Six, Maybe Seven

by Katie George

  Chapter Thirty

  MY FATHER, BROTHER, and brother’s girlfriend were due to arrive at LAX any moment, and I waited in the sweaty, incredibly busy baggage claim with Jamie. He wore a ridiculous pair of bright blue sunglasses made for a teenage girl and a hoodie that drew more attention to him than if he went bald. I wasn’t nervous because of my best friend; rather, I wondered what would happen if my mom popped out of a suitcase and scared my dad to a heart attack. Plus, I wasn’t fond of visiting my immediate family with my brother’s girlfriend in tow. Luckily, she could help me with Thanksgiving dinner, although Jamie argued that—while he would not be “living” at my apartment—he would cook for us. He promised he knew how to properly cook a turkey and all the accoutrements. I knew how to make deviled eggs—and that was the extent of my knowledge. I laughed at the thought of Jamie at my Thanksgiving meal, which had never happened before, and this made my heart giddy.

  Yet the nerves were still palpable. Jamie hummed beside me, standing behind a barrier, afraid his now prominence as a Hollywood actor would draw attention from the pap. However, I knew that he was not that famous by any means. He had one film under his belt, and plus, the pap were too busy chasing Sam Woodshaw and his collection of one-night stands.

  Jamie nudged me so hard I almost fell over, but then I got what he was getting at. My mother appeared, running up to hug me in a big bear hug. It all happened so fast I did not take note of the tanned man behind her—Victor Swann, her new husband—and a few other humans who were part of their group.

  “My baby!”

  “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  “Vic and I just got back from Cabo. What’re you doing here?”

  “Waiting for Dad, actually.”

  Mom’s face clouded over, and she backed away a few steps. “Your father? Well, I want to see Eric. Victor, come here, meet my baby.”

  Jamie’s eyebrows raised in disgust. I quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed three times, signaling that I loved him because he was my family. He squeezed back.

  Victor offered a hand, his Arabic background not meshing well with my viewpoint of an English name like Swann. He was a handsome middle-aged man, yet I wondered why he and his entourage had flown into LAX when San Diego had an airport.

  “Oh, I see that scowl on your face, Emmaleen. We flew through LAX because we are visiting Victor’s friends from Santa Clarita. You are too much of a detective. Is this the infamous Jamie?” She rushed over, pulling him into a hug, though I saw him tense.

  “Hi, ma’am.”

  “Oh, don’t. Don’t make me feel like an ancient sea tortoise. I’m Emma’s momma, and you can call me Eileen. So, why are you in that hot hoodie?”

  “He’s afraid he’s going to be recognized by the pap,” I said, my vision draining when my brother’s head appeared above a row of Asians. It was easy seeing the tall brother I’d grown up attacking, blaming, and somehow loving.

  “The pap?”

  Victor interjected, “Paparazzi, dear.”

  Ew. I broke out from the group, rushing for my brother, practically jumping into his arms as I reached his lanky body. The boy was barely eighteen, a tall, male version of our mother; with almond-color hair (unlike my mother’s auburn red) and bright brown eyes, he was not necessarily striking in the visual sense, but handsome in the rugged sense. He was developing muscle, I noticed, and he kissed the top of my head.

  When we pulled away, still hanging off one another, just a few centimeters farther apart, he whispered in a deep drawl, “How’s my big sis?”

  “I don’t feel like much of a big sister right now.”

  “Emma,” cajoled my father’s voice, and his arms were wrapped around me, comforting. We made a weird Richmond sandwich, I believed; a redhead scrunched between two tall poles of man-meat. Cristina stood to the side, holding her bags, a woman now. The last time I’d seen Cristina Veraniego, she had been a little slurp of a girl. Now, she stood before me, still youthful, but at the last drop of girl, the sands of time dictating her womanly body was almost formed.

  “Cristina!” I pulled her in, too, so that we all four stood there in the midst of a crowded LA afternoon.

  She smiled, nuzzling close to my brother. “Emma, this is crazy. How do you live in a city like this?”

  “If you’re judging Los Angeles by the airport, just get ready for the traffic. C’mon, let’s get y’all’s baggage.”

  “I hear her accent is already coming back,” Jamie said from behind me, tingling something inside me. I liked having him part of the family, even if not in the official reunion hug. Eric pulled him into a man-like clasp before my father did the same, patting his back hard until he coughed. There was never any issue of protectiveness with the guys, because they’d been with Jamie in his late formative years. While they’d only seen each other a handful of times, it was enough to know whole-heartedly that James Stewart was nothing but a generous, God-loving male human being, who was steadily progressing into a handsome, formidable man.

  “What have you been eating, JJ?” asked my dad, stepping back. “I guarantee it hasn’t been Emma who’s feeding you.”

  “He just came back from Mexico. It was all the enchiladas.”

  “That is half-true,” Jamie agreed, laughing it off. “I’m Jamie,” he said, offering his hand to Cristina.

  “Cristina,” she responded, taking her place by Eric. She was a good foot shorter than her man, but in their youthful romance, it seemed normal. Somewhat.

  As they fiddled with their luggage at the baggage claim, I whispered into Jamie’s ear, “Where’d Mom go?”

  “She ran off when she saw you run off. It was weird. Victor kept apologizing, but then he ran after her. I don’t think she was able to handle all of you at once.”

  “I’m glad she left,” I said, because I knew WW3 would have erupted otherwise. This was about a Thanksgiving of peace rather than destruction. “Jamie,” I whispered as Cristina giggled with Eric and my dad at her side, “I’m going to miss you at the apartment this upcoming week.”

  “Hey, we’re quite used to it, aren’t we? With Mexico and all.”

  “I guess.”

  “And it’s not like I’m not going to be hanging out with the eccentric and strategic Richmond familia. I see diversity nowadays with the Richmond bloodline. Eric and Cristina, and imagine if it were you and me. Our kids would be the talk of the town. All of Stephenville would be aflutter.”

  “Oh, shut up. Why are you even thinking about kids? Who said I was having your baby?”

  Jamie rolled his eyes, resting his elbow on my shoulder. “You see, I did not say you were having my children. I just said, if. And you know, we could try…”

  “Ew, stop it. Why are you doing this to me?”

  His lips broke into a wide grin. “Because I am good at keeping your mind on crazy topics. I help you forget about things, and I do have to say, I am dying to try out this new gym near the apartment, not because of the gym, but because of this ultra-relaxing sauna I’ve been hearing about.”

  “Well, don’t expect me to join you.”

  “I’ll invite your dad. He loves me, at least.”

  “Take Felix-slash-Fiona.”

  “That cat would be a disruption on so many levels.”

  “You know, that cat is really the only kid we’re ever going to share.”

  My family was done by this point with this strange talk, so we went into the crisp November air, following each other in a single-file line as we approached the parking garage. Jamie was trying his hardest at the topic of Dragunov guns with my brother and dad. Jamie supported the second rights amendment—as a Tennessean by birth—but not because he cared anything about guns. I’d seen him shoot once in my life—and a BB gun at that—and he’d accidentally killed a blue jay.

  Meanwhile, I had some time with Cristina.

  “So, what do you want to do now that you’re in California for the first time?”

  Cristina was shy, but she seemed to b
e warming up to me, as long as I steered the conversation along. “Well, of course the Hollywood sign…”

  “That’s a must.”

  “But I’m not necessarily into the whole glamour of Hollywood like other people might be. I’d be happy just to walk around a park and see those mountains of yours. That’s interesting.”

  “Hills, mountains, whatever—we’ve got them,” I said, smiling at her. “You see, if you and I break free from Dad and Eric, that will be worth it. Whenever they come to town, they’re always hitting up the nearest shooting range. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I’m always fighting with them about doing something California-like rather than Texas-like.”

  Cristina smiled. “That is so true. Eric’s obsessed with shooting. Did he tell you that he won second at nationals this past year?”

  “What, no, he did not! And he did not even tell me? He must be too preoccupied by this beautiful woman I walk with now. Seriously, though, he did?”

  “Yup. Honestly, Emma, I think he’s serious about the military thing. He’s part of ROTC, but he talks about being a full-up soldier. It scares me.”

  “You could be a military wife,” I said, knowing my brother’s interest in serving, but not necessarily knowing to what extent he wanted to help out.

  Cristina blushed a crimson color. “Right now, I’m focused on making it through college.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  We made it to my beat-up junkmobile, which was proving to be as durable as steel in a skyscraper. As I pulled onto the access road that would lead us out of the convoluted LAX compound, there was a sense of chaos in the car triggered by a Hollywood actor making terrible jokes to my family.

  “What do you call a fish with no eyes?” Jamie began, his voice clear and loud as I maneuvered onto the interstate. “A fsh. Get it? Spelled f-s-h? No eyes?”

  Cristina politely chuckled, while Eric fell into a hysteric ball of atoms. “That is so ridiculous. You got any others?”

  “That was terrible, son.” My father’s voice was rough, the epitome of rugged man.

  “Of course I’ve got plenty. I went to a seafood disco last week…The problem was, when I got there, I pulled a mussel.”

  “Jamie, shut up.”

  “Okay, I’ve got more. A dyslexic man walks into a bra…”

  I whipped my arm behind me and swatted his face. “What are you doing? Behave.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  This time, Dad intervened, grabbing the wheel from my hands as I aimed for a sucker punch in the direction of Jamie’s jaw. My dad gruffly yelled, “Pay attention, Emma!” I felt my own stupidity at reacting so foolishly to my best friend, yet Eric was laughing so hard, especially since Jamie was acting more like I was his white grandma than best friend.

  “Jamie, say, have you taught my daughter to drive around in Los Angeles any? She’s all over the lines.”

  “Dad,” I muttered, feeling my father’s embarrassing tone coming on. He was known to be a critic, which was not necessarily a good thing.

  “What? You drive as good as a limp, blue fish. I know I taught you stick shift in the middle of mesquites, but seriously? You’re going to hit that poor Prius.”

  “We don’t see Priuses that often,” Cristina interjected.

  Jamie inserted himself, “That’s because Texans are infamous for wasting gas on those ginormous lifted trucks. I think I would look peculiar in one of those. Don’t you think, Em? I’m going to buy a giant Dodge Ram, hoist a Confederate flag on the back, and totally anger all these California hippies. And then when they pull up, and see some black guy wheeling around like such, it’ll confuse everyone for sure.”

  “Jamie, please tell me you aren’t on drugs in front of my family,” I hissed.

  He shook his head. “I know your dad owns shotguns. Why would I risk my life in front of him?”

  “Dodge Rams aren’t even the good ones. I’m a Tundra man myself,” Eric said, the conversation shifting into an arena I did not want it to go.

  This would mean truck lingo, truck debating, and truck truck truck for the next hour, from Sherman Oaks to Glendale to Pasadena to Glendora. It would be absolutely miserable.

  CRISTINA WAS WEARING a funny lotion on her face when she padded down the hall to the living room. It was nearly ten o’clock, and Eric, Jamie, and my dad were still not back from an arcade Jamie had sworn was the best in Glendora. It was weird having my brother and dad completely ignore me in favor of my best friend; yet it gave Cristina and me time to catch up, watch some crazy show called The Bachelor, and discuss life in general.

  Now that it was late, I was falling asleep due to my moniker as an early bird, and I was sick of waiting up for the boys. I shifted in the sofa as Felix/Fiona cuddled up to my stomach, and Cristina entered, sitting beside me in her pajamas. The thrum of guitar music from a reality show droned on in the background, eerily reminding me of Baylee Feta, my new female best friend. That alone was weird in itself.

  “I think your brother is going to ask me to marry him.”

  “Why do you think that? You guys are literally young pups. That is way too young to get married, even if we’re from Texas, okay?”

  Cristina nodded, pulling her black ringlets into a ponytail. She seemed very young in this moment, and I remembered myself in that action, four years prior, two weeks after moving to California. I remembered distinctly the smell of oranges, because it was the fruity scent of Nina’s lotion. We’d just met that day, and she was staying in my room for the night because she thought her roommate was performing a satanic ritual. When I reminded her we went to a Christian university, Nina laughed it off; later, I’d learned that Nina’s roommate was kicked out of the university for possession of marijuana. Therefore, I spent a lot of time in her room, because Nina was a lucky woman and all having a full room to herself.

  Thinking of Nina brought me back to Jamie, who, somehow, had been my first true friend in the universe. He was not a fake friend; he loved me, he wished to protect me. Once, a friend revealed to me that the true measure of friendship is whether a person would die for you or not, and whether you would die for said person or not. In actuality, Jamie was a person I would die for, and vice versa.

  “I saw the ring, Emma,” Cristina breathed, pulling her knees to her chin, bringing me back to the present.

  “The ring?”

  “It is your grandmother’s ring.”

  “The blue lapis?”

  She nodded, her eyes big. “I’m not ready to get married.”

  “Oh, Cristina. I have no idea what to say.” Seeing her confusion, I moved closer to her, offering a hand like an olive branch. “Oh, man. This is tough. Don’t feel like if he proposes, you have to say yes. I don’t see the hurry.”

  “I think he’s afraid of losing me, but he doesn’t realize I’m not going anywhere.” Her eyes filled with large tears. “We don’t have to get married to be together.”

  “Amen, sista. Here, you need a tissue. And a chocolate chip cookie.” I went to the kitchen, finding some I’d baked the day before in an attempt to make the apartment homelier, when in stumbled three deliriously tired men, two tall like telephone poles, the other a person I wanted to slap.

  As Eric and my dad fell onto the sofa, Cristina asking them questions, Jamie walked into the kitchen, his eyes drooping. He held his car keys in one hand, including the key to the apartment. I punched his arm, to which he yelped, “What was that for?”

  “You alerted them that you had a key. Isn’t that weird? Remember—they’re not supposed to know we live together.”

  Jamie rolled his eyes, instead playfully planting a kiss onto my forehead, which momentarily buzzed me like a bolt of electric shock. “You’re too rigid, Texas.”

  “Are you seriously drunk right now…”

  “If I’m too tired to tell you this in the morning, I’ll say it now. I think I’m going to Nina’s wedding. Why not?”

  “Because she’s the love of your life.”

  “
I really wish you were the love of my life, but it would be weird for us to pursue that course.”

  For a moment, I almost caved into that sentiment, but then I found myself turning around into the dark living space to an awaiting family—apart from the man who might have wished for me to be the love of his life.