“I’ll see you Monday,” I told Zane the next morning at the security gate at the airport.

“Bye, baby,” he said and kissed me hard.

“I’ll text you when I land!” I said then went through, waving at him one last time, thinking he looked so handsome and so detective-y standing there in his charcoal gray coat over his suit, before I walked to the boarding area.

Text Message—Sat, Dec 24, 6:34 a.m.

Zane: Miss you already, babe

Me: I miss you too : (

Zane: Wish we were Netflix’ing and chillin’ right now ;)

Me: Look at you with the lingo

Zane: That’s me, babe, cool as shit & keeping up with the times

Me: Since “the times” was two years ago, sure

Zane: Damn it

Me: lmao

Zane: Okay, have fun and don’t let your parents cut your trip short

Me: lol I’ll try to be good *eyeroll*

Zane: I know you can do it ; ) See you Monday

Me: <3

~*~*~*~*~

After landing at three forty-five east coast time, I texted Zane then Izzy to let them know I’d made it then took a cab to my parents’ penthouse feeling a wave of nostalgia come over me as it always did at the sight of New York City. I did love growing up here and I did miss it.

“Jillian! So nice to see you again,” Mom said when the maid who’d answered the door announced me. Then giving me those annoying fake cheek kisses, Mom held me by the wrists pulling my arms out to the side as she looked me over.

“Hey, Mom. You too,” I said as the maid took my coat and bag.

As we walked into what Mom called the sitting room which was really just a formal living room, she said, “Have you put on weight?”

Good God.

“Nope. I’m still at one-twenty-five as always,” I declared, clenching my teeth to keep from saying something rude.

“Jillian,” Dad said, getting up from where he sat in front of the fireplace. He actually hugged me then pulled back and asked, “Why’s your hair gray?”

“It’s silver, Dad. It’s very much the style.”

He laughed. “Then your mother should stop dying hers so she’d be in style too.”

“Anthony,” Mom hissed. “Be nice.”

“Now, Lillian, I’m just teasing,” he stated and went back to his chair to continue reading the Wall Street Journal.

I put my tote purse down next to a wingback chair and took a seat asking, “When’s Laurel going to be here?”

Mom glanced disapprovingly at my purse even though it was a designer bag and said, “She and Robert will be here at any time. We’ll be dining at the Club this evening.”

Oh, goody. The Club’s initiation fee had been fifty thousand for my parents to join with an annual fee of seventeen grand, which Mom made sure to let everyone know. I just couldn’t wait to hobnob with all the snobs.

“Did you bring a dress?” Mom asked.

“I still have some in my closet I can wear,” I mentioned.

“Oh, God, no,” she replied as if I’d told her I’d be going in a gunnysack. She went to the phone and dialed. “Javier, it’s Lillian Jordan. I’m fabulous, thank you. Would you send up as many size…” she looked at me and I mouthed my size, “size four cocktail dresses you have, please. Yes, I know. I’m a size two. They’re for my daughter. Also, we need shoes. Size?” She looked at me and I told her. “Nine. All stilettos. Yes. Thank you.” She hung up and questioned, “Have you always been a four?”

“Yes, Mom, since I was sixteen.” Jesus. You’d think by the expression on her face my size was Jabba the Hutt.

“Oh. Well. Would you like a cocktail?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” I responded, barely keeping the desperation out of my voice.

“Leta?” she called the maid who appeared almost immediately, like that butler from Adam Sandler’s movie Mr. Deeds. Freaky. “I’d like a Dirty Franklin and Jillian will have a Sidecar.”

“Long Island Tea, please,” I corrected because I needed to get my booze on fast if I was going to put up with Mom all night.

And let’s talk for a moment about this Dirty Franklin Mom ordered which always made me want to crack up. All it was, was a dirty martini with two olives, but she thought she was so fancy calling it that, and each time, I wanted to tell her it sounded like a Dirty Sanchez, but explaining that to her would’ve been mortifying.

So back to the madness.

Leta returned five minutes later with our drinks and Mom and I sat so we could “visit.”

Dad was already drinking his regular Old Fashioned, so the Jordan family was set to get liquored up. Wheeeee!

 “Are you dating anyone?” she asked.

This is where things got tricky. I let out a breath knowing I had to keep my temper in check because she’d invariably piss me off, and I’d have no other alternative than to leave, thus missing Christmas with the fam.

“Yes.”

“And what does he do?”

I downed half of my drink then said, “He’s a detective for the Seattle police department.”

She didn’t even try to hide her look of distaste. “Like Columbo.”

I shook my head. “No, more like Nick Burkhardt or Nick Amaro.” Loooong drink. “Leta? Can I get another drink, please?” I called.

“Nick Burkhardt from Grimm?” Mom asked and I almost choked that she knew who I was talking about.

“Yep.” And, damn, that Leta was fast, bringing my second drink already. Thatta girl. “Thank you,” I said, taking another long pull.

“Well, Nick’s very handsome,” Mom replied and my head almost fell off.

“Zane’s very handsome too. And smart.”

She gazed at me for a moment. “And his bank account?”

I rolled my eyes knowing she hated it, so I made sure to make the rolling extra. “He’s invested well. He has a four-bedroom house that’s gorgeous. And he bought me Alexander McQueen jewelry for Christmas.”

I knew that last part would get her since she was a designer label junkie.

“Well, you should’ve brought him with you. Daddy and I would love to meet him.”

“Crime doesn’t stop on the holidays, Mom. But maybe next time.”

Wow. Look at me, all self-assured that my relationship with Zane would last until “next time.”

There was a knock and Mom hopped up happily. “Laurel and Robert are here!” she exclaimed as if she hadn’t seen them in forever when I knew Laurel came by at least once a day to visit.

I stood waiting to see my older-by-two-years sister who, if anything, was Mom’s clone. Yay.

“Jillian!” Laurel said as she came into the sitting room, jumping up and down as if she were so happy to see me. In the past two years, she’d probably said two words to me. Okay, three.

She gave me a big hug, acting all bubbly then pulled away to introduce me to Robert. “This is Robert. My handsome, smart and talented fiancé!” She stuck her hand out for me to see a twenty-thousand-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger. Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t that big, but it was big. “Robert, this is my sister, Jillian.”

I shook her fiancé’s hand, who looked as if he was almost Dad’s age. Ergh. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” I stated.

“Likewise,” he returned, and from that one word, I knew he fit right in with the rest of them.

Laurel giggled at his response.

And there it was.

She’d changed for him. I couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever giggled, even when she was a little girl. Because of this, I assumed Robert liked bubbly, ditzy chicks who were uber supportive of him, so she was doing her best to be that. God. And don’t think I didn’t know I was being judgmental about all of them. Believe me, I knew. But I’d been burned so many times over the years, that I felt it was better to judge and be wary than open myself up to these people who had and would cut me to the quick so fast my head would spin.

There was another knock and Javier showed up with a rolling rack of cocktail dresses as well as a variety of shoes.

“Come in!” Mom said to him. I sat my drink down when she motioned me over. “This is my daughter Jillian.”

“Very nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, taking my hand and kissing the top of it.

Oh, brother.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, trying to keep from laughing at him.

“Leta, if you’ll take those to the guest room, that would be lovely,” Mom said. Turning back to Javier, she stated, “Thank you so much, Javier. I’ll return these soon.”

“No hurry, madam.” He kissed her hand making her giggle then he left.

“Laurel, why don’t you help Jillian pick a dress?” Mom ordered.

“Okay,” Laurel replied then called, “Leta, please bring me a Gimlet in the guest room!” as we walked back together.

“So. Robert,” I said when we were in the room.

“Isn’t he cute?” she gushed.

“How old is he?”

“Forty-eight, but it’s not a big deal.”

“He’s twice your age, Laur,” I pointed out as I looked through the dresses picking out a black, sparkly one.

I took off my boots, sweater and slacks and stepped into it, turning to let Laurel zip it up.

“I know, but he’s soooooo…”

“Rich?”

“Yes!” She giggled. “And I know it sounds terrible, but in twenty years, he’ll be sixty-eight, or, who knows, dead even, and I’ll only be forty-four, which leaves me plenty of time to remarry and I’ll be fabulously rich!”

Wow.

I looked at myself in the mirror, liking the dress a lot. It was a pretty plain style with a boatneck and cap sleeves, a cinched waist and full skirt that hit me just above the knees. But the sparkles were awesome. I looked at the bottom of the rack and slipped my foot into one of the matching sparkly, black stilettos, looking in the mirror again.

“This is it.”

“It’s kinda plain,” Laurel muttered, taking her drink from Leta who’d shown up at the door.

“That’s what I like about it,” I announced just as Laurel left the room.

I put on the other shoe, checked my hair and makeup in the mirror—I’d already checked it in the cab on the way over, but still—then folding my clothes and leaving them on the bed, I went into the living room to face the night...and the fam.

~*~*~*~*~

“So what does this detective of yours do?” Dad asked at dinner.

I frowned. “Um, find bad guys? Solve cases?”

“Yes, but is he in homicide or missing persons or, God forbid, does he go undercover and live with drug dealers and thieves and commit all sorts of crimes himself?”

“I think you’ve watched too many movies, Dad,” I said.

“And what kind of salary does he make?” Mom tossed out.

Here it came.

“I don’t know but I’m sure you can Google it,” I offered, holding my glass up to the waiter passing by signaling I needed another drink.

“Well, you know that Robert here has made over three million the past three years,” Mom said, smiling at my sister’s fiancé who grinned back all Golden Boy.

I looked at Robert, toasting him before finishing off my drink. “Good going, Bob.”

“It’s Robert,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes at me.

“And is this, what’s the detective’s name?” Mom asked.

“Zane Powers.”

“Is Zane going to be capable of giving you the lifestyle you deserve, Jillian?”

“We’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, Mom. Well, two years and a couple weeks,” I amended.

“You know, Laurel just had their apartment redecorated for a quarter of a million dollars. Can this Zane let you do that?”

“This Zane doesn’t let me do things, Mother. I’m a grown adult. I do for myself.”

“You know what I mean. Again, can he provide you with the lifestyle you deserve?”

The waiter brought my drink and I took a hearty sip before looking at her. “I know money can make a difference. But it’s not everything.”

The entire table laughed at that. God.

“And I only deserve the life I make for myself,” I insisted.

She gave me a curt shrug. “Well, when your sister’s redecorating skills are being featured in the New York Times and you’re barely getting by on a policeman’s salary, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”

“Skills? What skills? She hired someone to decorate!” I pointed out.

“Gerald Ainsworth is single again,” Dad interrupted. “I’ll give him your number, Jillian.”

“Oh! Bitsy just told me her son, Preston Templeton the third, finally broke up with that simple girl he’s been seeing,” Mom added. “He’d be a perfect match for you, Jillian. The Templetons own Templeton Petroleum, remember, and do that oil drilling thing in the ocean. He’s so much better suited for you than this detective of yours. And you’d have something in common! The ocean! I’ll get Bitsy your number to give to him.”

Oh, my God.

Over the years I’d learned to keep my mouth shut and the drinks coming, so that’s what I did.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m plastered,” I told Zane.

I was lying in my bed in my old bedroom that still looked the same from the day I’d moved out: posters of Metallica, My Chemical Romance, Dashboard Confessional, Panic! at the Disco, Gossip Girl (Penn Badgley!) and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. A lava lamp on the dresser as well as a sign that said, “Save the Trees!” Pictures of my friends and me on a ribbon board along with a blue ribbon for first place in a raffle ticket selling contest for a honey-glazed ham in a can.

Good times.

“Did you take aspirin?” he asked.

“Yes. Leta gave me some with Perrier when we got here. And Laurel. She’s the maid. Leta. Not Laurel.” I cracked up at the thought of my sister being a maid or ever doing anything for herself.

“What’s so funny?”

“I miss you.”

“Your missing me is funny?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I mean, yes, it’s funny ‘cause I’ve never missed my boyfriend before.” When he said nothing, I added, “Wait. Are you my boyfriend?”

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

“Why do you always do that?” I huffed.

“Do what?”

“Answer my questions with a question.”

“Do I answer your questions with questions?” He snorted.

“Ugh. See?” He was still being quiet. “So?”

“So what?”

“You’re imposh-ble. Imposh-ible. God! I can’t even say it! Do Long Island Teas aneshatize…aneshatize…numb your tongue?”

He chuckled. “I’m thinking more than a few of them just might.”

“So Laurel brought her fiancé Robert who’s almost as old as my dad. Gross, huh?”

“I guess when you’re in love, it doesn’t matter how old they are,” he stated.

“Yeah, but he’s twice her age. And she’s waiting for him to die so she can get his money and be filthy rich then remarry.”

“Planning for the future, eh?”

“I guess. Oh! Have you ever had haricot vert in a truffle bagna cauda?”

“Did you just speak English?”

I laughed. “Yes. It was my side dish at the Club tonight and it was so yummy. It was even better than the hangar steak, although the porcini mushroom puree was delish.”

“If you say so.”

I sighed. “What’s wrong? You’re not being very talkative tonight.”

“Sorry. Long day. Hit a wall with my investigation today, so I’m not in the best mood.”

Even drunk I knew he didn’t sound happy to hear from me. And here I was, admittedly falling for him and he wouldn’t even tell me he was my boyfriend.

“I’ll let you go then.”

“Just wish my best girl were here to snuggle with me.”

“Did badass detective Zane Powers just say ‘snuggle’?”

“He did. I miss you, babe.”

At least I got that much out of him, which I could accept. God knew I’d had a hard enough time even getting to where I was in my head—and heart—with him.

“I’ll be home day after tomorrow,” I assured.

“Good. I pick you up when?”

“Five-twenty, but I can take a cab if you’re busy.”

“Syrena?”

He hadn’t called me that in a long time. “Yes?”

“I’ll be there to pick you up. And for the record, I am your boyfriend.”

“And I’m your girlfriend?”

“Uhhh, I don’t know about that,” he teased.

“Back to being a booty call, I see.”

“Jillian?” His voice was stern.

“Yes?” I squeaked.

“You’ll never be just a booty call. Understand?”

My first inclination was to reply, “Yes, sir,” but that sounded weird, like something I’d say to my dad. Ick. And, God, my broody, handsome detective was always keeping me on my toes. It sounded strange, but I think I liked it. Boy, I was just messed up in the head.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Nothing was said until he spoke again.

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s after midnight there. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

“Get some rest and I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“’Night, Jillian.”

“’Night, Zane.”

I dreamed I was being chased through a dark, dilapidated apartment by a crazy man who looked a lot like Rusty but kept morphing into Zane.

When I awoke, on top of having a hangover, I was crying.