The One I Love to Hate

by Amanda Weaver

  “Yeah,” he said cautiously. “We covered that.”

  How could he be so blasé about this? It was literally inconceivable to her to spend Christmas alone. What would you even do all day? For her, Christmas meant a house full of family, a kitchen full of food, and an all-day celebration, with the obligatory trip to church for Mass tucked in there somewhere.

  “Your family is abandoning you.”

  Alex sputtered in laughter. “They’re not abandoning me. I’m twenty-four. A grown adult. And if it makes you feel less militant, Dad wanted me to go to Brazil with him. I said no.”

  Gemma was twenty-eight and would still consider it familial abandonment if her entire family ditched her for Christmas. You were never too old for some things.

  “Why did you say no?” Spending Christmas in a swanky Brazilian hotel with Dan Drake didn’t exactly sound festive, but at least Dan was a relative.

  Alex cupped her chin and drew her face in for a brief kiss. “Because I wanted to stay in New York. With you.”

  Oh.

  “Oh.”

  And there went her emotions, unfurling and blossoming, filling her up until there was scarcely room in her heart for anything more. So even though just a couple of days ago, she’d insisted to Gemma that it was too soon to bring Alex home for Sunday supper, she found herself spontaneously proposing something much more serious.

  “You should come to our house for Christmas.”

  “Your house?”

  “Sure. I mean, it’s not Rio.” Suddenly, she felt bashful, imagining Alex in her house, in the middle of her loud, likely half-drunk, Italian family for a whole day. But she’d started now, so she couldn’t stop. And now that she knew he was on his own for the holiday, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him. “But we’ll have a big meal, and there will be football on all day, and—”

  “Is your sister cooking?”

  “She’s been planning it since Thanksgiving.”

  “Then I’m in. And...” Alex looked down, smiling softly, then back up to meet her gaze. “Thank you. I can’t imagine a better way to spend the day.”

  “Don’t say that until you’ve met my family. All of them. I love them, but they can be a lot.” The rest of the world might be impressed by the gold-plated glamor of the Drakes, but she suspected her own clan would have felt a lot more at ease if Alex really had worked at a hardware store like she’d first thought.

  “I can’t wait.”

  She hoped he still felt that way after he’d met them. And they’d met him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Romano house on Christmas Day was a far cry from the quiet, dark house Alex had last seen on the night he’d walked Jess home from the bar. Even from the sidewalk, he could hear loud shouts coming from inside. The shouting was followed by a round of laughter, so it didn’t seem like her family had descended into a fight, at least.

  On the front stoop he took a moment to gather his wits. He’d met his fair share of parents in his day. Early on, he understood that he was good “meet the parents” material—wealthy, decent looking, polite, and friendly. Mothers found him charming. Fathers found him intelligent and reliable. Parents loved him. So the girls he’d dated, even casually, had been eager to trot him out for parents. He was good at it, so he’d never once been nervous at the prospect of meeting some parents.

  Today, he was nervous for many reasons. First, there was only the one parent, Jess’s father. He suspected fathers got more protective when there was no mother there to help run interference.

  Second, as Jess had repeatedly stressed, there wasn’t just her father. There were her sisters and aaaallll the rest of her extended family to deal with. This tangled sprawl of siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins was all new to him. What if her father hated him? What if her sisters did? What if all those cop cousins Gemma had mentioned decided to send him packing? A million things could go wrong, and his winning smile and good manners might not be a match for any of it.

  Third—and perhaps most important—he’d never truly been invested in making a good impression on any of those other parents, because he hadn’t truly been invested in their daughters. He was invested in Jess. This thing between them had tumbled headlong into a serious relationship seemingly overnight. In the space of a few short days, she’d become essential to him. And while that didn’t scare him, the idea that he might somehow fuck it up did scare him.

  His fingers were going numb from the cold, so he forced himself to raise his hand and ring the doorbell. Moments later, he heard Jess bellow from inside.

  “I got it!”

  She flung open the door, her eyes bright with nerves. Something inside of him relaxed at the sight of her, and a calmness settled over him. Yes, a million things might go wrong, but she was the one right thing that made it worth trying.

  “Hi.”

  Pink stained the tops of her cheekbones. Whether he was the cause or the cold, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care, because she was adorable.

  “Hi.” She let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding for days, and flashed him a wide, panicky smile. “You sure you want to do this?”

  He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Come on. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “I don’t know...everybody showed today. I mean, everybody. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Gemma sent out a memo.”

  “It’ll be okay. I’m good with parents,” he assured her, praying that in this case, it would still be true.

  Before she could reply, a voice called out from inside the house. “Jess, you gonna bring him inside or let him freeze to death on the stoop?”

  Jess took a deep breath. “Ready?”

  “Always.”

  He followed her inside and hung his coat on the overstuffed coatrack in the hall. From upstairs came the rambunctious laughter and stomping footsteps of what sounded like an elementary school’s worth of children.

  “They’ve turned the kids loose upstairs,” Jess warned. “Don’t go up there if you value your life.”

  “Duly noted.” He snagged her hand as she led them into the living room, crowded with men. Immediately, he discerned the source of all the shouting. There was a football game on TV, and someone—the Jets—had just scored the first touchdown of the game.

  Although several men in the room looked old enough to be Jess’s father, Alex picked him out immediately, because he was the one man whose eyes immediately zeroed in on their joined hands.

  “Dad, this is Alex. Alex, this is my dad, John.”

  John Romano’s eyes raked him appraisingly from head to toe as he rose out of his armchair and stepped forward to shake his hand. He was in his fifties, and still in good shape, with Jess’s dark hair and eyes, and a trim mustache.

  “Alex. Nice to meet you. Merry Christmas.” His handshake was firm, almost too tight. Not a challenge, just feeling him out.

  Alex channeled his father and kept his eyes steadily on John Romano’s as he returned the grip. “Merry Christmas, sir.”

  The handshake challenge met and accepted, John released his hand with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head.

  “Ah...call me John.” He motioned to a sideboard. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Alex held out the bag he’d been holding. “I hope you don’t mind. I brought something for you.”

  As John drew the bottle out of the Mylar bag, his thick, dark eyebrows rose. “Richie,” he said over his shoulder. “Finish up that swill. Alex here has brought us some Macallan’s eighteen-year scotch.”

  The room exploded in appreciative murmurs. Alex almost said that it was his favorite, but caught himself at the last minute. John Romano might run a bar, but two-hundred-dollar bottles of scotch seemed to be a rare treat.

  As John uncorked it and one
of the uncles or cousins got up to get him a glass, Jess attempted to introduce him to the rest of the room. He was lost in a blur of “Uncle This and Cousin That,” until he couldn’t tell one from another. He prayed he wouldn’t be forced to remember anyone’s name later.

  One of them—in his thirties and wearing an NYPD sweatshirt...maybe Cousin Anthony?—addressed him. “You like the Jets, Alex?”

  “Ah, I’m more of a baseball fan, personally.” Another murmur, this one less appreciative. Fuck, he’d blown it already.

  “Mets or Yankees?” another cousin—Tommy?—pressed.

  “Mets.” He’d never lie about something as sacred as his favorite baseball team, not to impress any girl’s family.

  Jess’s pack of male relatives relaxed into smiles. Yes! Jess’s family were Mets fans, thank God. He’d cleared the very first and probably most important hurdle.

  “Once Jess’s finished introducing you to the rest of the family,” John said, waving toward the back of the house, “come on back and watch the game with us.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “This way.” Jess tugged on his hand. “Livie’s annoyed that she hasn’t met you yet.”

  As they neared the kitchen, more raised voices reached them, this time all female.

  “A little ketchup wouldn’t hurt, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “I’m not putting ketchup in my tomato sauce!” He recognized that voice as Gemma’s.

  “Your grandmother wasn’t too fancy for ketchup.”

  “Grandma Giordano can’t cook to save her life, Aunt Cynthia, and you know it.”

  Jess shot him an apologetic look. “Aunt Cynthia is my mom’s older sister. She drives Gemma nuts. I might have to intervene here.”

  Gemma was at the stove shooting a venomous glance at the woman beside her—Aunt Cynthia, he presumed. Aunt Cynthia, thin as a greyhound, with bleached blond hair teased into a twist, was gesturing broadly with a glass of white wine as she talked. Another older woman stood on Gemma’s left, sipping her wine and wisely staying out of it, while two younger women lounged against the counter, watching Gemma square off against Aunt Cynthia with a sort of fond amusement. When he and Jess came in, they both looked him up and down with undisguised interest.

  Jess’s other sister, Olivia, sitting at the kitchen table, was immediately recognizable. They had the same heart-shaped face and delicate chin, the same dark eyes and expressive, arched eyebrows. Her hair, dark brown like Jess’s, was much longer, falling in a heavy curtain nearly to her waist. She was staring at her laptop, oblivious to the crowd and noise around her.

  “Livie,” Jess said as she led him to the table.

  Blinking, Olivia peered up at him. “Oh. You’re him, aren’t you? The rich guy?”

  “Livie! God! Yes, this is Alex. Alex, this is my socially inept sister, Olivia.”

  He held a hand out to her once he’d recovered. “Nice to meet you, Olivia.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Olivia returned. “Gemma was right. You’re very handsome.”

  “I’m going to kill you both!” Jess hissed, dragging him away from Olivia as Gemma burst into laughter. “Everybody, this is my friend, Alex. Alex, this is my aunt Patti and aunt Cynthia.” She gestured to the two younger women in the corner. “And my cousins Kendra and Amber.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Aunt Cynthia breathed, gesturing at him with her wineglass as she advanced. Droplets of white wine hit Gemma, who scowled. When she reached them, she gripped his shoulder in a vise, her French manicured nails digging into his skin. Okay, he’d charmed CEOs and senators. Surely he could handle a half-drunk Aunt Cynthia, right? “Jess, he is so hot! My God, look at these shoulders. And this chest. I bet he’s got good abs, doesn’t he, Jess?”

  Jess’s face turned scarlet and she slapped a hand over her eyes. “Aunt Cynthia!”

  “And Gemma says he’s loaded. You’re a rich one, huh? Did you meet my daughter, Amber, yet?”

  Jess went from red to white as the color drained from her face. “Ma!” Amber hissed in mortification.

  He was formulating something witty to dispel the awkwardness when Gemma charged in to his rescue. “Hey! Can someone get the trays out of the fridge and take them to the living room?”

  Amber pushed off the counter. “I got it! Ma.” She reached for Cynthia’s elbow, pulling her away from Alex. “Why don’t you help me?”

  “Ooh, what’s this?” the other cousin—Kendra—said as Amber pulled the plastic wrap off a tray.

  “Salmon dip. And in that bag there...those are toast points. They go with it. There’s also a tray of antipasti in there, too, and some of those marinated shrimp Uncle Richie likes.”

  “Hungry?” Jess asked him.

  “Maybe later.”

  “There is no ‘later’ in this family,” Olivia said, snatching a handful of cheese cubes off a passing tray. “Food disappears in seconds.”

  The back door banged open and a cluster of smiling women, pink-cheeked from the cold, stumbled in. One had a baby encased in a puffy snowsuit bouncing on her hip. Jess made more introductions to more cousins and wives of cousins. When Gemma told them appetizers had been taken to the living room, they followed in a pack.

  Jess let out an exhausted chuckle. “You’ve been here twenty minutes and I already need a break. You must be ready to run screaming.”

  “Nah. They’re great. Especially Aunt Cynthia.”

  “I can’t believe my aunt tried to set you up with my cousin right in front of me.” Jess laid her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

  “If that woman steps foot in my kitchen again, I’m gonna strangle her!” Gemma stabbed her spoon into the air for emphasis. “Ketchup, she says! In my lasagna!”

  “You have lasagna on Christmas?”

  “We’re Italian,” Gemma said. “We’re also having turkey and a ham, but we always have lasagna.”

  Jess turned to Olivia. “If Aunt Cynthia comes back, you head her off.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Tell her all about your dissertation.”

  “Aunt Cynthia’s hardly going to be interested in black holes.”

  “So push her into one,” Jess muttered. “Want to go outside for a minute?”

  * * *

  The backyard was still covered in patchy snow. Trying not to feel self-conscious, Jess mentally compared it to that beautiful, formal garden behind the Drake town house. The grill, which her father would dust off and crank up once or twice at the beginning of each summer before leaving it to rust into oblivion again, hulked under a tattered tarp on the left, against the battered wooden fence. Gemma’s herb garden, now nothing but a patch of withered, bare twigs, lined the fence to the right. A birdbath listed off-kilter at the very back of the yard, next to the skeletal frames of the lilac bushes, which no one ever bothered to trim or tame.

  “I like your family,” Alex said, sliding his hand down her arm until he could twine their fingers together.

  “Shut up. They’re always a lot to take, but everybody’s being extra entertaining today.”

  “They’re great.”

  “Even Aunt Cynthia?”

  “Aunt Cynthia thinks I’m hot. I love Aunt Cynthia.”

  Laughter bubbled up in her chest as Alex pulled her into his arms. Head tipped forward, she rested her forehead on his chest, and felt his chin settle on the top of her head.

  “If you saw her husband, Uncle Robbie, you’d understand,” Jess said, her voice muffled by the soft wool of his coat.

  “Is Uncle Robbie one of those cops in there?”

  “No. Well, yes, he is a cop—a sergeant—but he’s not here today. He’s on duty. The cops that are here are my cousins, Anthony, Christopher, and Michael.”

  “That’s a lot of cops.”

  “Plus my cousin Nicole, who�
��s a Port Authority officer. She’s not here today, either. Tommy’s an EMS driver, and my uncle Jimmy and my cousin Nate are firefighters.”

  “My God, you’re a one-family emergency response unit. How the hell did you end up in journalism?”

  After her laughter subsided, she answered honestly. “Gemma. She never wanted me and Livie to feel like we didn’t have choices. She wanted us to be free to do anything.”

  “And little Jess decided she wanted to be the next Christiane Amanpour?”

  “More like the next Mariel Kemper,” she replied automatically. Then she remembered. That familiar knot of misery settled back into her stomach.

  Alex, sensing the shift in her mood, dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Hey, is Gemma watching from the window?”

  “No, why?”

  “I was about to kiss you senseless, but I didn’t want to scandalize her on Christmas.”

  “Do you care what Gemma thinks?”

  “She’s the reason you ended up in journalism school with me, so yeah, I owe her one.”

  “Following that logic, I guess I owe your dad one.”

  Now it was Alex’s mood that suddenly went dark. “Yeah, I’m not sure he’d appreciate the sentiment.”

  She hated—absolutely hated—seeing his light go out this way. Every time his father’s stupid corporation came up, it was like Alex quickly and quietly morphed into a different person, and all his wit and life—all the brilliance that made him Alex—got buried under a grim mantle of responsibility. “Hey.” She tugged on his coat lapels until he raised his eyes to her. “You need your own Gemma.”

  “What?”

  “For all the amazing advantages in your life, it seems like you’re missing something really important...someone to tell you that you can be anything you want to be. Maybe that can be my job. So here I am, telling you you can be anything you want to be.”

  That dragged a reluctant smile from him. “But are you going to go run Drake Media to allow me to do it?”

  “Let your father run his own company. This is about you.”

  “Drake Media is about me, too. It’s mine, just as much as it’s his.”