The Wrong McElroy

by KL Hughes

  “You are.” Lizzie shook her bucket of popcorn around, then dug free another handful. “You think I didn’t see your face when Michael said I could come with you guys? You looked like someone just killed your cat.”

  “I don’t have a cat.”

  “You’re a lesbian, and you don’t have a cat?”

  Fiona choked so hard on the Milk Dud she’d just swallowed that she dropped the box. It hit the floor, spilling candy around her feet, and all she could do was cough and splutter and wheeze.

  “Pretending to choke isn’t going to get you out of this conversation, you know.”

  The chunk of caramel stuck in her throat refused to budge, and for a moment, Fiona was certain she was going to die. She clawed at her throat with one hand and grabbed Lizzie’s arm with the other, burrowing her nails in to get the point across. She wasn’t fucking joking.

  “Oh! Oh my God. You’re serious. You’re actually serious.” Lizzie tossed her popcorn bucket into the chair beside her and jumped to her feet. Her hands hovered around and in front of Fiona as if attempting to cast a spell. “Oh my God. Wait.”

  Fiona wanted to scream that she couldn’t wait. Her lungs weren’t going to wait patiently for air. They would either catch a breath in the next few minutes or die an empty, crackly, chocolate-coated-caramel-flavored death. “Heimlich.” She barely managed to squeak the word out around the Milk Dud, but it was enough to spur Lizzie into action.

  The velvet-covered, cushioned seat popped up with a creak and groan as Fiona was wrenched free of it. She stumbled as Lizzie spun her around to put Fiona’s back to her chest. “Okay,” Lizzie muttered at her ear and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I don’t know how to do this, but I’m just going to do it.”

  Just do it! Fiona screamed inside her head, fumbling with Lizzie’s hands. She tried to help her form proper fists and place them in the correct position, but she was rapidly growing dizzy and the longer the Milk Dud remained in her throat, the more it hurt. Every tortured swallow resulted in another round of helpless gagging and coughing.

  “Okay. Here we go. Here we go, Fiona.” Lizzie slammed her joined fists into Fiona’s gut so hard that she lifted her off her feet. Nothing happened beyond a grunt, a cough, and a wheeze. Fiona kicked her feet as Lizzie held her in the air. Her eyes burned with tears. “Shit. Shit. Okay. Again. I’m gonna do it again.” Lizzie set her back on her feet and repositioned herself. “Here we go. Please don’t die, Fiona. Please don’t die. We haven’t even kissed yet.” Her hands, knotted firmly together, rammed inward, and Fiona shot off her feet again with the force of the blow.

  The Milk Dud flew out, a melty, delicious cannonball that likely stuck wherever it landed. Fiona collapsed against Lizzie’s chest. The breath she took was one of a corpse spasming back to life, so loud and obnoxious that it drowned out the screeching violins of the movie still playing before them. Her feet dropped gently back to the floor as Lizzie lowered her down, holding her from behind.

  She eased into her own seat and pulled Fiona with her, down into her lap, where they both sat panting, not saying a word. Fiona took breath after breath, slower with each inhale until she calmed enough to relax, and lay her arms over Lizzie’s, still wrapped around her middle. A sheen of sweat coated Lizzie’s palms, but Fiona didn’t care. She laced their fingers and gripped tightly.

  “Thank you,” she said, leaning back to rest their heads together.

  “Please don’t thank me.” Lizzie laughed. “I’m the one who put your life in danger.” Her laugh was tired, astonished, the kind one offers up when something is too much to process, too much to analyze. It was infectious. Fiona lay against her, letting herself be held without thought or worry or guilt, and delighted in the sound gurgling up her still-sore throat.

  “I lied,” she said, trailing her thumb over the back of Lizzie’s hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. Soothing. “I do have a cat.”

  The quiet laugh they shared cracked wide open, became an eruption shaking everything in their vicinity. The entire cinema seemed to tremble with them as they held tight to one another and dissolved into giggles. Fiona wiped tears from her eyes and sighed, then slid off Lizzie’s lap and back into her own seat. “Lizzie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is a disaster.”

  They stared at one another in the dark, neither saying a word. Fiona wasn’t sure there was anything more they could say. It was as simple as the words she’d already spoken, and it was as complicated. Lizzie finally opened her mouth to reply, but Michael appearing at the bottom of the stairs caught Fiona’s attention. She stiffened in her seat, alerting Lizzie, and the two went back to staring at the screen as if they’d never stopped.

  “Geez,” Lizzie said as he squeezed by them to reach Fiona’s other side. “Think you were gone long enough? What’d you do? Fall in the toilet?”

  “Yeah, well, Mom called me when I was on my way back in,” he said. “She figured out we were gone, so I had to stand outside the door for ten minutes listening to her cry about how the whole family never gets to be together anymore, and when we do, one of us is always trying to run off and get out of it.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “She’s apparently never going to forgive you and Jessie for going to Taco Bell.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “Yeah, but you guys were gone for, like, two hours.”

  “Yeah, because we were high. I was trying to give Jessie time to come down so Mom wouldn’t know. She kept calling herself Lady Gaga and singing the rah-rah part of ‘Bad Romance’ over and over. Mom would’ve known something was up.”

  “Well, now she’s mad at us.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah.” He took a sip of the Sprite he’d left behind and relaxed into his seat. “So, what’d I miss?”

  “Uh.” Fiona and Lizzie looked at each other, panicked, but then Lizzie simply shrugged and said, “Some more people died.” The answer evoked a snort and an eye roll, but Michael didn’t press for more details, and they carried out the rest of the movie in silence.

  When the credits rolled, they collected their trash and headed for the door. Near the end of their lane, Michael stopped and let out a loud howl of disgust.

  Fiona turned back. “What is it?”

  “I think I stepped on someone’s gum or something.”

  “Gross.”

  Once outside the cinema, he propped his leg up so they could inspect the bottom of his shoe. Embedded in the grooves were the dirty remains of a half-eaten Milk Dud.

  From the couch to the recliners to the floor around the fireplace, the McElroys’ living room was crowded with redheads. Everyone had already gathered for Secret Santa by the time Fiona, Michael, and Lizzie returned. The instant they walked into the room, they were hit with an expression so disapproving Fiona found she couldn’t stomach looking Rosie in the eyes.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the little rebels,” Rosie said from her place on the couch. She pursed her lips at them. “Come running back home for presents, I see.”

  Lizzie removed her coat and hat and lay them across a small table in the corner. “No one was rebelling, Mom. We just went to a movie.”

  “Because we apparently aren’t entertaining enough here.” Rosie sniffed and ran a hand through little Maddi’s hair. The girl was asleep in her lap. “Put your coat up in the closet, Lizzie. You know better than to let it drip on the table.”

  “But it’s not even wet. It’s not snowing anymore.”

  “In the closet, please.” She pointed at Fiona and Michael. “The same goes for you two.”

  They moseyed back around the corner together, into the foyer, and discarded their coats in the closet by the front door. “Mom’s in a mood,” Lizzie said as she hooked the last of their coats onto the rack.

  “I told you,” Michael said.
“I don’t know why she’s making a big deal about it. Sophie and them were at the store for over an hour yesterday, and she didn’t act mad at them about it.”

  “They were out doing her bidding, so it’s okay.”

  “Think a hot chocolate’ll do the trick?”

  “Eh. It’s worth a try. You wanna make it, or should I?”

  “You can. I’ve gotta run out to the car to get your present.”

  “Oh, you got my name this year?”

  “Yeah, but don’t get excited. I was a little low on funds after getting my tires changed and pitching in for Mom and Dad’s present, and I didn’t want to ask them to help me pay for yours.”

  “Come on. You know I don’t care about that.”

  “It’s a book.”

  Lizzie stared at him, deadpan. “Really? You just had to go and ruin the surprise like that? You couldn’t have waited fifteen minutes for me to actually open it?”

  “You just said you didn’t care.”

  “About it being cheap! Not about you ruining my surprise.”

  Fiona leaned against the foyer wall and listened to the quiet, rapid exchange, smiling. “Hey, Michael,” she said before they could spiral any further. “I think I’m just going to head upstairs and skip the whole Secret Santa thing, if that’s all right.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She placed a hand on his upper arm and squeezed. “I’m just tired.” The frown dragging his lips down told her he wasn’t buying it. “And I wanted to call my parents before it gets too late.”

  “But they’re two hours behind us. You’ve got time.”

  “Just let her go, Mike. It’s Christmas Eve. She wants to call her parents. Besides, it’s Secret Santa. So, it’s just going to be us giving each other our gifts. If I was her, I definitely wouldn’t want to sit around watching everyone but me get to open a present.”

  He looked at Lizzie, then back at Fiona. “Okay. Yeah, I guess. But you’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “All right. Well, tell your mom I said hi.”

  “I will.”

  “’Kay, I’m running out to the car.” He gave Lizzie’s shoulder a light shove. “Get started on the hot chocolate.”

  “Will do.” She waited for him to sprint out the front door, then zeroed in on Fiona. “Are you really okay?”

  Fiona smiled, soft and genuine. She could feel it becoming a habit, the way Lizzie made her smile. “I’m okay. I promise.”

  “You don’t have any more Milk Duds, do you? I don’t trust you to eat them alone. They aren’t safe.”

  “Fresh out.”

  “Good. All right. I won’t keep you.” She leaned toward Fiona as if to touch her, embrace her, something, but apparently second-guessed herself. Her expression was all brows furrowed and lips quavering around a timid, unsure smile. She shrugged. “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.” Fiona parroted back the words but didn’t make for the stairs. Instead, she reached out, took Lizzie’s hand, and drew her closer. “Come here.” She didn’t like that look of doubt, so alien on Lizzie’s usually confident face. Fiona wanted to ease whatever it was that bubbled under the surface, wanted to answer questions she knew she couldn’t. Still, she tried. She tried with her body, with her warmth, with the grip of her fingers on Lizzie’s back. The smell of apricots filtered in as she buried her nose in Lizzie’s hair and whispered to her again before letting her go. This time, it was real. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  As Fiona made her way up the stairs, she heard Lizzie sigh and head for the living room. She barely made it in before Rosie’s voice floated out, starting in on her daughter again. “Well, where’d they run off to now?”

  “Michael’s getting his Secret Santa gift from his car, and Fiona went to bed.”

  “Bed? It’s barely eight o’clock.”

  “So? Jessie’s asleep on the floor right in front of you.”

  “You probably ran her off with that stink eye you were giving them, Mom,” Brian said, “looking like you were about to whip out your belt and bend them all over your knee one by one.”

  Rosie sounded genuinely distraught by the idea. “No. Oh no, Lizzie, honey. That’s not what she thought, is it? Oh, my goodness. I’m not really upset. She doesn’t have to go off to bed. I just—”

  The voice, distorted by distance, died to a murmur as Fiona reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway. She made it to the bedroom, stepped calmly inside, and closed the door behind her. Instantly, her calm composure crumbled. She slapped her hands to her face and groaned. The theater fiasco played on loop in her head, more memorable than the film they’d seen. Requiring the Heimlich maneuver from the girl she secretly wanted to date because she was too gay to properly chew and swallow a Milk Dud easily took the top slot on her ever-growing list of “Reasons I Can’t Be in Public.” The whole ordeal had, however, landed her in said girl’s lap, so, admittedly, it could have been worse.

  She face-planted on the bed, lying horizontally across the mattress, and tried not to think about the warm, soft press of Lizzie’s body. Enveloping her. Holding her like something precious. The thoughts came anyway. They bombarded. Fiona could still feel the sweat on Lizzie’s fingertips as their hands skated over one another, grabbed, and held on tight. Their quiet, exhausted amusement danced around in her ears, a phantom of sound, and made her smile against the bedspread. She curled in on herself as the feelings overwhelmed her, those of want and wonder, and lifted her head just enough to glance over her shoulder at the door.

  She had time. Michael was downstairs with his family. They were opening presents. That would take a while, she was sure. She definitely had time.

  Her shoes hit the floor with two light thuds, followed by the plop of her phone against her pillow. She got her jeans unbuttoned and halfway down her hips before she even made it into the bathroom. The door clicked behind her. She locked it for good measure.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered to herself, but the urge was immense. It demanded she ease it, feed it, relieve it. Everything she’d experienced over the last three days, everything she felt, had balled itself into a massive knot of tension. It sat heavy at the base of her spine, making every move achy and agitated. She needed release.

  She caught the edge of the sink with one hand, steadying herself, as the other wriggled down her unfastened pants and into her underwear. Lizzie’s laugh played like a melody, as if recorded and set to repeat, echoing about Fiona’s head. The memory of her fingers squeezing Fiona’s sides, gripping Fiona’s hands, turned her skin electric. Her fingertips met moisture on the first touch.

  Just a bit of relief, she told herself. That’s all she wanted, something to clear the haze from her mind, calm the erratic beat of her heart. It would only take a few minutes, a few good, hard strokes and one perfect, scandalous image in her head.

  No one needed to know it was Lizzie’s name she bit down on when she tipped herself over the edge.

  Chapter 9

  Exhaustion racked Fiona’s body, but she couldn’t sleep. The moon shined through the white bedroom curtains like a knife slicing through paper, and Michael’s snoring rumbled louder than usual. She couldn’t stand it any longer, so she tossed the covers off herself, donned Michael’s far-too-big house shoes, and shuffled out of the room.

  The hallway was dark and empty, like something out of a ghost story. Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and hoped there wasn’t some creepy, haunted history lurking in the walls of the McElroy manor. Surely, she’d have heard about it by now. Rosie was keen on telling every family story she could think of. That wouldn’t be one to skip out on. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to reach the stairs, and Fiona ran down as fast as she could without tripping over the house shoes swallowing her small
feet.

  Downstairs, a fire crackled in the living-room fireplace, its orange glow bouncing about the room and over the twinkling gold lights of the large Christmas tree. The festive aroma of burning pine permeated the air and paired perfectly with the smell of cinnamon wafting off the scented pine cones decorating the tree. Fiona was hooked. Every element worked perfectly together to soothe her. She found herself hypnotized, staring into the fire.

  “It’s nice, right?”

  Fiona practically jumped out of her skin as a head of bushy red hair and a white, toothy grin popped up over back of the couch. Her hand shot to her chest. “Jesus Christ, Lizzie! Do you make a habit out of scaring the shit out of people?”

  “It’s more like a career, actually.” She waved Fiona over to the couch and pulled back the wooly blanket wrapped around her legs.

  Fiona looked from the blanket to the striped, pajama shorts hugging freckled thighs to Lizzie’s amused, beautiful face. “You want me to get under that?”

  “No, I’m giving you a peepshow of my pasty white legs.” She shook the blanket impatiently when Fiona didn’t move. “Sit the hell down already.”

  Not a good idea. Romantic fire, Christmas tree lights, and a cozy blanket for two? That’s a recipe for temptation if I’ve ever seen one.

  But the longer Lizzie looked at her, huffing and shaking her blanket like an impatient old woman, the more inclined Fiona felt to oblige her. Lizzie was just too Lizzie to deny. In only three days, she’d grown into someone precious to Fiona, someone important. Every time they spoke, it felt more and more familiar, as if they’d known each other for years. Lizzie breezed through awkwardness with ease and pulled everyone, especially Fiona, right along with her, right into comfort. It was as if one mistaken tackle on a cold winter morning had tethered them to one another, woven together the loose strands neither knew they had. Now all Fiona could feel was the tugging. She wanted to be closer.

  She started to sit, but Lizzie quickly held up a hand to stop her. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t sit on Otis.” She pointed toward a thick pillow beside her. Yanked aside, it revealed the chubby orange ball Fiona had only seen a few times, occupying the kitchen counter or being lugged around by Grandma Sophia. Now he wore a Christmas sweater with bells sewn into it and glared at her until she covered him back up. She made sure to sit as far from the pillow as she could, though that meant squeezing right into Lizzie’s personal space.