-Laycha?-Lexington-but-call-me-Diana were unlike any adults I had ever met, and even Mr. Lexington was different at home than I had ever seen him at any of my parents' formal gatherings. They honestly accepted us, treating us as much like part of the family as they possibly could. Mrs. Lexington had charmed Troy out of his shyness and was well on her way to wheedling all his confidences out of him with as much skill as her daughter had ever shown by the time we had finished the main course, and somehow Mr. Lexington had engaged me and Lex in a conversation that had me chattering like I hadn't in years. Emma just watched both conversations with a casual cheer that had a hint of justified smugness. I'd seen her this unreservedly happy as often as I had seen her hug someone- truly, this seemed a house of wonders.
Emma slipped out of her chair and began to clear the empty plates (we had decimated the meal that, as Mr. Lexington had proudly informed me and I had heard with blatant shock, Mrs. Lexington had homemade). I froze in indecision, half rising out of my chair. It didn't seem right that I let Emma do all the work, but honestly, clearing plates? I knew the etiquette for 100s of situations, had had it drilled into me since I could talk, but this had not been in the lesson plan. Alfred or one of the other servants always cleared; it had never occurred to me that it would be otherwise.
Mrs. Lexington must have caught my quandary, because she shook her head at me. "No, no, you're a guest," she assured me, "You don't have to help." I settled uneasily back into my seat. If I was going to intrude on this cookie-cutter perfect family, I felt like I should do something to help. My conversation faltered as I sat uncomfortably and watched Emma efficiently whisk the table clean and disappear into a door that I presumed led to the kitchen.
As soon as Emma was gone, her mother turned her brilliant green eyes to me. Her daughter didn't much resemble her: Mrs. Lexington's short hair was nearly as blonde as Troy's, she was on the taller side of average, her features tended towards gentle where Emma's were hard as any predators, and she would smile where Emma would stay inscrutable. But they had the same intense, piercing eyes that could see past the surface of anyone, including me.
"So," she asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on one delicate hand. She was suddenly as focused as my mother ever was- but my mother would never put her elbow on the table. I was immediately just as on edge as I had been when I walked in, with an added side of the defensiveness Emma's questions always conjured. "How do you know Emma? I know you and Allan have been friends for a while, but it was Emma who invited you."
I thought I heard a crash in the kitchen, as if someone had hit their head against the wall, but I ignored it.
"We were assigned to do a project together," I answered, choosing what interactions to relate very carefully. I didn't think her parents would appreciate being told about our first meeting beside the Matchmaker's locker. "And she babysat Troy a few times. She just wouldn't let us be alone on Christmas if she could help it."
"I should say not!" she agreed emphatically, but not distracted, "but was there any other reason for her to bring you here?" her suggestively raised eyebrow left me in no doubt as to what she was acting about.
"What?" I stammered, blessing tanned cheeks that didn't show my blush- not that I was blushing, I didn't blush. "No, no, its nothing like that!" I've had a lot of girls that could be called my girlfriends, and a lot more I've had some involvement with, but I've never had to meet the parents. Not that this was a 'meet the parents' situation, but it was as weird as one. Or so I would imagine. "We're friends, that's all. Nothing more."
"Oh?" I got the feeling that Emma's mom didn't believe me, and even worse, from the odd look Lex was giving me he didn't either. Poor him, the one time he's suspicious is the time I'm completely telling the truth. Or maybe he was just being protective of his stepsister. But then Mrs. Lexington's eyelids dropped, and eyelashes as long as her daughters' shielded her eyes and thoughts. "Well, I'm glad you're her friend, anyways. After her issues at her last school-"
The door banged open and Emma came in, effectively cutting her mother off. Just when she was getting to the good part, too, but I'm sure that was Emma's point.
"So, dessert in front of the tree?" she suggested, balancing a stack of plates in one hand and a tray of fruitcake and cookies in the other. I half expected her to have the teapot on her head, but it, along with something a bit harder was on the wheeled table she was pushing in front of her.
"Sounds wonderful, honey," Mrs. Lexington affirmed, rising from the table. The rest of us followed her lead as she left the room, but I held back and plucked the tray out of Emma's hand as she walked past. Emma glared; I kept moving. I didn't want my dessert to fall; it wasn't like I was being nice or anything.
o0O0o0O0o
A good few hours later, only me and Emma were left in the living room. I had forced Troy to go to bed only an hour later than usual; the adults had pled exhaustion an hour after that. Lex had disappeared a little after them, nad so now we were alone. It was 2 am, and I was sprawled across a couch that would have been to comfortable to be in a displayed part of the house in my house, staring idly up at the play of shadows the firelight cast on the ceiling. Emma was curled up in a massive armchair, a blanket wrapped around her. The only light was from the fire flickering in the huge hearth.
"Emma?" I asked, still staring at the ceiling. My voice sounded loud when the only other sound was the crackling of the fire. "Why are me and Troy here?"
"Troy and I," she corrected instinctively, than hesitated, as if wondering how much to say. She waited for so long I was considering asking the question again, but finally she answered, speaking slowly and quietly, considering every word. "Mom used to sometimes have to work on Christmas, when she was pulling two jobs to keep us in the apartment and to give me spending money. Those were the most miserable Christmas's of my life, and I've had some pretty bad ones. No one should have to experience that. I wish I hadn't had to, even if the money mom made went to buying me a new outfit. Or at least, that's where I ostensibly spent it."
Would every time I learned anything important about her be past midnight, I wondered. That certainly seemed to be the trend.
"What's you really spend the money on, then?" She had said she wasn't aware of what she was saying when she was tired, but despite the hour, she didn't seem at all fatigued. It wasn't taking advantage of her, it was just curiosity.
She sighed and paused, but finally answered with such simplicity I didn't doubt her sincerity.
"Cigarettes."
"Why?" I made a face at the ceiling. I didn't get it. She hated cigarettes as much as anyone I had ever known, as I knew all too well.
"Why do you think?" she spat. I sat up and looked blankly at her. She was no longer staring unfocusedly into space, but was still not looking at me, gazing at the
fire as if she was seeing something more than just the flames. "I was fucking addicted. If you can even say was."
Comprehension dawned. My jaw dropped in surprise. I hadn't seen that one coming, but the again, I could never predict Emma. "That's why you detest cigarettes so much."
"Among other things," she allowed, her fireside visions over as she shifted her focus to me. "that and the fact that they'll kill you if you don't quit." I let the slur go. Not the time to interrupt the unusual openness.
"Are those the issues your mom was talking about?" I would have thought that Emma was the sort of person to clever to get caught, but if her mother knew, she would have had to have been found out.
"No. She never knew about that one." Her face was shadowed, the light missing her. She seemed to blend into the chair and the darkness, but I could still hear the hard note in her voice.
"So what was she talking about?" As soon as I had said it, I realized I had gone too far. Emma wasn't ready to spill everything, and her limit had been reached. Not even Christmas magic could make her suddenly reveal all her secrets.
She sighed and uncurled herself from the chair, tossing the blanket onto the floor. She stretched as sinuously as a cat. I kept my eyes resolutely on the fire, not on the lithe body that was suddenly thrown into sharp relief, silhouetted by the firelight.
"I don't want to argue with you tonight," she told me softly, sounding tired of more than just being awake. Her long hair hung loose around her face, blacker than the darkness around her. The pale face that reflected the light and seemed almost to glow looked feral, almost fey. "So I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that."
I rose too, not as gracefully, but then again, I was considerably larger and less delicate than she was.
"Why don't you ever tell me anything about anything?" I demanded. If she had been in another mood, or if I hadn't been so tired (I wasn't used to staying up so late without some reinforcement), I wouldn't have asked, but as it was…
She laughed incredulously, a wild note in her voice.
"Darien, you know more about me than basically anyone. You're a good friend, even if you try not to be, but there are still things I don't- can't- share with anyone. And what you're asking about qualify." She spun on her heel, stalking out of the room with all the grace of a hunting panther, but no anger. "I'm going to bed. Good night.
I watched her go, wondering if I was pleased that she had called me a good friend, or annoyed that she still hadn't told me. With Emma and her damn secrecy, it was generally equal parts of both, but tonight, the former had to win.
Chapter 21
* * *
Emma
* * *
Of course, I didn't actually go to sleep. I went to my room (sort of bed, right?) but I had had caffeine, it was Christmas Eve, it was only 2:30 am-I had at least another hour before I would be tired. But I had needed an excuse to get away from Darien; the warm darkness and companionable silences were making me far too communicative (I had always been most comfortable at night). But Darien didn't know of my insomniac tendencies; it was a viable escape tactic, if only I knew what exactly I was fleeing.
I groaned as I collapsed onto my bed. I adored my family- my immediate family, step or otherwise, that is- but god had dinner been nerve-wracking! Well, not all of dinner itself, Mom and Jack had worked their magic to bring Troy and Darien out of their shells, but there had been moments… I may have hid it well (I had practice, after all) but I would gladly have murdered my mother after her little interrogation. I knew moms were supposed to embarrass their teenage daughters, but Mom had always been so good about that!
Although… She might have just seen that I was more nervous about this than I had been for… a long time. The upcoming talent show auditions didn't have me in half so much of a worry, though I don't know why. Mom had been cool with all my other boyfriends- not that Darien was even potential boyfriend. He was a friend, and I wondered if he knew how hard it was for me to admit that, but that was all.
A half hour later (after attempting to read two books, getting distracted by Darien coming past my door, and one run through of my talent show routine) and I was more than thankful when my phone rang.
Slightly surprised- who the hell would be calling me at this hour? I thought I was the only one insane enough to be awake- I rolled over and grabbed the phone sitting on my bedside table without bothering to look at the caller ID.
"Hello?" I said cheerfully. Most people are weirded out when I'm in my best moods past midnight, but this person knew me well enough to expect it.
"Hi!" Rhi exclaimed happily. I raised my eyebrows. Rhi was a morning person, sure, and it was Christmas morning for her, but 8 o'clock? And this upbeat? I hadn't heard her this merry since the last time she went out with Brock, before her parents decided to mess with her life and she made the horrid decision not to tell Brock why she was dumping him (she thought it would be less painful not to have to imagine her with another guy. I told her she was an idiot, but what can you do?).
"What happened?" I immediately demanded. Left to herself, she would ramble for hours before she got to the point, and I didn't have that much patience. Actually, I didn't have any patience.
"I talked to my parents." I rolled my eyes.
"You do that everyday, Rhi," I pointed out. She giggled. I scowled. I wanted to know what the hell was up, and her purposeful dancing around the subject was so not helping.
"Yeah, but this I really talked. And I gave them actual proof that Lord Bastard was cheating on me- you know, like you said I always should? – and that he was a total asshole and this time they actually listened and didn't just say I was being a baby," she gushed. I could almost hear her bouncing up and down with joy. Knowing her, though, her next move was she would fall down because she had jumped wrong. "And they said they'd talk to his parents and see what they could do 'cause they didn't want me to be unhappy and they hadn't realized how horrible he really was and…"
My mouth dropped. I nearly tumbled off the bed. After my imaginative gymnastics routine that actually kept me on the bed, I managed to interrupt her incredulously.
"Wait- so they're stopping the engagement? You can come home?" I was grinning like an idiot. This was the best news I had had in a really long time.
She sighed, some of her ecstasy draining away. "I dunno. I mean, they know I really really really want to come back, but they'll probably make me stay out here so I can finish this year of school."
"You're coming home," I repeated, the magnitude of it dawning on me. Rhi was going to come home. Darien and Allan were amazing people, and Candy and Brock were growing on me, so that by now I was fond of them, but Rhi was and always would be my best friend. We had been together since we were kids, and she had the courage to come talk to the little girl on the other side of the playground in the thrift store clothes. She knew stuff about me I couldn't tell anyone- but she had been there and helped me through it, so I didn't have to tell her.
"I know!" she cried, all her former euphoria returning in a blast of warm wind, "How amazing is that? But I got to go now. Family stuff, 'cause its Christmas and all- aren't my parents amazing? And isn't it really late there? You should go to bed. Laterness!"
I hung up the phone, still smiling broadly. Rhi coming was the best Christmas present I could ever have asked for. I fell asleep soon after in the same mood. Waking up, however, was a different story.
The 1st thing I saw was 3 male faces peering down at me from beside my bed. I blinked, hoping I was hallucinating. They were still there, troy with his innocent grin, Allan and his sheepish smile, and Darien, longing against a bedpost, smirking evilly.
At any other time, I would have been furious. Hell, I was furious. But it couldn't have been later than 8 am, and I wasn't awake enough to coherently express my anger.
"Come on Emma!" Troy chirped, bouncing on the end of the bed and jarring me more awake. "We've got to open presents now!"
I groaned and rolled over, yanking my blankets over
my face. Christmas presents or not, I was not getting up for anything. It was vacation, and that meant noon was the earliest I was getting up. I heard murmurs of the boys conferring, Darien's lowish tenor dominating over Troy's alto and Allan's baritone.
Suddenly, Troy yelled, "1, 2, 3!" and before I could react, the covers were jerked away from me, and Darien scooped me up. Ignoring my protests, some of which were very loud and others of which were very violent, he carried my downstairs, Allan and Troy flanking him and trying to avoid my flailing arms.
By the time he had deposited me on the couch, I had realized the futility of struggling and was leaning resignedly against Darien's arm and trying not to think about how I now had proof for what I had always suspected. Darien had a really good body.
"You," he accused me as he dropped me with surprising gentleness, "need to eat more. That should not have been so easy."
"So I'm little, sue me," I retorted, crossing my arms and tossing back hair that luckily wasn't the mess it sometimes was in mornings. I had cause to bless that smallness sometimes. Occasionally. Very occasionally.
"Maybe I will," he drawled. I made a skeptical face, but for once he declined to be drawn into an argument. After a second, I gave up. It was too early for a debate anyway.
"Well, now that I'm down here," I declared, dripping regality all over my moon pajama pants and oversized t-shirt (actually, it was Allan's, and big enough to be a dress on me), "Bring me presents!"
Troy looked up at me with big blue puppy dog eyes that were simultaneously identical to his brother's and yet worlds away. "Can I open presents too?" he asked piteously. Well, his mother had taught him one thing at least. I was in charge here, and he instinctively knew it. I chuckled.
