Unwrapped (22 page)

“Well, I’m for bed,” Liam said.

Checking the clock on the microwave, I was surprised to see it was past eleven. No wonder Tara hadn’t bothered us. I was fairly certain she turned into a vampire or other creature of the night after the sun set.

“I’m game for that.”

“If only, chicken.” Liam took my hand and drew me slowly to him. Brushing hair from my face, he cupped my chin in his hand and kissed me. I felt like the butter we’d used in the crust as he said his good night—slightly melty and slippery.

“Tara is in bed,” I pointed out.

“I’m pretty sure she has sonic hearing.”

It would prove my point about her being a vampire—crazy hearing, evil, and blood-sucking. Yeah, this holiday was going about as well as I imagined it would.

“We’ll be home soon,” he said, letting his hand slip down to my throat, “and then we have two weeks before school starts.”

“I hope you don’t have plans.” I couldn’t quite keep the pouting out of my voice.

“My plans involve making you scream my name every hour.”

“Only every hour?”

“Behave.” But his eyes twinkled as he said it. “Good night.”

My gaze followed him—or rather his butt—as he left the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, my eyes landed on one last measuring cup. I placed it in the dishwasher and took one last look at my accomplishment before I turned to find Tara standing in the doorway.

“You finished them.”

My arms folded over my chest involuntarily as though I could ward off the coming attack. “Liam taught me how to make them.”

“He cooks then?”

“I can tell what you think about that.”

“No, it’s good,” she said with a wave off her perfectly-manicured hand. “He can take care of you.”

Coming from anyone else this might have been reassuring, but I braced myself for the worst.

“It’s not like you’ll be able to in a few years,” she added.

“There it is,” I muttered.

“There is what?”

“The afterbite.”

“Jillian, I only want you to think about the longterm consequences—”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“You won’t be twenty-one forever,” she said.

“Let it go, Mom. We’re dating. We’re in love. I’ve heard that’s normal for girls my age.” My hands were starting to tremble. I needed to get out of here before she set off another attack. I’d discussed what to do with Dr. Fales if this happened, and our best plan was to remove me from the situation.

“But you aren’t a normal girl. You never will be.”

I darted for the doorway, but she caught my arm and held me in the hallway.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she said.

“Then stop hurting her.”

Liam stood up from the sofa in the living room. My father was watching the scene unfold and Liam looked briefly to him before Dad nodded. They’d obviously been discussing something until Tara and I had interupted. Liam didn’t say anything else, he simply strode over and took my hand, removing me from Tara’s grasp.

“Good night,” he said to my mother, leading me toward the guest room. Nobody spoke again. My mother didn’t try to stop us. But when I found myself in his bed, he took me in his arms and let me cry, whispering promises until I fell asleep.

***

The turkey was laid in the middle of the table, its bare skin roasted golden brand, a gleaming knife at its side. I knew just how it felt. My mother having had enough of awkward silence had taken to producing a constant stream of chatter ranging from questionable facts about celebrities to the country club gossip. I wanted to tell her that if she didn’t shut up she was going to be what the neighborhood was talking about in the morning. I could almost see the headlines: Mother smothered with roast turkey on Christmas Eve.

Liam sat across from me in a gray button down that made his usually bright eyes look stormy. His blonde hair was tousled artfully, which only served to remind me of how he looked right out of bed. But athough he smiled, I could see it was strained. He was cracking under the stress, and it was getting worse with each passing second.

I had just raised my glass of wine when Tara said, “Maybe we should say a prayer?”

At the moment I discovered someone could actually choke on a drink and spray it all over the table.

“Wh-what?” I gasped. “Oh God, don’t tell me you’ve been saved.”

Tara glared across the table, and I realized the carving knife was closer to her than it was to me.

“I thought it would be nice to take a moment to remember what we’re thankful for this year.” But instead of bowing her head, Tara reached for the turkey platter.

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” I said, watching as she sharpened the knife against the steel. “I’m thankful for kilts and pancakes for breakfast and going to college two states away.”

“How lovely, Jillian,” Tara snapped. “I’m thankful for ungrateful daughters who act like porn stars on the bathroom counter.” She’d begun to gesticulate wildly with the carving knife.

My father rose to his feet and took the knife from her. “Sit down, Tara.”

“I don’t need you to do this for me.”

“You’ve made that clear,” he said in a firm voice. “But I’d prefer not to spend the holidays in the emergency room.”

Tara sunk into her chair, shoulders back, head held high, and peered at each of us as though daring any of us to challenge her authority. She’d placed herself as the head of the table, like a proper matriarch, which meant her gaze could reach each of us no matter how we sat in our chairs. There was no point to sulking, so I sat up straighter, matching her posture, and met her glare with a smile.

Liam cleared his throat beside me. “I’ll say grace.”

My eyes flashed to him. We’d discussed the subject of religion before and neither of us were into it. Of course, one could hope he was about to recite Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub in front of my mother. Dad looked to Liam gratefully and laid down the knife—out of reach of my mother.

Liam folded his hands and bowed his head. I stared at him until my father gestured that I should follow suit. We’d never really prayed at the table before. Like most well-to-do people in our community, my parents went to a few services a year to keep up appearances. I’d never heard them use either a-word, but I also hadn’t really been brought up to consider myself Christian. Everything about this felt weird and out of place, and I hated Tara for managing to make things even more awkward for everyone.

“Heavenly father,” Liam began, and I had to stifle a giggle, “bless this food, lovingly prepared and shared amongst family this evening. I thank you for bringing me here to spend the holidays with the kind people, and for the blessing of placing Jillian in my life this year.”

It was like a slap in the face. I doubted Tara felt the sting between Botox and her perpetual bitchiness, but I did. Because I was part of this family and I had been just as crappy to all of them as they had been to me. I’d met every single one of Tara’s poisonous comments with equal venom. I’d barely shared more than ten words with my father. The only person I had been kind and generous to was Liam, but he’d seen us—he’d seen me—for what we truly were. Mean. Spiteful. Petty. All that was clear from his tone. What wasn’t clear was whether the rest of his so-called prayer was tongue-in-cheek as well? Was he beginning to see me for the blessing I really was?

I hadn’t felt this sick at Christmas since the year my parents went on a cruise and didn’t remember to call, leaving me a few fifties as a Christmas present. I’d been unwanted then and I had a feeling I was rather unwanted right now.

“Wasn’t that nice?” Tara asked as she lifted her head.

I thought my father shook his head a little at her obliviousness, but I wasn’t surprised. Tara couldn’t see her true self if she looked into a goddamn magic mirror.

“Pass the gravy,” I said in a flat voice. I was definitely going to eat my feelings tonight.

“Not too much,” Tara warned, just as she had every holiday. Tomorrow she would remind me that summer fat farms were full of holiday indulgences.

I poured half of the gravy boat’s contents over what had to be three servings of mashed potatoes and smiled at her.

“Liam,” my father said, ignoring the thick tension building between Tara and I, “have you thought at all about where you plan to do an internship this summer?”

Liam glanced at me and shook his head.

“I imagine it will be in Scotland,” Tara said as though this closed the conversation.

“Perhaps” was all Liam replied.

“Well, if you’re considering staying in the states I might have a friend at the country club who could set you up,” Dad continued as though Tara had never spoken.

“That’s very kind of you. I’ll let you know,” Liam said. He didn’t sound in the least bit interested and my stomach turned over. Suddenly my plate looked terrible. Liam had hinted at trying to stay here after next semester. Now he couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm over my father’s suggestion. I had a horrible feeling that I knew exactly what I was getting for Christmas.

“He won’t want to stay here.” Tara tore apart her roll, but didn’t eat any of it. “He wants to get back to his real life in Scotland.”

“I don’t have any internship plans next summer,” I butted in. I couldn’t stand thinking about this anymore. The last thing I wanted to do on Christmas Eve was thinking about the ticking clock that loomed between Liam and I.

“I knew that.” Tara let out an inelegant, and uncharateristic, snort of laughter at my statement.

“Is there something that you want to do?” Dad asked. “I’m guessing you’ll want to stay in Washington, especially with your last year of school coming up. Or maybe you’d rather travel somewhere before you get a job.”

In the last two years my parents had skirted talk of jobs. My mother insinuated that I could work while going to school, but that was as far as it got, except for her dropped hints that I would never find work. Hearing my dad talk about me starting a career inflated me.

“There are quite a few counseling centers that might have an internship open,” I said. “That might be good since I’ve been considering grad school.”

Tara dropped her fork.

“That makes sense,” Dad said.

“That makes no sense,” Tara said.

“Tara.”

She ignored the warning in my father’s voice and went on. “You’ve barely studied for the last two and a half years and now you’re going to go to grad school.”

“If I want to go into therapy, I’ll need at least a Master’s degree if I’m going to make a living.”

This time her snort was a full-blown laugh. “A Master’s degree? A living?”

“What did you think I was going to do? Move back in here? You don’t want me. Get married? You’ve made it clear no one will want me.” I was shouting, my butter knife clutched in my hands.

“I just want you to be realistic about what a girl like you—”

“Shut up, Tara.” The words were low but dangerously clear. I stared at my father in amazement. He’d never stood up for me before. My dad could be counted on for one thing: turning a blind eye.

“George!” Tara clutched her chest in surprise. “I will not be spoken to like that at my own dinner table.”

“Then leave.” And with that he picked his fork up and continued eating.

Tara pushed her chair back so quickly that it fell over. She didn’t bend to pick it up before she fled the room.

“Have you thought about looking for internships together?” Dad asked, returning to the previous topic as though nothing had happened.

“We, um, we…” I couldn’t find an answer to save my life. Surely, my father could see how tenuous things were with Liam. After all, he’d spent a lot more time with him this week than I had.

“It’s a little too early to be looking,” Liam said, saving me from the question. “We’ll both need to think about our summer plans when we get back to Olympic State this week.”

This time when my stomach rolled, its contents heaved into my throat. I stood and grabbed my plate. “Excuse me. I’m finished, so I’ll clean up.”

I was barely aware that I’d just volunteered to do the dishes as I stumbled toward the kitchen. I needed to get out of there and away from all my dad’s questions about Liam and I’s future—and away from all of Liam’s vague answers. But when I rounded the corner I realized the kitchen wouldn’t be much of a haven. Tara stood against the counter, bottle of wine in her hand.

“Finished already?” she asked.

“I am,” I said. “Are you?”

She huffed and took a swig. “You think I’m a terrible bitch for making you face facts, but, Jillian, that boy is going back to Scotland in a few months. And you’re right, he is good for you, but what happens when he’s gone? It’s time you ask yourself that before it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.” I slammed my plate on the counter and ran out of the room before she could see my face. Before she could see that she’d rattled me. Tara had successfully spread her holiday spirit and it was spreading through me like a nasty, seasonal virus. Christmas was coming. The only Christmas I would ever spend with Liam, and she’d probably ruin that, too. Maybe she was right about girls like me—we never get what we want.

The Christmas tree lights had been left on, bathing the living room in warmth. The aroma of dinner lingered, rich and spicy, and the quiet house looked as if it belonged in a magazine. The last few embers glowed in the hearth. It was past midnight, which meant it was Christmas morning and the world felt magical. Tara always kept the lights on for Santa, and maybe it was sentimentality but she’d continued to do so even when I was long past the age where I believed in Santa Claus. Now it filled me with a sense of peace that I wondered at. After our disastrous dinner and show down in the kitchen, it amazed me that I could feel so content.

Stealing down the last few steps, I slid onto the couch, hugging my knees to my chest and staring dreamily at the tree. Something stirred in the corner of my vision and I jumped up, surprised to find I wasn’t alone.

“You don’t look like a jolly old elf.” Liam’s mouth cracked into a sleepy smile. He was nestled under two blankets in the corner armchair, and he slid an arm out to beckon me over to him.

“Waiting up for Santa Claus?” I settled onto his lap as he drew the blanket back up over us.