“This,” Matt said, picking up an item of clothing from the floor. “Wear this.” It wasthedress, the one with the black little flowers and a cut out in the back. “With tights and your boots. You look amazing in it.”
Grabbing it from him, I scanned the wrinkled material. “Throw it to me,” came a voice from the doorway. Aletha held her hands out. I almost started to cry when I looked up to see her warm smile. When I was at my home, I wasexpected to iron not only my own clothes but my dad’s and my siblings’, too. My mother always said it was about doing my part. Even when I was home from college on holidays, I would spend hours doing chores and ironing. I despised ironing. The mere sight of an ironing board made me angry. Aletha’s small gesture reminded me how much I yearned for a nurturing mother—one who didn’t let my father’s drinking rule our lives. One who sounded excited, who wanted to know me when I called. One who wasn’t spread so thin.
“Thank you, Aletha.”
“My pleasure, sweetie.” I think she meant it. Like ironing my dress actually made her happy.
Within twenty minutes, I found myself fidgeting in the passenger seat of Aletha’s van while Matt blared the Sex Pistols and banged on the steering wheel to the beat, weaving in and out of traffic, totally oblivious to my nervousness.
“Hey!” I yelled over the music.
He turned it down and glanced at me. “Don’t freak out, Grace. They’re a bunch of pretentious assholes. Just play a song for them. They’ll all be totally impressed. Monica will be jealous. Alexander will be a douche. My dad and his wife will be cordial but smug. They’ll all talk about how some famous chef cooked our meal and then my dad will remind you how much he paid for the wine.”
“I feel bad for showing up empty-handed.”
“My mom gave me a bottle of Prosecco to bring.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s sparkling wine, like champagne.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”
When we pulled into the driveway of what I would modestly call a mansion, my eyes bulged out of my head. Thehouse was decorated in white Christmas lights and there was a grand Christmas tree in the center of the circular driveway, covered in large, extravagant bows and huge ornamental glass balls.
“My stepmom loves this shit but she doesn’t do any of it herself. She just hires people.”
I spotted the wine behind his seat and grabbed it. We both shuffled toward the door apprehensively. Matt pressed the doorbell; I thought it was strange that he couldn’t just walk into the house he grew up in.
A plump woman in her midsixties, wearing an apron I thought only people in movies wore, answered the door. She was Alice fromBrady Bunch, but not cheery.
“Matthias,” she said. Her accent was thick and obviously German.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Naina, this is Grace.”
“Nice to meet you.” She shook my hand firmly and turned. We followed her through an entry and down a long hall.
Who is that?I mouthed.
“Housekeeper,” he whispered, and then leaned in toward my ear. “She’s mean.” My eyes grew wide.
Naina turned around and stopped midstride. “I can hear you, boy.”
Matt grinned. “Naina has been here since I was twelve. She helped me with all my homework, taught me a bunch of German swear words, and would always sneak me tons of sugary snacks.”
Naina stomped her foot and put her hands on her wide hips. “Matthias,” she scolded, but it only lasted a second before her cheeks turned pink and she started laughing. “Come here, you.” The rotund woman practically lifted Matt off his feet in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you, Matthias. It hasn’t been the same around here without you.” They pulled away from each other.
Matt pointed a thumb at his chest. “I’m her favorite.”
“Come on now, enough of that,” Naina replied as she turned and continued down the hall. She blew off the remark, but I knew it was true.
It was two days before Christmas and I was about to meet Matt’s dad, his brother, his stepmother, and his vindictive ex-girlfriend/soon-to-be sister-in-law. I was happy to have something to carry into the room; it felt like a shield against whatever was waiting for us in the grand living room. Matt yanked the bottle of Prosecco out of my hands—so much for my shield—and entered the room ahead of me, holding his arms out wide, his chest up, bottle dangling from his right hand. “Merry Christmas, family. I’m here!”
I saw Matt’s dad and stepmother standing near a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto a huge backyard and sparkling pool. His father was wearing a dark suit and tie. His stepmother wore a beige pencil skirt, white blouse, and a glowing set of pearls. She was the polar opposite of Aletha, with her blonde hair, cut into a flawless bob, and her taut, medically altered skin.
His dad had the distinguished looks of a man who spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, but his smile was genuine, like Matt’s. From the couch rose a figure, who I knew without a doubt was Alexander. He was in a stark white suit, pink dress shirt, and no tie. The three top buttons were open, revealing his tan, hairless chest. His hair was lighter than Matt’s and plastic looking from gel.
He reached Matt in three strides. “Matt’s here and late as usual,” he said, cheerily. Taking the bottle from Matt’s hand, he examined it. “And look, everyone, he’s brought us a bottle of poor man’s champagne. Whaddya say? Maybe we can roast the pig with it.”
