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The Holiday House Swap

Page 106

by Lauren Appelbaum

“Of course not. But they always ask how work is going. It just feels dishonest to hide it.”

“That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you. You live your truth. Even when the truth isn’t pretty.” Jonathan gave a wry chuckle. Phoebe shook her head. She still didn’t fault her twenty-two-year-old self for living her truth, for saying no to this man, but she was very, very glad she had finally come to her senses. To a new truth.

“I think I should just tell them. I’ll rip off the Band-Aid, and then I won’t be dreading it anymore. They can judge me. They can say whatever. Then at least the truth will be out there.”

Jonathan nodded. “I’ll be there for moral support. No matter what they say, you know I’ll still be there.”

Phoebe leaned into him. It was a novel feeling, having someone sturdy there to back her up. Whether she was gainfully employed or not.

“Thank you.”

Together, they stepped out of the car in front of Phoebe’s childhood home. Cars lined the street, and people spilled onto the sidewalk and through the open front door.

Phoebe held Jonathan’s hand and guided him inside. They blended into the crowd of well-dressed people. Once inside the foyer, the crowd dispersed as some paused to hang their coats on the clothing rack Phoebe’s mom had rented for the evening and others made a beeline for the kitchen, where a bartender wearing a sparkly bow tie was shaking a cocktail mixer.

“You grew up here?” Jonathan’s voice was low in Phoebe’s ear. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you were a trust-fund baby?”

“Because I don’t have a trust fund, for starters. I did tell you about the family receipt-paper business.”

“That put a very different image in my mind than”—Jonathan waved a hand around the hall—“all this.”

Phoebe was distracted, scanning the room for her parents and siblings. She spotted her mom in the middle of the kitchen, simultaneously greeting friends with cheek kisses and directing the catering staff about which hors d’oeuvres to take where.

“Mom looks busy. Let’s find—Dad!” Phoebe’s father sailed past her, jovially chatting with some of his golf buddies, each of whom wore a miniature plastic top hat that read, “Happy New Year.”

“Phoebe!” Doyle wrapped her in a one-armed hug, careful not to spill his cocktail on her. “Where’ve you been?”

“I was in Florida. Didn’t anyone tell you? Mom knew.”

“Florida! Right! How was the beach?” As Phoebe opened her mouth to answer, Doyle half turned to respond to something his friend had said. Figuring she might as well seize what little attention of his she had, she ignored the beach comment and pulled Jonathan’s arm under hers.

“Dad, this is Jonathan Lee. My friend from college who—”

“Wonderful to meet you, son.” Doyle pumped Jonathan’s hand. “So glad you could make it. And where did you say you—” Before he could finish his question, he was called away by a group of people on the other side of the room.

“Settle a debate for us, would you, Doyle?”

“Enjoy the party!” Her dad waved as he drifted off across the room.

“That went well.” Jonathan’s mouth quirked with amusement.

“Maybe a huge New Year’s Eve party isn’t the best place to introduce you to my family.” Phoebe nudged him. “Let’s grab some drinks.”

They waited in line as the bartender did his thing. Jonathan leaned in to kiss the top of Phoebe’s ear. She leaned back into him just as she noticed Kayla nearby, staring at her open-mouthed. Kayla jabbed Ryan hard with her elbow and hissed something at him.

“Warning. Here comes my little sister,” Phoebe muttered through a smile, waving at Kayla.

“Should I be scared?”

“Probably.”

“Phoebe!” Kayla beamed. Admittedly, she didn’t look particularly scary—her hair was pulled back in a loose, pretty French braid, and her smile was bright and genuine. “Thank God you came back. Why weren’t you here for Hanukkah? Why Florida? And—hello.” Kayla warmly took Jonathan’s hand in hers. “I’m Phoebe’s favorite sister, Kayla. This is my fiancé, Ryan. Wait, you look familiar.”

“Jonathan Lee. We met once or twice many years ago.”

“Sorry, I’m just—Phoebe never brings dates home. Where do I know you from?”

Phoebe and Jonathan shared a grin.