14. I Play It Balls-Out
14
I Play It Balls-Out
ANDREW
Me: The clothes arrived. Thank you
Carly: Did you try them on?
Me: I did. They look great
Carly: Anything you want to return?
Me: No, I like them all
Carly: Wonderful. See you at the airport on the 22nd.
Me: I won’t see you until then?
(a few hours later)
Me: Ok. Thanks again
I plunked a slice of Telma’s sweet-potato pie in front of Natalie, then set down my plate before taking a seat.
Thanksgiving at the Jones-Hayes house wasn’t much different from Mother’s Sunday brunches. Jackson and his wife had brought their brood. Their son, Noah, was talking Charles’s ear off about his latest graphic novel obsession, and everyone was oohing and aahing over what baby Valentine would—and wouldn’t—eat. My sister Sam had made a rare visit with her fiancé, Niall, who worked hard to keep the peace between her and Mother. As usual, Nat and I were stuck in the middle. The only difference from brunch was the menu.
Until Charles stood at the foot of the table.
“We have something to celebrate today.” He raised his glass.
My first thought was Jackson and Alicia. Could she be pregnant again? I glanced toward their end of the table, near Mother, but they looked calmly at Charles, waiting for what he’d say.
“The word on the street,” Charles said, grinning proudly, “is that Andrew has the inside track on a promotion to bank vice president.”
Fuck. There went my secret.
My siblings congratulated me and raised their glasses in the air. Even Noah raised his glass of sparkling grape juice and drank, coming away with a purple mustache.
My mother gasped. “That’s wonderful, son! I knew you could do it.”
My face went hot. “It’s not a sure thing.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “I hear it’s yours to lose.”
“Really? Did you hear any details?”
He settled back in his chair. “No. Ed seemed surprised you were interested, but Vic has been pleased with your performance so far.”
Being a Jones had its perks, but it also had perils. When I was a kid, Mother was on a first-name basis with my teachers and headed almost every parent committee at my school. Now Charles knew everyone at the bank where I worked and had zero qualms about checking in with my boss’s boss.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mother said from the other end. “Vice president.”
“I don’t have the promotion yet,” I warned her.
Jackson murmured something to his wife, and across the width of the table, I heard the phrase “the man.” Typical Jackson. Criticizing me for not following in his entrepreneurial footsteps, or our father’s.
“Making my way up at an established firm is a solid career path,” I said. “It’s secure.”
“Safe,” he scoffed. “Limiting.”
“We can’t all run off and be entrepreneurs. Some of us have others to take care of.”
“You don’t have anyone to take care of.” Jackson stuffed a hunk of pie into his mouth. Alicia frowned and whispered something in his ear. His jaw bulged as he chewed.
“He takes care of me,” Natalie said. “Speaking of which, I need a ride on Monday. Can you pick me up from class on your way home?”
I rolled my eyes. “Again?” I’d have to bring home the extra work from my new projects. Vic wouldn’t see me working late. But family was always my first priority, so I said, “Okay.”
Sam’s soft voice floated to me across the table. “You’re a good brother, Andrew. Thanks for always looking out for us. And thanks for watching out for Mother.”
I gave a quick jerk of my chin. Three years ago, when our mother had collapsed and ended up in the hospital for bypass surgery, I’d raced across the country to be by her side. After the procedure, when she’d looked so frail in the hospital bed and asked me to stay, how could I say no? I’d quit my job in New York, broken my lease, and spent the next month ensuring she took her meds and did her physical therapy. Charles was too soft to push past Mother’s stubbornness, Nat was too young, and Sam and Jackson were occupied with school and work.
Once Mother had recovered enough to resume her normal activities, I’d found a good job at the bank. Close enough to check on her a couple of times a week, so I didn’t worry as much.
“Hey,” Natalie said. “Your shirt matches the dessert.”
I looked down at my shirt, one of Carly’s choices. This one was a casual button-down in a brown-and-orange tattersall pattern. The cuffs and inside collar had a coordinated dotted fabric that my color-averse former colleagues in New York would’ve frowned at, but it felt like a festive choice for Thanksgiving in California. I mumbled something noncommittal.
But she wasn’t ready to let it go. “It’s more color than I’ve seen you wear since your high school soccer uniform.” Her mouth dropped open. “You got someone to style you! Was it Carly Rose?”
I glanced quickly at the head of the table. Mother paused, but then she went right back to feeding the baby a spoonful of pie.
“Let’s keep our voices down, okay? Yes, she styled me. For the—” Whoops, hadn’t meant to mention the wedding. “For the season,” I said instead.
Nat scanned from my shirt to my pants. They weren’t anything special, but they fit more snugly than my usual khakis and, magically, without constricting. “She’s good if she can get you to change things up.”
“Yup.” I shoved a forkful of pie into my mouth to keep from saying anything else.
I had mixed feelings about my styling experience. Sure, it had been convenient to have clothes show up at my door one night after work. It was better than the catalog shopping I usually did because it took away all the decisions I hated making. But it was also impersonal. Like our terse text exchange.
On my more hopeful days, I imagined she’d thought about me when she’d gone to the store or that she’d pictured my face and my body as she picked out the shirts and pants. Had she run her hand over each garment and thought about touching it, warm from my body? The faintest trace of her perfume rose from the shirts. I hadn’t washed them, only smoothed out the wrinkles with an iron. I buried my nose in my collar to catch a whiff of tart apple.
“What are you doing, weirdo?” Natalie elbowed me in the side. “You look like a turtle.”
I lifted my chin. “Nothing. Had an itch,” I lied. “I was afraid if I took my hands off my pie, you’d steal it.”
“Oh my god,” Natalie mumbled through a mouthful pie. “Why don’t we eat this every week? I always forget how good it is.”
I blotted my mouth with a napkin. “You should ask Telma to make it for you for Christmas.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. Then she swallowed. “Wait, why will she make it for me and not for us? Where are you going to be on Christmas?”
I chewed and swallowed, remembering the rules. We hadn’t talked specifically about telling anyone but Mother, but Carly wanted to keep our arrangement on the down-low. “I, uh, I have plans.”
“What plans do you have for Christmas?”
“I’m spending time with a friend.”
“A friend? Oliver? I thought he’d go see his family in Boston.” She tapped a forest-green nail against her lips. “This seems out of character. You never miss brunch, and you’re the one who always made us eat dinner together after…after Dad died. Why would you ditch us on Christmas? What do you know that I don’t?”
For one wild second, I thought she’d keep her question to herself. But true to her place in the birth order, she couldn’t keep her nose out of my business.
Turning toward the head of the table, she called, “Mother, what are our plans for Christmas?”
Our mother wiped the baby’s face with a cloth napkin. “Jackson and Alicia are spending the holiday in Texas, and Sam and Niall are going to Ohio, so Charles talked me into going to Spain for Brad Winner’s wedding.”
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
“What?” Natalie squawked. “You’re leaving me here alone for the holidays?”
“You’re hardly a ten-year-old Macaulay Culkin,” our mother said. “You’ll be fine with the run of the house. And this way, you and Andrew are free to celebrate however you like.”
Before I could stop her, my little sister pouted. “But Andrew’s going away too.”
“You are?”
When Mother’s gaze swiveled to me, I shoved another bite of pie into my mouth and nodded. She was going to Brad’s wedding? Carly would lose her shit. She might even change her mind about our arrangement. There was only one way to play this: balls-out.
I swallowed the pie. “I’m going to the wedding too. With Carly Rose.”
Silence fell over the table. Even Valentine stopped her babbling.
Jackson broke it with a low whistle. “Way to go, little bro. You’re batting above your average there.”
Mother blinked. “What?” But her voice didn’t rise on the question. It came out flat with disbelief.
“I—” I should’ve told her last weekend when it was only the four of us. “It’s about the promotion. Vic told me a VP needed to look more stable. So, I made an arrangement. With Carly.”
“An…arrangement?” Mother’s voice sounded far away.
“She went with me to a client dinner.” It was more than that, considering the client was her ex, but my strategy was to tell the story as expeditiously as possible, then distract Mother with some other topic. “She’ll attend the bank’s holiday party as my date. In exchange, I’m going to Brad’s wedding with her. I guess we’ll see each other there.” I shoved my fork into my pie and stuffed a huge bite into my mouth. It tasted like failure. None of my siblings would have to fake-date someone to earn a promotion.
“When I said she should go to the wedding, I didn’t mean you should take her.” Ice crackled in Mother’s tone.
I swallowed. “It’s a win-win.”
“She’s old enough to be your mother.”
My fork clattered onto my plate. “She’s thirteen years older than me.” I was tempted to unfasten my top button to get air to my overheated chest, but I’d gone up against Mother enough times to know that would be admitting defeat. I’d rather drown in sweat than show weakness.
She narrowed her eyes. “Consider the optics, Andrew. She’s over forty and divorced. She’s not fading quietly into the background like she should. Instead, she’s trying to reinsert herself into my social circle to build that business of hers. She even had the nerve to come here last month and screech at me about it. Taking you to her ex’s wedding is a ploy for gaining visibility. She’ll drag you into her scandal. That’s not good for your promotion.”
“She was a huge help at my client dinner a couple weeks ago.”
“Does Vic know it’s a ruse?” she asked.
“No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to him. Once I get the promotion, we’ll split amicably. She’ll have new clients for her business, and I’ll have what I wanted.” I pushed away the rest of my pie.
“Brad’s wedding is going to be a Jerry Springer–style circus,” she said. “It would be best if you weren’t involved.”
“Sorry, Mother. I promised. No one from the bank is going. I’m going to take a well-deserved break from work to enjoy the sunshine in Spain and hang out with my friend Carly.”
She let the silence hang over the table for a few seconds. “Then I suppose we’ll see you there.”
I swallowed with difficulty. It seemed improbable that Mother would leave our argument unfinished. But when she held out her arms to take the baby and asked Alicia some question about her business, I reached a shaky hand for my glass of wine.
“You’re in for it now,” Nat said.
“You always were a troublemaker.”
She snorted. “This time, you made your own trouble. Good luck with that.”