Ten minutes later, the scoreboard has been labeled with absurd nicknames, conversation is flowing, and snacks and treats are passed around.
After his fourth perfect strike, Val struts past Amantha and me.
I chuck a tiny chocolate-coated candy at him, and it bounces off his stuffy white button-up. “You know, Russo, you’re annoyingly good at that. Ease up already!”
He chuckles, his olive-toned skin appearing flushed, and runs a hand through his dark curls that are a bit longer on top. “Keep up, Chen. Wouldn’t peg you as someone who’s afraid of a little competition.”
My nostrils flare, but I rise to the challenge. Literally, since the scoreboard blinks that it’s “Auntie Poop-Panties’” turn.
I stick my tongue out at Anthony as I pass, since he’s buckled over from laughter at the name he assigned me.
As if the bowling gods hear my plea, I bowl a perfect strike. Amantha cat calls, and I indulge in a curtsy in my wide-legged black trousers before smirking at Val.
Susan cries, “That’s our girl!”
I break into a grin at the standing crowd. And after Amantha elbows Val, he also stands and reluctantly claps.
My mind tries to memorize their expressions. These people don’t owe me anything. I’m not indebted to them, and they aren’t to me.
Love free from obligation is a beautiful thing. There is such freedom, such vulnerability inside that type of love. Their affection doesn’t come with hidden agendas. Their loyalty isn’t dependent on unpaid debts or attached strings.
A twinge of sadness tugs on my heart, and I wish with every fiberof my being for a family like them. Because as much as I adore the people in front of me, they aren’tmine.
I do have Liza, though, whose love is as unconditional as it comes.
A tiny breath eases the ache in my chest. She’ll be at Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow. And afterward, we can go back to the condo and rot in our pajamas in front of a Christmas movie.
So, I let out my own whoop of bowling victory and run full-pelt back to my people.
Iagain tip my taxi driver, but not because I’m in the holiday spirit. Unless Christmas Eve is supposed to feel like being strapped to a railroad.
My parents’ suburban home rises three stories above me, consisting of glass window panes and bluish-grey rock. Liza’s black Prius is in the driveway. I momentarily consider hot-wiring it and speeding the forty minutes back to Chicago. Do I have a remote clue how to do that?
Nope.
Even the cheery, red-ribboned wreath on the front door can’t fool me. I’m walking into the lion’s den, or should I say,lioness.
I fidget, slipping off my coat and readjusting my white cashmere sweater. It’s one of my favorites, wrapping around my torso and arms but leaving my shoulders bare. I’m wearing tights beneath my tweed miniskirt since my mom is bound to faint at the sight of my revealing collarbones as it is. After checking my intricate side braid, I fidget for a couple more minutes before I formally knock on my family’s door.
Yes,knock.
But before anyone can answer the door, an incoming text vibrates my phone.
UNKNOWN: Hope your holidays are as beautiful as you. -Hopefully Yours
Unease slithers into my stomach. It’s a nice sentiment from Levi, sure, but the sign off is freaking me out. What an unorthodox way to text someone. And also, why did my phone not save his contact info? Icurse the stupid water damage from the pier, adding Levi’s name for the second time.
I chew my lip, feeling even guiltier the second time around for not responding. It has taken longer than I thought to figure out a nicer way to say, “Sorry I was a trash human being to you, but I still don’t want any type of relationship.”
Whatever hope Levi is holding out for is only going to get him hurt again.
I can’t leave him hanging any longer, so I decide to respond with the only thing I can think of.
KATE: That’s kind of you, Levi. I hope your holidays are great too. -Your Friend, Kate.
I grimace at the tacky sign-off, but if he insists on being weird, so will I.
Three dots blink across the top of my text multiple times until my phone marks it with an error message. Undeliverable. I scramble to open a previous text I sent to Amantha today, and that one was delivered just fine.
