What is wrong with my phone?
I don’t have time to further investigate before light spills onto the steps. My mother stands in the doorframe. She’s stunning. The years have been good to her. Unlike her icy interior, she has a kind, round face and warm, chestnut-colored hair. Her creamy complexion looks flushed with holiday excitement, but it’s the cold glint in her light brown eyes that gives her away.
“Did you not have time to change after work?” she says.
I coerce a smile and try not to think about the carnage of discarded outfits I left on my closet floor. “Nope. Sorry.”
Look at me, taking the high road.
“Well, that’s that, I guess. Come in, we’re beginning the cocktail hour.” Because of course Vivian Rochester-Chen would kick off a family dinner with a cocktail hour.
Her slender hips sway off into the foyer as I step onto the marble tiles. A gold chandelier glitters overhead, and I hang up my cream overcoat in the closet. I take in the somewhat foreign space with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Even though I’ve visited this home only a handful of times in thepast few years, it never fails to bug me. It’s ostentatious, like it’s trying to compensate for the lack of love inside with high end fixtures.
“Kaaaaate!” A squealing blur of red plaid collides with me. Liza wraps me in the tightest embrace, and I can’t help but grin as I return the hug. “You made it!”
“I did.” I heave a dismayed sigh, but I can’t stop smiling. Liza looks good. She has warm chestnut hair like our mom—only hers falls straight to her shoulders. Her cheeks match mom’s natural pink flush too. And I look more like my dad.
“I missed you!” She flaps her hands like an excited child.
“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 hiscraggy 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.”
