The Darlings did Christmas in style. The tree was draped with multiple strands of white twinkle lights, shiny red garlands, and covered with elaborate, and no doubt expensive, ornaments hanging from every branch. Stockings—customized and matching—hung above the fireplace, and the white columns at the entrance of the living room were wrapped with red ribbons, giving them the appearance of giant candy canes. There was a pile of presents under the tree that were wrapped with paper selected to match the overall color scheme of the decorations used throughout the living room. Aberlour was reluctantly impressed at exactly just how far the Darlings had gone to create what looked like a Hallmark movie set.
When Oliver had asked Aberlour to tag along for Christmas, Aberlour wasn’t sure what to expect, but it sure as hell hadn’t been all this.
It was easy to forget that Oliver was proper Alabama royalty. His mother was a lawyer running for the Senate, and his father was already a senator. He grew up in a colonial-style mansion right out ofGone with the Wind,complete with manicured lawns and servants. He’d started traveling on political campaign buses while he was still a pre-schooler. His father wore polo shirts and chinos, looking casual and relaxed, and his mother appeared to have an extraordinary collection oftea length skirts, suitable for every occasion. His sister, a bleach blonde, clutched her husband’s arm like he was a medal she’d won at the Olympics. Jonathan—what a relief he wasn’t named Ken—was a dentist, and his perfectly straight white teeth would be well-suited for denture commercials. The only one missing from the family set was Oliver’s older brother. No one had mentioned the reason why, yet.
Abe didn’t fit in. Not even if he pretended that he did. Aberlour’s mother’s Christmas tree had been decorated every year with a single strand of multicoloured lights from Goodwill, and a variety of cheap ornaments he’d made in art class when he was in elementary school. She’d stuffed gifts under the tree at the very last minute, using comic strip pages she’d cut out of the local newspaper, and whatever else was lying around that could be re-purposed, including brown paper bags from the grocery store. Christmas day had meant pajamas and pancakes, which was a tradition he’d always looked forward to.
Aberlour felt as if he’d traveled to another planet. All the Darlings wore formal wear. Oli’s mother and sister appeared to have had their makeup done professionally so they would be ready for a photoshoot. It was beyond him how anyone could possibly look that alert and ready for a public appearance at 9:00 a.m. on Christmas morning before food and eggnog.
The tree was a total sham. No two ways about that. Although it appeared to be a real pine tree, it couldn’t be, because a real tree would lose at least some of its needles after a few days of being parked indoors. Apparently, Mrs. Darling couldn’t live with that. No, this tree was fake, and so was everything on it, except for that one little homemade gingerbread man. Hell, everything in the whole fucking place was fake except for Oli. Aberlour would have complained about this overwhelmingly obvious fake shit, but his own parents weredead, so it was a Darling Christmas, or no Christmas celebration at all. He just hoped the food would be good.
“Fifth grade, Ms. Aimesly’s class,” Oliver informed him as he stood there admiring that one special decoration that stood out among the dozens of mass-produced ones surrounding it.
He turned to glance at his preppy boy, who looked right at home. His light blue Oxford shirt tucked into the beige chinos projected the classic image of the prodigal son, and the ideal look of business casual. He’d gotten his hair cut for the occasion, and the top and sides laid smoothly for once. If Aberlour hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn Oliver was about to don a captain’s hat and slip into a pair of Sperry Topsiders and head down to the family yacht at the marina.
“Kind of shocked to see that on the tree,” Aberlour said, eyeing the handmade gingerbread man again. It contrasted nicely with the shiny bulbs around it, making the tree look endearing in that one spot.
“Had to argue for it to be hung there. I think she puts it up to punish me—I don’t really care. I stand by the wee lad.” Oliver smiled and shrugged casually, but Aberlour didn’t buy it.
“Wee lad?” he questioned instead, using humor as an antidote to the day’s dull, plastic feel.
“He’s British,” Oliver defended with a laugh.
Although Oliver’s mother Louise had yet to say anything untoward about Aberlour’s presence, she certainly made up for it with her chilly attitude and perpetual scowl. Clearly, when Oliver had called to confirm that he’d be coming home and bringing a guest, she’d expected someone other than a disgruntled Marine with a chip on his shoulder and the manners of a stray cat. She’d been nothing but cold and perfectly polite to him. Aberlour gave it right back.
They’d arrived on the 23rd, and Aberlour hoped to God they didn’t have to stay through Boxing Day on the 26th. Nodoubt, it would take every ounce of his ironclad control to make it through Christmas dinner without running away screaming. As far as he was concerned, that would truly be a Christmas miracle all by itself.
“The guests should be arriving shortly,” Oliver informed him, staring at the tree.
“There’s a really shitty looking bar in town, so I can always get lost,” he suggested in all seriousness.
Oliver gave a soft laugh but shook his head.
“I enjoy riling up my mother,” he said, and although Aberlour believed him, he couldn’t help the impending sense of doom now residing in his gut. Mrs. Darling didn’t leave things to chance. Her eldest daughter was engaged to a socially acceptable man. While Oliver might have run away to avoid meeting their career expectations, something about the way she stared daggers at Aberlour told him she wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate when it came to Oliver’s relationships. That ugly look made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and that instinctive reaction was not one that he was inclined to ignore.
Dinner was a strange and tense affair. The Darlings had hired additional kitchen staff for the holidays, so that the family and their guests could relax and not worry about taking care of cooking, serving, or cleaning up. It had seemed like an excellent idea at first, but now, Aberlour didn’t have a single excuse to leave the table, and he’d already used the bathroom excuse once.
“So, Oliver, your mother tells me you might be considering getting your bachelor’s degree after all.” David Hoffman, a family guest, was a transplanted New Yorker who now lived in the wealthy enclave of Cashiers, North Carolina, in search of sun and sand. A billionaire who was short and very unattractive, David mistakenly believed he was genuinely amusing and wildly clever. Aberlour didn’t know why Hoffmanwas visiting the Darlings, especially since he had to travel at least 500 miles to get here.
Oliver shot Aberlour a panicked look seeking support, but Abe was busy counting the peas left on his plate.
“I don’t recall ever mentioning such a thing,” Oliver stated politely.
“No?” Hoffman asked, surprised. “The Marine Corps is a fine branch of the military, and your tours will look good on your resume, but surely, you don’t intend to make a career out of it.” His tone implied that Oliver hadn’t done a very good job thinking things through. What an arrogant little shit.
Oliver glanced quickly at his mother, who was currently sitting up straight, her ears perked, as she focused on their conversation. She was smiling at them, but Aberlour would bet his next paycheck that she was gearing up for just the right moment to join their conversation.
“As of right now I’m not considering leaving the Marines,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral to avoid the appearance of being confrontational or impolite to a guest.
Hoffman laughed lightly with a sardonic twist to his mouth.
“Let’s have this conversation next Christmas and see where you’re at,” he said, like he might know something Oliver didn’t.
“Mr. Hoffman has a very interesting business venture he’d like to establish in Charlotte, perhaps you might be interested,” Mrs. Darling said to Oliver.
Hoffman raised an eyebrow, waiting to hear what Oliver might say to that, but Oliver only shook his head and Hoffman didn’t pursue it.
To Aberlour’s surprise, Mrs. Darling didn’t press Oliver to respond. Instead, she turned her gaze to Aberlour, and when he met her eyes, it was impossible to ignore the raw anger in herbrown eyes. He smiled coldly in response, and she dropped her gaze.
