Chapter 16
Bridget
I’d gotten used to lonely Christmases. It wasn’t super fun if I thought about it too much—most of my friends were off with real-life friends or family, and everything suddenly went quiet for the day, and I always found myself drifting a little bit.
I didn’t miss Christmas with my family, but I had to keep myself busy with a project on Christmas Day or I’d end up moping.
But even the saddest, most depressing lonely Christmas in the world, where I had nothing to do except stare out the window and watch minutes pass by, nothing to think of except the numb feeling in my chest—the worst Christmas had nothing on this one.
The Jameson family was chatty and lively around the table.
And in front of me was a holiday taco. I stared at the plate with my stomach already turning, and I looked up for relief, finding Sam across the table giving me that I feel you look.
I mouthed do I have to and he gave me a miserable shrug and nod, and we picked up our tacos together.
He signaled for the count of three, and I braced myself before we took simultaneous bites of penance masquerading as taco.
Merry Christmas. Jesus Christ died for our sins.
I’d heard it said that He saw all humanity’s sins, past present and future, as He died on the cross, and I believed the Jameson holiday taco was the last one the Lord Jesus saw, and they were the final suffering that sent Him at last to meet the Lord Father.
Surely He must have made an exception in forgiving all of humanity’s sins, because this abomination was beneath even divine mercy.
I gagged on a clump of indeterminate turkey meat that felt like a piece of greasy wood in the back of my throat, and the choke turned into a burp that brought a bit of congealed cranberry turkey fat back into my mouth, and I covered my mouth to keep from vomiting, standing up too quickly.
“Oh, I—have to—bathroom,” I blurted, stumbling out of the room.
After a minute of washing my mouth out in the bathroom sink, I weighed my options, staring at my long-suffering face in the mirror. I could pretend I had an upset stomach and I needed the bathroom for a while. Maybe if I waited until they brought out dessert…?
I took my phone and texted Victoria. think something in that taco set me off! I’ll be in the bathroom for a minute, you can have mine.
I didn’t get as long as I wanted—stayed in the bathroom on my phone for a bit before there was a knock on the door, and it was Sam’s voice saying, “Bridget, look out, I think I’m gonna barf.”
I opened the door. “Stay strong, soldier,” I said, rushing out as quickly as he rushed in with a mock salute, and from the sounds he made, I don’t think he threw up, just gagged hard at the sink. I’d give him a minute. Now it was my time to face the fire.
Nan caught me on the way back again, and I was all too happy to take the eggnog even knowing it was laced with enough rum to kill a hippo. I sipped it, the heat of the alcohol burning away the infection of taco in the back of my throat.
“So, how’d it go?” she said, in an attempt at a low conspiratorial voice, but her hearing was going a little bit, so it was kind of just a normal voice. “How’s Vicky’s new hot lesbian lifestyle?”
“Oh my god, Nan, keep it down. And she’s not a lesbian, she’s bisexual.” I paused. “I didn’t mean to say that. She’s not out.”
“Not out? Of the closet, or out of her mind? Because she’s sure as hell the first, and she’s sure as hell the second if she thinks we don’t all see her staring at your ass. Good for her. You’re making sure she’s not too deprived, right?”
I blinked. “Are you asking how often I sleep with your great-granddaughter?”
She squinted. “What? Speak up.”
“Are you—asking—” I fumbled. I wasn’t shouting about fucking Victoria. “No, forget it. It was a silly question.”
The situation got worse, because the dining room door swung open, and Miss Jameson came in the room, a frown that turned into a smile at the sight of me. “Grandma, what are you shouting about—oh, Bridget. Your taco’s getting cold, sweetheart.”
The mashed potatoes in it had already been cold. Hence the gravy clumping like drying blood. I felt sick thinking about it. “I told Victoria—” I started, and Nan ruined my life.
“Ah, leave the girl’s taco to her girlfriend.”
“Nan!” I said.
Miss Jameson put a hand to her chest. “You’re really okay with Victoria eating your taco?”
“Oh, she sure is,” Nan said. I stepped in front of her, plastering on a smile.
“You know, I really appreciate you having me over for Christmas,” I said. “Your Christmas decorations are beautiful.”
She gave me a long, studying stare before she melted. Poor woman just never got compliments and was desperate for validation. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re okay being here instead of back with your family?”
“Oh, uh, yes, certainly, my family’s…” I didn’t have the heart to break it to her that my parents were homophobic, my brother was in and out of jail, and that somehow worst of all was that my dad was just kind of annoying about movie trivia.
“My family understands there are better places to be. You know, with my best friends and a big, happy family like yours.”
She stared at me a bit more before she welled up, just a bit, and she wiped at her eye. “I’m glad you think so,” she said, her voice wispy, barely there.
“I need some more eggnog for this,” Nan said, walking into the kitchen. Miss Jameson didn’t even look at her.
“I have to admit, it’s…” she started in a small voice. “I’ve often… had a hard time… thinking that we’re doing okay as a family.”
“I mean, you raised two great kids.”
She nodded, wiping her other eye. “I hope you like the food, too. The holiday tacos are a family tradition.”
“Oh, yeah, they’re, uh.” I managed not to gag. I tugged awkwardly at my collar. “They are a dinner to remember, no doubt about that. I’ve never had anything like them.”
She wiped a hand over both her eyes, fully crying now, out of pride for the Geneva Convention violation in a taco shell that she’d tried to trick me into eating. “I’m sorry. I think I need to sit down. I’m not normally like this.”
“Hey, it’s okay to have your feelings. Let’s get you a nice warm drink and sit somewhere away from everyone else for a second.”
She choked on tears she was doing a bad job of holding back. “I don’t want to make you miss out on the rest of your holiday taco.”
“I… Miss Jameson, our good relationship is more important to me than that.” Hey, it was true. She looked overwhelmed with emotion.
She got a cup of coffee, gross swill from a drip machine served black as night, and she led me into a library room with tall windows frosted over with snow and ice, dense trees behind the house huddling up for warmth in their coats of white, and we sat in the tall-backed armchairs by the window, Miss Jameson staring heavily down into her mug.
Christmas cheer and merriment hadn’t reached her eyes yet.
From the looks of her, maybe they hadn’t ever.
“I know I haven’t done a very good job,” she said. “I just want them both to be happy.”
I was just glad I had about sixteen liters of rum somehow squeezed into one glass of eggnog for this. Thanks, Nan. I took a sip. “What makes you think you haven’t done a good job?”
She pushed out a short, frustrated sigh. “Maybe it’s that you never really feel like you’ve done okay as a mother. Everyone has an opinion on how you’re doing it. And if you’re not perfect, you’re terrible, and if your kids aren’t perfect, you’re terrible.”
“Someone out here saying your kids aren’t perfect?”
“I don’t mean like that. Just… Vicky’s given up on love. I just want to see her do well in life. Did I let her down?” She shook her head. “And Kevin has low standards and is letting himself be led down a dark road by that man.”
“Okay, I don’t know what Sam did, but let’s take it one step at a time. Does Victoria have to be in love with someone to be doing well?”
She gave me a pained look like I was being ridiculous. “It’s life, Bridget. You meet someone, you fall in love, you start a family.”
“Yeah, your mom told you that, didn’t she?”
Her jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”
“Just that Victoria’s grandmother seems to have left this family with some trauma,” I said.
“Victoria has a breakdown over having emotions, Kevin looked like he was pulling teeth by being open about his feelings for Sam in front of me and Victoria, you’re terrified you’re doing a bad job because of nebulous forces and, while we’re at it, you’re scared to have emotions.
I know what Nan would say was the problem. ”
She looked down at her drink. “Grandma never did like her daughter-in-law much,” she said, words tactfully chosen.
“She was very strict, right? Very traditional. I’m going out on a limb guessing it was her who convinced you you’re only good for raising a family and then your worth is dependent on how the kids turn out.”
“It’s not like she would say things like that to me,” she said, her voice hollow.
“I think you’re doing just fine. Victoria just wants someone she can talk to.”
“She can talk to me anytime she wants. She doesn’t reach out.”
“What happens when she does?”
She welled up again, gripping her mug tightly, and she looked down, sipping it slowly, her expression small and broken and defeated. Finally, she managed in a thin voice, “I wish you were dating Victoria.”
Yeah, me too. But I wasn’t explaining all of that. “It’ll be a lucky person who gets to have her one day,” I said. My voice came out too wistful. I think that qualified as admitting it. I winced a little, but she didn’t press it.
“You’re an intelligent, charismatic young woman with a respectable job and a bright future,” she said. “You’d certainly reflect well on the family.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I mean… every job is respectable if you put in the effort and care about it.”