The Wrong McElroy

by KL Hughes

  “That’s cool.” Fiona poked one of the mounds of miniature marshmallows surrounding the rink. Smashed together, they looked like little hills of snow.

  “Thanks.” Michael passed her one of the big tubs of fondant. “Here. You can start on the fence.”

  “So, Fiona, how about you tell us a bit more about yourself,” Rosie said as Fiona began rolling out pieces of fondant. “You said you grew up in Los Angeles? Lizzie just loves it out there. Do you miss it?”

  “Definitely.” Fiona bit off a piece of the fondant she was sculpting, much to Michael’s obvious chagrin. “Especially the weather. People always say it’s so hot in LA, but it’s nothing compared to St. Louis. It’s a drier heat in LA. In Missouri, summer is like walking around in a hot bowl of soup.”

  “It’s not any better down here,” Rosie said. “What about your family? I’m sure you miss them, too.”

  “Yes. Right.” Fiona snorted and shook her head at herself. “Of course. I miss my parents all the time.”

  “Do you get out to see them often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like. It’s been a couple of years now since the last time I flew out. I’ve just been swamped with school.”

  “What do your parents do?”

  “Well, my mom’s an attorney. She mostly deals with people’s wills and estates. And my dad’s a professor. He teaches Mandarin and also works in student recruitment.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, “He’s been trying to get Fi to transfer back to LA since—”

  “Since I left LA.” Fiona laughed. “He’s still holding a grudge against me for not applying at the university he works at.”

  “I don’t think any of ours would want one of their parents as a teacher, either.” Rosie chuckled. “I can’t imagine many kids who would.”

  “Probably not.” Fiona grinned. “No, I just really wanted to get out of LA, actually. Until I left for college, I’d only ever been to two other states, and they’re both so close to California that it’s like it doesn’t even count. So, I figured a little adventure was in order. SLU has a great master’s program for nurse practitioners, too, and it’s right in the middle of the country. So, why not go for it, right? Plus, there are some really great children’s hospitals in St. Louis, and I’d like to work primarily in pediatrics.”

  “Oh! Do you like children? Michael just loves kids, don’t you, hon? How many kids do you think you’d want, Fiona?”

  “Yikes,” Lizzie said under her breath, and Fiona couldn’t help but agree. She hadn’t missed the sudden twinkle in Rosie’s eyes, and she wasn’t about to go anywhere near that particular topic. She looked at Michael, who was now as pink as a bottle of Pepto Bismol, and bugged her eyes out at him. Help!

  “Mom, come on,” he whined. “Are we playing twenty questions, or what?”

  “What? I’m just trying to get to know her, son. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Why else would you bring a girl down to meet your family?”

  “Clearly not to help me win the gingerbread competition.”

  Fiona patted his back. “That sad shack was never going to win whether I helped or not.”

  He huffed like an annoyed child and leaned into her embrace, abandoning his sad creation entirely. “Such a butthead.”

  “Aw.” She kneaded his shoulder. “You’re such a sore loser. It’s cute.” As he grumbled at her, she laughed and glanced around the table. The other McElroys were scrambling to finish their own gingerbread creations. Except for Lizzie. When Fiona’s gaze landed on her, she found Lizzie staring right back. Watching her. Tracing her lips, skating down her chest, lingering on the hand still massaging Michael’s shoulder. Fiona felt that gaze like a probe, digging for information, seeking answers they already had. Searching, perhaps, like she, for a way for things to be different.

  That’s when it hit her. Looking at Lizzie, all her insides suddenly felt like putty, and Fiona realized exactly what she wanted. Those different circumstances she wished for, being surrounded by a family she already felt so much a part of—those longings were because of her, because of Lizzie. As much as she wished it weren’t the case, it was. Fiona didn’t want to be there pretending to be somebody’s special someone. She wanted to actually be a McElroy’s special someone. Just not Michael’s.

  Chapter 7

  The click of the door closing behind her was a relief. Fiona leaned against the wood and closed her eyes. “There are too many cute girls in this fucking house,” she muttered to herself. It was only then that she noticed the sound of water running. She opened her eyes, gaze drawn toward the closed bathroom door. In a few short steps and the turn of a knob, she was on the other side of it.

  Michael stood in front of the toilet with his fly open. The sound hadn’t been water running at all but Michael relieving himself. He nearly missed the bowl, however, when Fiona flung herself into the room.

  “What the hell, Fi?”

  “I’m so glad you’re in here.” She dropped to the floor and lay her back against the door.

  “Um, I’m trying to pee here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “So?”

  “So.”

  “So, just pee. It’s not like I can see anything, and even if I could, big deal. I’ve seen your junk before.”

  “What? No, you haven’t.”

  “Uh, yes, I have.”

  He shuffled around the toilet to put his back to her. “When?”

  “Junior year. When you ate half that plate of brownies I made before you realized they had pot in them.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I can’t finish.” He bounced on his feet a bit, then came the sound of his zipper. “And I don’t remember that. Well, vaguely.”

  “You remember.” The faucet squeaked as he flicked on the water and quickly washed his hands. “Plus, we’ve talked about it like a million times. You know that’s one of my favorite stories to tell.”

  “I don’t know why. It’s stupid.”

  “It was hilarious. You were so freaked out.”

  Instead of drying his hands on the towel hanging beside him, he turned and shook his arms over Fiona’s head so that all the water lingering on his skin rained down on her from above. “Are you done, Fi?”

  “I will never forget you shuffling into the living room with your pants around your ankles, holding your little penis like it was some precious little bird you found with a broken wing.”

  Michael’s face flushed red. “Please stop using the word ‘little?’”

  “Oh, stop being such a guy. You know what I meant.” She tugged on his pant leg until he lowered onto the floor beside her. “It was cute.” Her hand shot up as soon as the words were out. “It was cute how worried you were, not your penis, so don’t even try to make a joke. Your penis wasn’t cute.”

  “Rude.”

  “Sorry, not sorry.”

  “It could have been something serious.”

  “It was a freckle. I mean, admittedly, it was a pretty big freckle, but still just a freckle. No different from the five million other freckles you have on the rest of your body.”

  “Then how come I never noticed it before?”

  “Maybe it was a new freckle.”

  “Can you just get new freckles?”

  “Yes.” Fiona patted his knee. “People get new freckles all the time, especially fair-skinned people, and especially if they’re out in the sun a lot. So, just stop tanning naked, and you’ll be fine.”

  “As if I’ve ever tanned a day in my life.”

  “True. You’re like the white crayon, if the white crayon was covered in reddish-brown spots.”

  He laughed. “So, why are we hiding in the bathroom?”

  “Because I desperately need to get out of here.” The back of her head rolled against the hard door as she looked at him. “No offense, but there are just too many McElroys
in this house.” She refrained from telling him that it was one McElroy in particular that was plaguing her, the one she couldn’t stop bumping into, the one whose smile drove her mad.

  “No argument there.”

  “I need a break.” From your sister, who I can’t stop thinking about kissing. Help.

  “Welcome to my childhood, kid.”

  “Are you aware that your grandma has, like, a designated chair in every room of the house?”

  “Yeah. That’s how we make sure she’s included, even if she doesn’t actually participate in any of the activities anymore.”

  “She just migrates from chair to chair?”

  “She used to do some of the stuff with us when we were little, but now she pretty much just sits, sleeps, smokes, and drinks coffee all day. She’s extra chill.”

  “I aspire to someday be that chill,” Fiona said, nodding, “minus the smoking and the casual racism, of course. Totally down with the coffee, though.” She sighed. “Also, your brother hasn’t stopped bragging about winning the gingerbread competition last night, even though Grace was the one who designed the whole thing. I swear it’s like he’s being extra loud just to make up for the fact that Grace is so quiet. Again, no offense.”

  “None taken. Brian likes the sound of his own voice.”

  “And he’s recreated his ‘trophy’ hot chocolate, like, three times now just so he can carry it around, waving it in front of everyone as if we’re supposed to be jealous of him.”

  “Are you?”

  “A little.”

  “Thought so.”

  “And also—”

  “There’s more?”

  “Your sister.”

  “Which sister?”

  “Sophie.”

  “What about her?”

  “She keeps trying to make conversation with me about how you and I ended up together and how we feel about each other and stuff, and I can only pretend to be hetero for so long, so I don’t even know what to say anymore. But, also, she’s really pretty and really nice, so it’s like, I want to answer her just to, I don’t know, make her happy or whatever, so then I just end up stressed and gay. And, yes, I know I’m talking really fast right now. I can’t help it, because you keep leaving me alone with your family, and I’m overwhelmed.”

  “You’ve got a thing for Sophie?”

  “No. God, Michael.” Please don’t ask me the same question about Lizzie. “But, I mean…would that be a problem if I did?”

  “Oh my God!” He sat straight up, rigid as a board, and looked at her, stricken. “You’ve got a thing for Sophie!”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You didn’t answer mine.”

  “Why are you being so weird?”

  “Because you’re acting like you’ve got a thing for my sister.”

  Nausea stirred in Fiona’s gut, and her nerves started to twitch. Clearly, it would be a problem. She chewed her bottom lip until a chunk of skin pulled loose. “Relax,” she said, wishing she could take her own advice. “I don’t have a thing for Sophie.”

  “You swear?”

  “Yes, I swear. But look, pretty girls are still pretty girls, whether I’m into them or not, and I can’t help it if their prettiness affects me.”

  Michael eyeballed her, as if trying to ferret out the truth. After a moment, though, he shrugged and leaned against her. “So, basically your problem is that Brian is annoying because he’s super full of himself, Grace is annoying because she’s super quiet, and Sophie is annoying because she’s super pretty and is actually trying to get to know you?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Well, no, technically I never said Grace was annoying. I like her nose ring.”

  “So she gets a pass because she has a piercing?”

  “And because she doesn’t ask me any questions.”

  “Wow. I’d hate to know what you think of my mom, since questions are her main form of communication.”

  “Listen, I have anxiety.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “I’m having anxiety right now.”

  “I’m aware of that, too.” He clapped his hands against his thighs and hopped to his feet. “All right. Come on, then.” His hands were as cold as Fiona’s butt against the floor, but she took them and let him pull her up. “We’re busting out of this joint.”

  “Yes!” She followed him out of the bathroom. “Wait. Where are we going?”

  “Eh, we’ll figure something out.” He grabbed his car keys off the dresser and led her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  The empty hallway teased them as they peeked around the door frame. “Coast is clear,” Michael said, but Fiona had a foreboding feeling.

  “Too easy.”

  “It’s an empty hallway. Guards aren’t going to jump out of the walls.”

  “Look, this many McElroys in one house and you’re telling me there’s even one empty hallway?” She shook her head. “I don’t buy it.”

  “You’ve seen too many crime movies.” He tugged her hand, and together they crept down the hallway like two cartoon villains, all tiptoes and high knees. “No one’s going to—”

  “Hey, guys.”

  They sprang up from their crouched positions and froze, stiff as statues. “See,” Fiona said out the side of her mouth. “I told you it was too easy.”

  “You jinxed us.”

  Sophie stood at the end of the hall, blocking their path and staring at them as if they’d lost their minds. “Wow, and here I thought Michael would never find anyone as weird as him, but so wrong. So wrong I was.”

  “Yeah, thanks Yoda,” Michael said, “but we’ve got important business to attend to, so if you could just move aside.”

  “Uh-huh. Important business.” She eyed the keys in Michael’s hand, then stepped out of the way. “Sure thing, weirdos. But whatever you’re doing, make sure you’re back in time for presents tonight.”

  “Presents?” Fiona almost tripped over Michael’s foot as they raced down the hall, then she nearly tripped again over her own. Her firm grip on Michael’s hand thankfully kept her upright. “It’s only Christmas Eve.”

  “Yeah, we do Secret Santa on Christmas Eve,” he said. “We’d all be broke as hell if we tried to buy for each other every year, so we decided to do Secret Santa so we only have to buy a present for one sibling each year. Then, we all pitch in together for something for Mom and Dad.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “Yeah, but we still do presents Christmas morning, too, all the ones for Charlie’s girls, and then whatever Mom and Dad got each of us. We’ve been telling them for a while now that they don’t have to get us anything anymore, but they always do anyway. Well, except Jessie. She still thinks she needs a hundred presents to unwrap every year.” They slid to a halt at the top of the stairs, glanced cautiously around, then began their descent at a snail’s pace. Every few seconds, they peeked over the bannister to make sure no one was waiting at the bottom to interrogate them about their daring escape. “Wait.”

  Fiona stilled at his back, hand still clasped in his. “What is it?”

  “I heard something.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Talking.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Well, I did, so just trust me and wait.”

  “Why are you guys creeping around the house like you just stole something?”

  “Oh, holy shit!” Fiona jumped so hard she nearly slipped off the stair she was standing on. She grabbed Michael’s shirt with her free hand and clung for dear life.

  Lizzie appeared at the bottom of the stairs as if she had just teleported into the room. Her wide hips were hugged tightly by a pair of well-worn jeans, and the tank top she had on accentuated every curve, from her full, plump breasts to the curve of her soft belly. Fiona ached
at the sight and buried her face in Michael’s back. “Oh God, Michael,” she groaned. “Why do McElroys just keep popping out of nowhere?”

  “Wait. Did you guys just steal something? Or are we just having some kind of weird stairway get-together?”

  “No,” Michael said. “This is not a get-together. No one is getting together.”

  “So, then, you stole something. Ooh, what is it? Something of Brian’s? Please tell me you stole something from Brian.”

  “Shut up, Lizzie. God. We didn’t steal anything. We’re just trying to get the hell out of here, so go away and pretend you didn’t see us.”

  “What? You guys are making a break for it? No way.”

  “What’s it to you?” Michael, pulling Fiona along, legged it right by his sister. Fiona caught a whiff of her as they passed, the scent of wood smoke and apricots that she was becoming much too familiar with. She squeezed Michael’s hand involuntarily, and he seemed to take it as a sign that they should hurry.

  They hit the first-floor landing just as Lizzie said, “Oh nothing. It’s just that I may or may not have a hot tip concerning our darling mother and where she may or may not be right now, which may or may not affect your ability to successfully make the aforementioned break.”

  Michael stopped, whirled them both around, and narrowed his eyes at Lizzie. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, if only you knew, right?”

  “Lizzie. Seriously. We’re trying to get out of here for a few hours, and I don’t want to have to deal with Mom asking a million questions or stopping us to tell a story I’ve already heard a thousand times or guilting us about abandoning the family until it’s too late to go out and do anything. So, do me a favor for once and spit it out.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  Michael looked at Fiona, who shrugged and turned to Lizzie. “What do you want?”

  Lizzie smiled. One red-brown eyebrow ticked toward her hairline as she sauntered down the steps toward Fiona. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I want.”