by Katie George
Chapter Thirty-One
THE SMELL OF the seasoned turkey was intoxicating, my first apartment home-cooked meal in ages. Jamie displayed the meat with a beautiful presentation, the grapes mouthwatering in their own right, the hint of orangey scent wafting into my nose. As he sliced a piece onto each plate, I poured the gravy into a dish as Cristina hummed a Christmas tune while doling out the perfect yolk into the deviled eggs, Worcestershire the secret. Dad and Eric seemed out of place but were trying their best at “aiding.”
My phone began to bleep on the table, so I dried my hands on a rag and hurried to answer, finding Baylee’s name displayed over the screen. “You won’t believe what happened. I completely burnt the turkey, Emma. It’s terrible. There’s smoke everywhere, and all Richard wanted was turkey. I’m the stupidest person on the planet.”
“Baby momma, you’ve got to calm down. Stay calm for your little nugget. Is there anything that can be done?”
“What do you think, Emma? That is the stupidest question in human history. We have zilch. I mean, I have stuffing prepared, and a few other trivets of food, but the turkey! How ridiculous is this?”
I did not want to, but I felt it coming out anyway, rising up like a shroud covering my face. As Baylee’s voice twiddled over the line, I mouthed to the group, “Can we handle two more?”
Dad scowled, but Jamie nodded. Eric and Cristina followed suit. “Sure, who is it?”
“Okay, Bay, you and Richard can come over here. We’ve got plenty of turkey.”
“Baylee? Oh, please not Baylee!” Jamie hissed. The two shared an interesting friendship, if it was even possible to call it that.
“Seriously? You’d do that for us?” Baylee seemed unusually anticipatory of my invitation. I scowled, modeling the look from my dad.
“Of course. Hurry up, we’re starving.”
Nearly forty minutes later, Baylee and Richard arrived, her baby bump ever so bigger—a little pea inside. After the introductions were made, including a snide comment between Jamie and Baylee, we sat at the small dining room table, crunched up together in mismatched chairs, with a cat darting underneath our feet.
“So, Mr. Richmond…” Baylee began, a fork of mashed potatoes on her spoon. “Being from Texas and all, do you keep shotguns and stuff?”
“Of course,” Eric butted in, the happiness on his face evident all the way to Mars. “You see, we have a collection. Now, I know we’re in California, and you guys aren’t exactly as pro-ammo as us, but we take big pride in the stock we own.”
“Rich,” Baylee said. The woman looked out of place, her Italian countenance startling in the dark interior of the apartment. “I think, since we’re about to be first-time parents, that we should look into purchasing a gun. Just as protection.”
“Baylee, you’ve never shot anything in your life.”
“So? I’m a parent now.”
“Why do you need a gun?”
As they began rambling on, with the Texans joining in too, I stopped to consider that this dinner—whether as crazy as it was or all in my mind—would probably only happen once in my life. Somehow, I found that thought saddening.
JAMIE AND I walked Baylee and Richard out to their car. He lied about wanting to get home to his apartment to take care of work; I knew he just wanted to go to play video games with his ex-roommate, Kip. I was jealous of Kip.
After Baylee and Richard drove out of sight, Eric and Cristina decided to take a romantic Thanksgiving stroll to the nearby park, which allotted me alone time with Jamie and my father, which would be interesting to say the least. Like I expected, my dad and Jamie completely ignored me.
As I stared into outer space, the stars twinkling bright, a tap on the arm awakened me from this momentary reverie. Thinking it was Jamie, I was startled to see our landlord Trisha, who was a one-hit wonder from the crazy ’80s. She was chewing on gum, her hair still big and bouncy and bleached blonde, her eyes ogling my dad in his cowboy boots. It was weird.
“Hey, if it isn’t my favorite pair of roomies. And I can tell, this is sweet Emma’s father, right here.” She placed a manicured hand on my back.
I tensed, knowing where this was headed, a place I did not want it to go. My father hadn’t picked up on the “roomies” comment, but he did incline his head toward Trisha before sticking out a hand. “How has your Thanksgiving been, ma’am?”
“What a gentleman,” Trisha crooned. “It’s been very well. Anyway, let me just tell you, these two pay right on time, just like you raised them to do. I have no complaints about Miss Emma and Mr. Jamie.”
Dad tilted his head, confusion marking his face. “Well, they are respectable young people. They vote, too, which is pretty cool.”
“Oh, that is so awesome. I did not vote until I was thirty-six, and even then, I wasn’t big into politics. Aren’t now either. Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I just wanted to brag on them. See you.”
With her exit came a moment of unquenchable fear. Maybe Dad had no idea what Trisha had meant by those comments. Jamie seemed uninterested altogether as he swatted a bug near his face. Then, as soon as Trisha was out of earshot, the loud voice came booming from my father.
“What does she mean, ‘these two pay right on time?’”
I gulped, standing beside Jamie, both of us straight as a rail now. We stood beside each other like twins caught grabbing candy out of the jar behind our mother’s back.
“Emma, answer me.”
“Dad, I…”
“Emma and I, sir, well—sir, we’ve been living together for six months now.”
“Emma!”
“It’s not a big deal,” I cut in, though I knew where this was going. “Dad, we’ve never had sex or anything like that, because Jamie and I are best friends. We…”
“You’re living together?”
“Dad, it’s not as bad as it sounds…”
“How am I supposed to take this? Have you been messing around with my daughter without permission? I mean, that’s one thing, but living together is completely unacceptable in every social, ethical, and moral regard… Especially with all the parenting I soaked into you, Emma. What are you thinking, living with a boy?”
I felt the heat sizzling beneath my skin. “Dad, Jamie and I are twenty-two years old, and we make decisions for ourselves. I did not want you to know about our living arrangements, because I knew you would react in a way like this, because of your single parenting excuse and all. Why don’t you just appreciate that I’m still single, but I have a great relationship with my best friend, whom I’m living together with because Los Angeles is that darn expensive? I have a great job, great friends, and thousands of weddings to attend. Like you said, I vote; I pay my bills. Do you really think Mom would be this upset about this? Oh wait, let me tell you: She isn’t, because she actually trusts me.”
That was the final blow, the nail on the coffin, because now I was out of breath, Jamie was turning pale, and my father looked like he was about to punch a brick wall. He breathed in and out, pushing and sucking air, until he staunchly said, “Okay, Emma. I’m going to bed. Good-night.” He scowled at Jamie, heading inside without another word.
IT WAS THE day after Thanksgiving, and my mind was spinning. It was two o’clock, and my brother and Cristina waited outside in the rental car. As for me, I stood outside, the cool air whipping my face, the sky gray for once. A gray day in sunny Southern California.
“You’re not kidding, Emma?” my dad barked, his voice rough. He coughed a few times.
“Dad,” I began, my own voice a squeak in comparison. “Mom’s a part of my life, whether you like it or not.”
“You’re communicating with her?”
“You can’t blame me.”
“And you’re living with a boy. You expect me to approve of this.”
“It’s Jamie, it’s not like he’s into voyeurism.”
“Call it what you want, but a boy and a girl together as just friends is impossible. Mayb
e you should ask your mother about that sometime.”
“Dad, this is seriously how you are going to end this weekend? This isn’t like you.”
His eyes turned to slits, the carefree spirit somehow replaced by bitterness. In the three days they’d perused Los Angeles, they’d found a want for rural spaces in Texas. But as soon as my dad had discovered Jamie was living with me—from that casual inference from landlord Trisha—and the accidental mentioning of Mom and I starting a relationship again, my dad blew up and refused to let me drive him to the airport. Eric was mostly embarrassed, and Cristina was shy as usual. “This isn’t like you, Emma. Especially when Eric shows me some trash magazine with your body plastered on a man’s.”
My body tightened as this revelation came to play. “Dad, give me a break. You can’t expect me to…”
“Emma, just stop it. You’ve changed, that much is clear.”
“I don’t believe I have. I just believe your perception of this me is changing. I am not your little farm girl anymore, and I never really was. Welcome to my life, Dad. You know, I left Texas because it was stifling me.”
“You think I’ve suffocated you?”
“Dad, I love you, but this isn’t your communication style at all.”
“What can I say? I’m disappointed in you. I think you’ve changed, even if you don’t think so.”
“You’re going to leave like this?”
“Emma, I know you. I know you are as stubborn as the Richmond bloodline flows, and I know that if we don’t apologize right here and right now, it will only cause more pain in the long run. But you cannot expect me to accept this situation. Jamie and you need to move apart from each other. And I’m not sure if communicating with your mother is the best idea, and let me just add, I know that sleeping with some Hollywood bozo on a beach is as stupid as it gets.” His voice calmed down more, steadier than when he was practically spitting in my face.
“You know that I love you,” he said again, “and as you are twenty-two years old, you can do as you want. But it is my wish that you will agree with what I say, and realize this is not what I want for you.”
“I know, Dad. I love that you’re watching out for me, and it is true that I should not hide things from you. I know where that gets us typically.”
He smiled, pulling me into a fierce hug, his body heat warm against my skin. There was a moment of silence before he drew away from me and went to the car.
Ten minutes later, they were gone from my viewpoint, and I shuddered, knowing that it was the day after Thanksgiving, and I was not committed to going home to Texas for Christmas. That, to me, was scary.
A few minutes later, I went back inside, pulled my cat to my chest, and dialed Jamie’s number. He was home in an hour later, the bearer of fries and cheeseburgers. This was his break from healthy food for the week.
When he sat beside me, we were quiet, knowing this was inevitable.
“I do believe your dad is right,” Jamie said, sticking a ketchup-covered fry into his mouth. “This is an awkward living position.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Me either. But I do believe we have to go with what he says.”
“Jamie…”
He nodded, his features livened by the glow streaming through our tacky, affordable curtains. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say, or what to do. I am in love with a woman who hates me, my best friend’s dad wants to skin me alive, and my job is starting to soar, but who says it won’t come crashing down?”
“Well, even if it does, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Comforting. I’ll have to deal with you forever? No thanks.”
“Hey, be kind. It’s been a rough day, getting called out by my dad in front of you guys like I’m a child. Get this, Cristina thinks Eric’s going to propose.”
“They’re practically babies. What is he thinking?”
“I wouldn’t mind getting married at twenty-two, if I had a man.”
“Me either, if I had a woman.” He smiled, but it was faint, fading fast. “Emma, I haven’t told you yet, but I got a role, one set in Vancouver. It’s a huge role, one under a lot of scrutiny, and very hush-hush.”
“And you’re breaking the law by telling me about it.”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “But I’d be there for six months. I’d get a million dollars flat, of course the payment goes up if the film does well. It’s huge.”
A smile broke out onto my face, because it was a huge break in his career. “That’s awesome! You’ve gotta take it!”
Jamie hesitated, and I knew this was going to be bad. “I don’t want it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want it?”
“What I want is to be with Nina, and if I go, I’m letting her go. If I go, I’m letting a big break in my career go, and if I go, I’m going to be away from you.”
“Jamie, Nina let you go, you didn’t let her go. Don’t worry about your career, and don’t worry about me.”
He shook his head. “Of course I have to worry.”
I swatted the back of his head. “I know your mom took you to church. Do not worry, Jamie. That’s a huge, integral part of knowing Christ. If He put this out for you, you have to accept.”
“I think you’re looking at this in the wrong way, Emma. Maybe this has been placed before me so that I can decline it.”
I wasn’t following, so I gently sat up, knowing he knew I was confused.
“Look at Hollywood. Do I want to be like these people? Some are great, but a lot are not. What if I lose who I am—and I lose you, and I lose Nina, and everything I want to be?”
“You’re nervous, that’s all.”
“Emma, you aren’t helping me here.”
I closed my lips, knowing that I wasn’t. “Jamie, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”
“I think God’s testing me to see if I’m going to trust Him, or follow fleeting dreams.”
Since I did not know what to say, we were both quiet then, like a lot of our time seemed to be now. This was how our relationship was progressing—apart. I wondered if I was supposed to be more of a therapist in this situation, but the quiet seemed more important and more lucid.
“I have to go to Nina’s wedding first,” Jamie said quickly.
