Chapter Twelve
Emily
I was sunning myself on a warm beach as Blake Gaston began slowly rubbing sunscreen up my leg. I tipped my head back and sighed as his strong fingers worked their way up the inside of my thighs, spreading the slick substance higher and higher.
“What the hell?” I spit, as something fuzzy lodged itself in my mouth. I sat up coughing and spitting as I slowly realized I’d been dreaming. I whipped around to find Howard perched on my pillow, licking his wet little paw and ignoring my outraged utterances. “You are a little bastard, you know?”
The air in the room was well below a comfortable temperature, so I pulled the comforter around me as I quickly crossed the room and turned on the space heater. I hated using them, but until my landlady fixed the furnace, I really had little other option than to do what I could to keep the place warm.
“Damn it, I told that woman I wanted the heat fixed before Christmas!” I muttered, as I slid my feet into my slippers and moved into the living room to flip on the heater before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.
I turned on the oven so I could make a pan of baked French toast, and soon the house was warm enough for me to drop the blanket. Howard padded out to the kitchen and sat at my feet mewing as I brewed my first cup of coffee.
“You think I’m going to feed your dream-wrecking ass, do you?” I asked, as I grabbed his bowl off the floor and filled it with dry food. He shot me a look that told me he was not the least bit amused before turning his attention to his breakfast.
After breakfast, I did a load of laundry and cleaned the bathroom and the bedroom. It was late afternoon before I settled down on the couch to watch Die Hard. I laughed as I recalled how, the day before vacation, a couple of faculty members debated whether it was a Christmas movie or not. Personally, I thought it was, and had a hard time understanding how others couldn’t see it.
Just as John McClane began climbing up the ventilation shaft to get to the bad guy, the phone rang. It was KO calling from home.
“Hey, Em, how’s it going?” she shouted over carolers in the background, belting out an enthusiastic rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
“It’s going good,” I laughed, as I heard her turn and tell everyone else to zip it. “Quiet day at home with me and Howard, nothing major. How’s your trip?”
“These people are crazy,” she said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial level. “I cannot believe I’m related to them.”
“Ah well, once a year exposure is good for you,” I said, as Howard jumped up on the couch and patted the hand holding the phone.
“Yeah, it reminds me why I left in the first place!” she laughed, before getting serious. “You okay, Em? Seriously.”
“I’m fine,” I said, as Howard pawed my hand a little harder. “But I think your biggest fan wants to speak to you.”
“Tell that fat little boy I’ve got a surprise for him, if he’s good,” she laughed, as I lowered the phone down and listened to Howard mew a couple of times. KO responded with an interested, “Is that so?”
“Okay, well, if you two BFFs are done, I’m going to finish watching my movie,” I laughed. We wished each other a Merry Christmas and then hung up. I looked over at the screen to find the plane on fire already and grumbled, “Oh great, I missed the best part!”
Howard blinked before turning around a couple of times and then curling up on my lap, where he promptly went to sleep. I watched the rest of the movie and then flipped the channel to find the old version of A Christmas Carol just starting. I pulled the quilt off the back of the couch and covered Howard and I with it as I snuggled down to watch the movie.
A few minutes later, my phone rang again. Thinking it was KO calling back, I answered laughing, “My God, can’t you just enjoy the holiday without harassing me?”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Emily,” an icy voice replied. My stomach clenched as I realized I’d said pretty close to the absolute wrong thing I could have to my mother.
“I’m sorry, Mother, I thought you were KO,” I said, trying to convey remorse I didn’t feel. “Merry Christmas. How are you?”
“How do you think I am when I only have one of my daughters home for the holidays?” she replied tersely.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I know it’s a disappointment, but I just couldn’t get away in time,” I said, fudging the truth. In reality, I had zero desire to return to my parents’ home for any length of time, and especially not during the holidays, when I’d simply be on display as a testament to their outstanding skills as parents and mental health professionals.
“If you’d have planned better, you wouldn’t have had to miss out on the family gathering,” my mother said, pointing out my shortcomings, as usual.
“Yes, well, you know me and planning,” I said, making a weak joke to avoid having to deal with the reality. “How’s Dad?”
“Your father is the same as usual,” she sighed. “Working way too many hours and not taking care of himself. You know, you’d better make it a priority to come home soon and see him or else you might regret not having done it while you had the chance.”
“Is Dad sick?” I asked, alarmed that I’d been excluded from something like that.
“No, of course not,” she said in an exasperated tone. “I’m just saying that nothing lasts forever, and you’d be wise to make more of an effort to come visit us while you can. It’s been entirely too long, Emily.”
“I know, Mother, and I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my plate,” I said, offering another weak excuse.
“I’ll never understand why you chose to follow such a low-paying career path with so few benefits,” my mother sighed. “It’s tragic to see you wasting such an outstanding education on something so…so…menial.”
“I enjoy it, Mother,” I said, gritting my teeth to keep from telling her what I really thought. The incredible irony of my family was that my parents were both world-renowned psychiatrists who were completely unable to have a direct conversation with anyone in our family. As a result, we never actually addressed the issues that drove us apart. As a teenager, I’d tried, but having been rebuffed by the professionals one too many times, I gave up and now was extremely adept at playing the family game.
“There’s more to life than just enjoying your career, Emily,” she said, in a mildly scolding tone. “You need to be financially responsible for yourself.”
“I am, Mother,” I said testily. “I just don’t have a lot left over for extras.”
“That’s part of being responsible, darling,” my mother reminded me. “Do your father and I need to send you money again?”
“No, Mother, I’m fine,” I snapped.
“Well, I sent you a package with your presents in it,” she said, as I eyed the beautifully wrapped packages sitting under my small tree. “Did you receive it?”
“I did, thank you,” I said. “They’re beautifully wrapped.”
“Aren’t they, though?” she said happily. “I had Bella, at Saks, work her magic on them. She always does such an amazing job of making things look perfect.”
“Indeed she does,” I agreed.
“Well, I hope you can get some use out of them,” she said. “I paid a lot of money for the highest quality I could find thinking it would last you longer.”
“I’m sure whatever you sent will be phenomenal,” I said, trying to find a way to get her off the phone before she gave me a rundown of where she’d shopped and what she’d spent. Normally, I’d just sit and make mouth noises as she chatted, but tonight I wanted nothing more than some peace and quiet with my little bit of holiday cheer.
“Call me in the morning and let me know how you like your gifts,” my mother said.
“Will do, Mother,” I said, as I quickly came up with a plausible excuse. “Oh, gotta run! I’ve got something in the oven, and the timer just went off! I don’t want it to burn!”
“No, of course not,” my mother said. “Go take care of it before you burn your house down.”
“Merry Christmas, Mother,” I said. I listened to her pause and then wish me the same before I disconnected. I sat petting Howard for a long time as the ghosts of Christmas past and present appeared in the bedroom of old Ebenezer Scrooge. Howard and the quilt combined to create a soft, warm pocket, and I drifted off just as the ghost of Christmas future was about to reveal Scrooge’s destiny.