Chapter 5 #2
“It’s only been a week,” I say with a laugh. “Did you and Cameron have fun in Greece?”
“Ohhhh Kate. It was gorgeous. You have to go sometime. It was the best early Christmas present!” As if on cue, Cameron The Finance Guy strolls into the foyer and wraps his arms around Liza’s plaid dress. She bats her eyes up at him and pats his clean-shaven cheek. “He’s the best boyfriend ever.”
Cameron chuckles and pulls a hand through his cropped brown hair. His boring navy sports coat matches his eyes, and the whole ensemble makes me want to take a nap.
“You deserve it, babe.” Cameron plants a kiss to her cheek.
I yawn. “Mom said something about cocktails?”
Liza nods and points to the opulent living room, brimming with ivory couches and stiff pillows. “Yup, but don’t get excited. They’re mocktails since Mom is still trying to skinny-up Dad.”
“Joy.” The word hangs under my breath as I walk into the candlelit space. Mom sweeps over and places a glittering glass into my hand. The ruby red liquid looks like cranberries, and a sprig of rosemary spouts out of it.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course.” She gives me a small smile before carting off glasses to Cam and Liza. I take a sip of artificially-sweetened cranberry juice, turning to find my father in the corner chair. A book is splayed across his lap, and he holds an identical ruby glass.
Dad looks pretty much like any other surgeon on holiday.
Dull and stern, but this version is in an atrocious maroon sweater.
Mom likely threatened him within an inch of his sanity and forced it over his craggy black hair.
Deep lines crease his mouth into a perpetual frown, and his silver-rimmed glasses wink in the light as he reads.
I approach his chair, and his mouth lifts into what I call his “bedside manner” smile.
“Hello, Katherine. It’s nice of you to have made it home for the holidays.”
“Of course. Couldn’t miss it.” Or Liza would kill me. I’m sure my face is pulling my own type of bedside manner smile, but this is the most we’ve talked over the last few months. I sometimes wonder if he’d check in more if I’d become the lawyer he wanted.
Maybe assistant curators aren’t as high on his priority list.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “Everything okay at the condo?” Dad gives me a soft, concerned look, and the young girl inside me tries to memorize it out of habit.
“Yup. But it’s been too quiet without Liza. I’m happy to have her back,” I say.
“Did the security personnel get the community gates fixed yet?”
I nod. “I think so. The gates open when I type in my code now, but it’s still spotty.”
“Seems ridiculous if you ask me,” he grumbles. “Why invest in a gated community if they don’t bother keeping it secure? I hate to think of you girls living in the city without protection.”
A warm ember unexpectedly radiates within my chest. I’m shocked that he thinks of me at all, much less that he worries for my safety. My left knee bounces as I take a second to compose myself.
“That’s really sweet of you, Dad. I’ll make sure to let you know if anything feels off.”
Dad’s pokey eyebrows hitch, and he looks genuinely confused. “Don’t call me, call the 24/7 security team. They should be your first point of contact in an emergency.” He says this like it’s been written on tomes for centuries. “Do you need me to give you their number again?”
Realization trickles over me like ice water. Of course my father cares about my well being. He’d have to be a monster not to. But that doesn’t exactly mean he’s concerned for me. His daughter, standing in front of him and wishing for a morsel of connection between us.
Grief hits me in the stomach with a baseball bat, and I wish Grandma Chen was here right now. She’d know how to salvage the evening. She’d see me for me, not the “Ghost of Disappointing Daughters Past.”
“No, Dad. I still have the security number.”
Unaware of my feelings—what’s new, I remind myself—Dad nods and turns back to his book, Forty Surgeons That Changed the Game.
Mom is still talking to Liza and Cameron about their trip, so I decide to drift by the twelve-foot Christmas tree.
Holiday music floats overhead as I brush the pads of my fingertips across a shiny red bauble, crisp ribbons twinkling beside it.
I hate it. I hate all of it.
I want to stuff the tree into a bag like the Grinch I am and haul it away. I recall my bewilderment as a kid when I’d visit my friends’ houses, their Christmas trees strewn with sticky tinsel and handmade ornaments. Heard the loud laughter, saw the parents watching their children with shining eyes.
I flick the bauble, and it swings back and forth. If I ever settle down, I refuse to have a department store-looking Christmas tree like this one ever again.
A sudden knock at the door sends everyone’s heads swiveling. I exchange a glance with Liza, who looks baffled, too. Mom sashays to the door in her wrist-length green velvet dress and swings it open.
“Tanner? What a lovely Christmas surprise!” Her honey eyes cut to mine, and the glint within them tells me this is no accident. “We’re just having a Christmas Eve gathering, but we’d love for you to join us, anyway! Come in, come in!” She gestures him forward, and my stomach sinks.
An effing blind date? For an intimate holiday family dinner?
There is about to be a Grinch-shaped hole in the living room wall.