Maine Squeeze (52 page)

I grabbed a hunk of mistletoe and shoved the Tom under it. Then I started kissing him.

Oh no, I realized. I'm kissing a boy. I'm kissing THE TOM. This is wrong! No boys no boys no boys! This alarm went off in my drunken head.

I shoved Tom away and he knocked the Sangria bowl onto the floor, taking three plates of Mrs. Malloy's special Christmas spritzes with it. They landed cookie-side up, but then the sangria drowned them. She got so mad! But then she went out to her Volvo and brought in 3 more trays. She's like this traveling Martha Stewart. I'd like to see them in a bakeoff.

So then Tom is looking at me all weird. Well, sure, I made a pass, and that was pretty much a shock to both of us. Grant is there, too, and he looks completely upset.

“How could you
do
that?” he asks.

And me, drunken girl, says, “I'm sorry, but they're only cookies, she can make more.”

Then Grant looked furious.

And Dave is looking at me like I've just taken off my shirt and am dancing topless on the buffet table. Like he's appalled and intrigued, all at the same time.

And then this woman comes around the corner, reaching for Dave's arm like he tried to ditch her but she isn't going to let him. She's about six feet tall, like him, with blond hair and this holiday ensemble that's a little too coordinated.

Seeing them together made me want to kiss Grant again—I mean Tom—but he was kind of covered in sangria. So instead I ran outside, and started sprinting down the street for home.

“Courtney!” Tom came out after me. “Courtney, wait!”

I turned around to wave at him, and my legs went out from under me. I fell right on my butt, in the middle of the street. That's where I was sitting when Dave ran outside, too.

They both started to help me up, like chivalry wasn't dead, like they were competing to see who could help me up faster, with which arm. I looked back at the house, wondering if Grant was going to come after me.

Instead Alison came running out a second later. “I'll drag her home,” she said, taking my hands from both of them. “She's
my
sister.” Her voice was this slurry mess, it came out more like “shemssis.”

Dave gave me this sort of forlorn look as he let go of me. Then Tom did the same thing. Like maybe I'm a lost cause. Grant was nowhere in sight.

Alison and I skidded the entire five blocks home.

I'm upstairs after spending half an hour sitting with Angelina in the living room. Totally awkward. Not because we're stepsisters now, but because we don't have anything in common. Not even close.

She was sitting there, nursing her baby.

I was sitting there, nursing my Mountain Dew.

Still can't believe I made out with the Tom in front of a crowd. Grant was so mad at me! He probably won't talk to me again.

There's more!

Christmas Eve. Sitting in front of the fire, waiting for dinner. Hangover fading. Mom and Sophia are cooking dinner together, so civilized you can't believe it.

Here's the setup for tonight (does it get more complicated than this?):

Dad, Sophia, Angelina, Babyrina

Mom, Alison

Grandma and Grandpa Callahan (just back from their second honeymoon in Hawaii, looking very tan and skin-cancerous) (and SATISFIED)

Bryan, Beth (just back from their honeymoon at the Park Meadows Mall)

Sorry, that was catty.

I think I've left someone out. Oh, right.
Me
.

And Oscar, who with any luck will lie under the table and not across Babyrina.

Dave called earlier to say Merry Christmas. I wished him one, too.

Tom has called three times today. I don't know if I can talk to him yet. My hangover went away, but then the memories came back. Me grabbing him. And me kissing him.

Screw the rules. They don't apply at Christmas parties. Right?

We heard a clatter of footsteps during our dinner—not on the rooftop, on the sidewalk. Grandpa started to recite the Christmas story about creatures not stirring and mice and reindeer, but then the doorbell rang. I heard my mother say, “Well, hello there, Tom!”

Tom? I thought. Oh no, what is he doing here? I did not want to see him. What if he expected me to kiss him again?

“I just need to talk to Courtney,” he said when Mom brought him into the dining room.

“Well, that's fine, but why don't you join us for supper?” Mom got an extra plate and some silverware and Bryan pulled up a chair. Beth shot me this look, like:
You realize what you've gotten yourself into. Don't you?

“Who
are
you?” my father asked.

“This is Tom,” I said. “Tom Delaney. The president of the student council.”

Someone kicked me under the table, then Tom whispered, “Not anymore.”

“He's the boy who rescued us on the way to Ogallala,” my mother explained. She handed him a giant plate of food. “When Courtney drove us off the road.”

“Mom! I didn't try to,” I said. When is she going to stop bringing that up???

“Does he have to eat every holiday meal with us?” Bryan mumbled to me.

Meanwhile, Tom was making himself at home. I guess whatever he needed to talk to me about could wait. Which was fine.

“Can you pass the bread?” Tom asked Grandma. “And the relish plate, if you don't mind. And the salt and pepper, Beth?”

“Where's my silver lighter? I want my lighter,” my grandfather demanded, staring at him.

“I don't have it,” Tom said, calmly clearing off the relish plate onto his plate with a knife. “I did have it, but then I sold it.” He dug into his chicken cordon bleu.

“What?” I thought my grandfather was going to have a stroke. I was pretty appalled, myself.

Grandma kept patting his knee and urging him to have another bite of the excellent mashed potatoes. “There's chicken broth in there, Stanley, try it,” she urged.

My grandfather ate nothing. Tom cleaned his plate.

I had some green beans and spent a lot of time looking around at everyone, hoping they didn't hate me because Tom was here. After a while it was too much to take, so when Mom made a break for the kitchen and the pies, I asked Tom to come into the den with me.

“So what's the big emergency?” I said.

He paced around for a minute and then he dropped onto the sofa, facedown, and mumbled something into the pillows.

“What did you say?” I asked.

A muffled voice came out from the chenille. “I took all the student council money.”

“What?” I cried, yanking the pillow out from under him. He sat up and looked at me like he was about to cry.

“I spent it all, Court. On myself. And it's wrong, I know it's wrong, I kept trying to stop, but I couldn't. I have a problem, I need help!” Then he went on and on about how he was never going to get into college now, and his life was over. “Courtney! You've got to help me, I'm going down in flames!” blah blah blah.

The door opened and Angelina came in with a crying Bellarina and started to feed her. We ignored her.

“Tom, you were only in charge for a few months,” I said. “How did you manage to blow all that money—”

“I act fast, okay? In all things. It's a character trait. I bought stuff. Gifts. That sleeping bag—”

“You bought a dumb extralarge sleeping bag with everyone else's money?” I cried.

“Hey, you slept in it, too,” Tom said. “And if you don't help me get out of this, I can tell everyone you were an accomplice—”

“I'll help you, I'll help you. So, okay, let me get this straight,” I said. “In addition to being a sex addict, you're a kleptomaniac, a thief—”

“Hey!
You
liked me.
You
kissed me,” he said.

“Under duress!” I said.

“Oh, right. Sure,” he said. “It was all about Dave, wasn't it?”

I ignored him and told him I was sure he could make an arrangement to pay the money back. I'd negotiate on his behalf. He'd be my first client. (Figures. Most clients are reprehensible and guilty.) He'd probably have to resign as president. I could take over for him, and maybe we'd keep this out of the papers—

Then I realized that as I was talking, all he was doing was staring at Angelina, who was sitting on the couch, breast-feeding Babyrina. His mouth was wide-open—he was nearly drooling as much as Babyrina.

I just couldn't believe him! I was getting completely outraged on her behalf. Then I realized they had made eye contact, and she was like … enjoying this. As much as he was.

I had to get out of there right away. I went back to the dinner table and smiled uneasily at everyone. “Sorry about that.”

“You're not … dating that young man, are you?” Grandma asked.

“Oh, no,” I said. “Not at all.” I chewed a bite of chicken cordon bleu and thought for a second. Not about the fact that what I was eating went against everything I believed in. Not about the fact I'd been really dumb to even spend five seconds wishing I were with Tom and wanting him to notice me. Not even about the fact that I had seen skis under the Christmas tree and they were probably for me and why had I told Grant I couldn't go and was it too late to say yes.

But what I kept thinking was: If Tom hooks up with Angelina … if he marries Angelina, and she's my stepsister, then what would he be to me? (Besides an ex-student-council-president.) My second stepbrother-in-law once kissed and twice removed?

Merry Christmas, Part II. Fa la la la! Got exactly what I wanted from Santa: a surprise. (Not the skis, which are way cool and which Dad and Sophia got for me.) (And did I mention Bryan, Alison, and I pooled together and got Mom a cell phone that comes with no features at all except an unlisted number?)

This friend of Alison's came tonight. She drove all the way from California, through the night, straight through.

Though maybe that isn't the best way to say it. Straight through. Because I realized as soon as she came in the door and hugged Alison that
this
was the Jessie Alison was in love with. A
girl
! Not a Jesse at all.

How dumb of me not to get it before this! Can this family not clue me in once in a while? Must people hit me over the head to tell me who they're dating?

They're in this band together: Alison plays cello, Jessie sings—they played a tape for me of them. Jessie sort of sounds like Sarah McLachlan. (Wonder if they'll play at our party—for free.) She has long blond hair and is very short and petite and has six piercings in one ear.

Alison is into girls. That's why she never had a boyfriend. She doesn't like boys.

Talk about a boy-free zone. My own sister, out of the closet, and I didn't even know she was in it. Am I dense or what?

“Don't feel bad,” she said. “I didn't tell anyone in the family yet—nobody knows.”

“But Mom—Dad—”

“I'll tell them,” she said. “Just not on this trip. I figure I can wait until the timing's better, and we have more time to talk.”

“More time? You mean, you
want
more time to talk to them about it?” I said. “Because I can't stand talking with Mom and Dad about who I like and all that.”

“Courtney, I was talking about five minutes, that's all,” Alison said.

We both cracked up laughing. Then all of a sudden we hugged again and we were both almost bawling. I realized how much I love her and what a jerk I've been lately.

“And don't hate guys because of Dave or because of me or Dad or anything. Just do what you want to!” she told me.

It was like this Power Bar speech.

Suddenly I knew exactly what to do.

I think.

I went to find Grant to tell him about Tom confessing the day before, how the generous holiday brought out the truth in him. I wanted to ask him what we could do about still holding the New Year's party. And also to say I got skis for Christmas and did his offer still stand of going skiing together.

Day after Christmas: biggest shopping day of the year. Even Pet Me was packed. People using gift certificates for collars and hairball remedies. So I thought I'd wait for a lull. I thought I'd stand in the parking lot for a couple of hours, actually. The whole idea of seeing Grant petrified me.

I walked over to Truth or Dairy and peeked in. Gerry was behind the counter, and he had a line. I felt kind of bad for him, he was definitely flustered.

Back at Pet Me I found Grant stocking shelves. “Hey,” I said. “How are you?”

He glanced at me. Briefly.

“I came by for a couple of things,” I said.