Something About You (Just Me & You) (24 page)

Les March’s bright idea to put everyone’s name in a hat and
draw names may have worked in theory but not so much in actual execution.

Wrapped boxes spread out from under the Christmas tree like
a slow flow of lava, which continued to grow once Chet and Fay arrived and
added to the pile. Sabrina pushed Chet’s gift far beneath the tree so that it
was obscured by one of her stepmother’s custom window panels.
Let him wonder
,
she thought viciously.

The tree was the kind Sabrina particularly loathed: Large,
fake, perfectly symmetrical and festooned with color-coordinated ornaments purchased
from specialty holiday boutiques. The theme changed every year. Last Christmas,
her stepmother chose butterflies and bows in pink and turquoise. And the year
before that, the tree looked like a bizarre art school project, exploding with
bright sprays of tinsel and what looked like empty bird’s nests sprayed in
complementary colors of bronze and silver.

This year’s theme appeared to be brass. Small glass tubas,
French horns, trumpets and trombones were paired with milky sky blue and
sapphire-colored globes. Strings of tiny white lights neatly crisscrossed the
boughs. Sabrina much preferred Molly’s Christmas tree, a bottom-heavy fragrant
balsam fir adorned with tiny patchwork ornaments, felt Santa faces, and
scratched-up glass globes that were boxed up in the Parker attic.

Sabrina’s stepmother emerged from the kitchen long enough to
give her the obligatory hug. Sabrina caught a whiff of tamales. Olivia March
had donned a quilted red sweater trimmed with little bells over black velvet
stretch pants. Never one for seasonal attire, Sabrina wore a long, white silk
blouse with poet’s sleeves over her most comfortable pair of jeans, which were
beginning to look a bit ragged around the knees.

“Make yourself at home, Sabrina.” Olivia’s congenial smile
didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Your father’s gone out for ice. Dinner’s on in
thirty minutes. I hope you brought your appetite.”

Then she swished back into the kitchen where Chet and Fay
were gathered around a cheese tray, leaving Sabrina standing in the living room
alone.

Family gatherings aside, she could count on the digits of
both hands the number of times she’d interacted with Olivia March one-on-one.
Her stepmother hadn’t been an unattractive woman when she and Les first met —
Sabrina grudgingly understood her father’s attraction — nor had she been a
complete stranger. When Sabrina was a little girl, her stepmother had been just
another one of the employees at her father’s fledgling dental practice. There
was the short, chubby, pink-cheeked receptionist who seemed in a perpetual
whirl of office business, and there were the two older hygienists, both of whom
had short gray hair, grandmotherly features and wire-framed glasses.

Then there was Olivia. Her slender build had been rounded
out by an ample bosom and a generous bum. She always wore her long
honey-colored hair in a neat French braid, from which curly wisps of hair
escaped at the temples. Over the years, her hair had become shorter and more
ashen, and her once-svelte figure was padded by middle-aged spread. Riddled
with otherwise vague impressions of the woman who fell in love with Daddy, it
was several years before Sabrina could bring herself to look at Olivia.
Really
look. When she finally did, she didn’t notice the color of her stepmother’s
eyes or the shape of her face, only the small details. Like how the nostrils of
Olivia’s nose pinched together whenever she became upset. And how her overly
plucked eyebrows, shaped into perfect half-moons, had finally abandoned their
roots, making her resemble a seventies disco diva.

Make yourself at home.
Sabrina didn’t know how. She
wandered around the room, idly peering into the china cabinet where Olivia’s
Tiffany crystal was displayed. To his credit, Les had tried his best not to rub
more salt into fresh wounds. He’d waited a year after the divorce was finalized
and Sabrina’s modest childhood home in the Corners had been sold before he
married Olivia. His first order of business was to buy an expensive house in
Peyton Heights for his new family with far too much floor space for only three.

The house was always kept meticulously clean, but not
through any effort on the part of the humans in residence. Sabrina knew that
Olivia employed a team of housekeepers and personal chefs to come in three
times a week to keep the baseboards buffed, the laundry cleaned and the
refrigerator stocked with enough meals to last an entire week. Olivia had given
notice months before Chet was born and, to Sabrina’s knowledge, hadn’t worked
since she and Les married.

What does Olivia do all day?
Sabrina wondered as she
peeled the foil from a chocolate kiss.

Les burst through the doorway with a boisterous “Ho-ho-ho!”
looking like a store greeter in his green vest and Santa’s cap. After the ice
was stashed, Olivia called everyone to the table for dinner. Chet brayed on
about the market. Les groused about paranoid patients who came in to have
amalgams removed. Olivia’s contribution was limited to passing around serving
bowls and asking everyone if they wanted more. Sabrina mentally put the
conversation on mute, a talent she’d eventually acquired after attending
numerous tedious filibusters.

As long as she could remember, there had never been a
holiday dinner at her father’s house that involved traditional food. Instead of
ham, turkey or prime rib and their customary potato-based sides, Olivia had
Tex-Mex delivered from a downtown restaurant in massive takeout containers. A
rare native Austinite not fond of salsas, moles and spicy chili sauces, Sabrina
picked the chicken out of her enchiladas verde and nibbled on chips and
guacamole.

After dinner, Les dragged out the industrial-sized blender
and whipped up batches of margaritas— heavy on the Cointreau, because Olivia
liked her drinks sweet. Sabrina trailed behind the others into the living room.
She checked her watch. Two hours down. Only a couple more to go, and it would
all be over. 

“I found this at a sample sale.” Olivia was showing Fay a
crocheted cardigan that resembled an elaborate doily. “It looked like it would
be the perfect fit for you.”

Fay mumbled a thanks. Clutching the cardigan in her lap, she
surreptitiously snuck a pink-faced look at Sabrina, who was sitting in an
armchair calmly dipping her spoon into a pot of flan.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Les brayed, his
third margarita in hand.

“Chet, open this one,” Olivia retrieved a long box with a
Nordstrom sticker over the bow.

“I thought Chet’s gift was supposed to come from Sabrina,”
Fay said in a hushed tone. “Isn’t that why we drew names?”

“That, Fay, is a very good question.” Sabrina lifted her
spoon to emphasize each word. She felt a little tipsy from the margarita.

“Liv—?” Les shot his wife a vexed look.

“C’mon, people.” Chet ripped into the box. “Like I’m not
going to buy a gift for my parents and my fiancée at Christmas? I appreciate
the effort you put into trying to save us money this year, Dad. But there are
only four of us in the family. We should be able to give each other gifts if we
want to.”

“One, two, three, four.” Sabrina counted noggins with the
bowl of her spoon. “Yup, Chet. That’s what I get too.”

Fay looked like she wanted to rush down the hall and climb
in the laundry hamper.

“Sweet, Mom. Thanks.” Chet held up a pricey designer dress
shirt.

Looking slightly abashed, Les handed him a larger box from
underneath the tree with a “From: Dad” tag. It was a brown leather messenger
bag, the same style and model as Sabrina’s own.

“Wow, Sabrina. We didn’t expect you to go all out.” Chet
tried to sound surprised as he nudged the single-serve coffee maker to Fay’s
heels for her inspection.

Olivia got a sapphire dinner ring from Les and a gift
certificate to a day spa from Chet. Fay, the only other person clearly unaware
of the name-drawing opt-out, gave Les the Marumen Majesty driver he needed to
complete the rest of the set, which Olivia and Chet trotted out in a wheeled
caddy. The gift opening died down as Fay unwrapped an envelope that contained a
spa certificate identical to the one Olivia had received and a box of
earth-colored cashmere sweaters from her future in-laws.

Sabrina, tuned out to the entire affair, reached into her
purse and glanced at her cell phone. The display registered a single text
message from Molly:
Chump!

“We seem to have one more gift left under this big ol’
tree,” Les said with a broad smile. “I think this one’s yours, Sabrina.” He
handed her a small, slender white box wrapped with a loopy blue satin bow.

“Thanks, Dad.” Aware that everyone else had stopped
unwrapping, gabbing and showcasing their loot, she opened it rather perfunctorily,
giving passing reference to the gift tag that said “To: Sabrina; From: Santa
Claus.”

As soon as she lifted the lid, she did a double take. At
first her eyes didn’t register the dollar amount on the piece of paper inside.
But no, there it was, crisply written in blue ballpoint in Les’ handwriting:
Pay
to the order of Sabrina March
, followed by a figure with a lot of zeroes.

“You got a gift certificate to the spa too, Sabrina? How
wonderful!” Olivia feigned glee. “We’ll have to plan a girls’ day out soon.
Won’t we, Fay?”

“Um, Dad. I don’t—” Sabrina lifted the check gingerly as
though it might disintegrate. “—I don’t really know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ is good enough,” Les said. “You’re too old —
no, too
mature
to have a housemate.”

“What the hell, Dad? Is that a
check
?” Chet looked at
his father suspiciously.

“Lester?” Olivia’s nostrils pinched shut. “Is there
something that you forgot to discuss with me?”

“Baby doll, this is Sabrina’s money.” Les’ voice was calm
but firm. “She’ll inherit it anyway after I kick off. May as well let her have
it now when she really needs it.”

“God, Dad. That is bleak,” Chet said unhappily. “Sabrina
already told you she didn’t want any money. And you gave it to her anyway? I'm
not snapping to it here. My wedding is this summer. I’m sure Fay wouldn’t mind
if someone handed her a check for a house. In
Cadence Corners
,” he added
nastily, shooting a dark glance in Sabrina’s direction. 

“Chet, it’s Christmas. So put a sock in it, for the love of
baby Jesus,” Les said irascibly. “And you might want to show your sister a
little consideration while you’re at it. She
is
sitting in the same
room.” He turned back to Sabrina. “I’m sorry for springing this on you in front
of everyone, honeybunch. It was the only way I could get you to accept a leg up
from your old man.”

“Daddy, I am grateful from the bottom of my heart. I mean
that.” Sabrina was overwhelmed. She thought of the money Les continued to
funnel to an Ivy League school after Chet’s multiple scholastic probations. The
semester Chet spent studying in Zurich. The new Porsche. The expensive
messenger bag and the damned single-serve coffee maker (
chump
). In an
instant of clarity, Sabrina realized that the dollar value on the check leveled
the playing field in terms of how much money Les had invested in each of his
children. Then she looked up and saw the look on her stepmother’s face; it was
one of disorganized shock, as though she’d just discovered that her wallet had
been pilfered at the mall.

“But I can’t accept this money,” Sabrina forced herself to
go on. “We’ve had this discussion before, Dad. Nothing’s changed.”

Her stomach pitched as she handed the check to Les. With it
went her freedom from a forever-string of housemates and living comfortably
within her means. She sensed rather than heard Chet exhale with relief.

“I want to help you, Sabrina. I’m really trying to do
something that—” Les began. Finding no other words he finished the sentence by
shaking his head.

“Sabrina, please sleep on this. Your father wants to give
you this gift.” Fay spoke up. Chet stared at his future wife, stunned. Then she
added in a stronger voice, “Don’t give me that look, Chet March. Sabrina’s my
future sister-in-law.”

“I appreciate your concern, Fay,” Sabrina said, and she
genuinely meant it. “Once again, thanks for the offer, Daddy. I won’t ever
forget it.” She looked around at Chet, Fay and Olivia, all of whom were
studying various corners of the room.

Sabrina quickly swung on her jacket and gathered her purse
and keys. “I really need to go now,” she told them, coasting on her last
reserve of graciousness. “Thank you for the dinner, Olivia. And to the rest of
you for your company.”

“Is there a family dinner that you
don’t
walk out on,
Sabrina?” Chet groused.

“Sock, Chet,” Les warned his son before he looked at her
with concern. “You’ll call me soon and we’ll talk. Promise?”

“I promise I’ll call, Daddy,” Sabrina assured him.
Discussion about the proffered check, however, was already off the table.

“Well, you shouldn’t leave completely empty-handed,” Olivia
said briskly as she rose from the couch. “Take some of these leftovers off of
my hands.” The bells on her stepmother’s sweater tinkled as she rounded the
dinner table.

Sabrina bit her bottom lip. “Olivia, you know what? I don’t
like Mexican food. I never have.”

The other woman swiveled and glared, hands on hips. “Well,
for crying out loud, Sabrina. If you would have said something sooner, I would
have gotten a damn ham!”

Seconds after the front door closed behind her, Sabrina heard
the room erupt in furious discourse. Les’ defensive barking and Chet’s gruff
harangues were drowned out by a shrill female voice that Sabrina had never
heard her stepmother use in polite company. Sabrina paused on the landing long
enough to hear Les’ voice shake with frustration.