The Christmas Orphans Club(7)
“Want to come up?” he offers.
It’s better than sitting here with the driver. Before we reach the building’s door, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I fish it out and see my sister’s name on the caller ID.
“I’ll catch up in a minute,” I tell Theo.
I lean against the building’s facade, ignoring the dirty look the doorman shoots me. “Mandy!” I exclaim with all the enthusiasm I can muster mid-hangover.
“Ew. I’m not Mandy anymore. I go by Amanda now.”
The last time I was home, Mandy was eleven. She had braces with purple elastics (always purple, it was her thing) and a raging obsession with the Jonas Brothers. Nick Jonas, to be exact. Now she’s sixteen and goes by Amanda. I have no idea who she has a crush on these days, but she can always be counted on to call on Christmas and my birthday.
“Well, merry Christmas, Amanda!”
“You too. Tell me what you’re doing today!”
She loves hearing about the Christmas adventures Hannah and I have. “No big plans this year. We’re watching movies and going out to dinner later.”
I don’t need to ask what she’s doing. I’m certain that, as always, she’ll be sitting down to a formal dinner at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon. Turkey (never ham), collard greens, my mom’s famous cornbread, and macaroni and cheese.
“That sounds way better than here. Uncle Owen is bringing his new girlfriend, and Mom says she’s trashy. It’s a whole thing.”
“Wait, Uncle Owen and Aunt Carolyn got divorced?”
“Yeah, a while ago. Mom’s on Aunt Carolyn’s side, so she invited her, too. It’s going to be super weird.” A lump forms in my throat at the idea that my mother, who wouldn’t stand up for me, stood up to my father and invited his brother’s ex-wife, not even a blood relative, to Christmas. What’s more, I can’t believe he let her.
“Is Mom around? Can I talk to her?” My mother never initiates the call, but sometimes Amanda passes her the phone and we trade pleasantries for a few minutes. She asks about auditions and my apartment, but never my love life, and in return she fills me in on neighborhood gossip or, more recently, the engagements and weddings of my high school classmates.
“Mom’s downstairs. She’s making three different pans of cornbread this year. She’s on high alert because Grandma Everett made a comment last year about the cornbread being dry.”
“Oh,” I say, careful to mask my disappointment. “Tell her I say merry Christmas.”
“I will. But I gotta go, she’s calling me to set the table. Love you, Finny! Bye!”
She hangs up without waiting for my goodbye.
Before I head inside, I take a deep breath and try to shake off the call. I appreciate Amanda’s calls, I really do, but sometimes it’s easier to pretend I don’t have a family at all. Especially on days like today. Talking to her feels like picking at a scab that never quite heals.
A doorman in a crisp gray uniform opens the door for me and I step into the building’s wood-paneled lobby. The lobby’s only concession to Christmas are two imposing columns opposite the entrance wrapped in pine garlands and dotted with white twinkle lights. There’s not a red glittery ball in sight to junk up the decor. I wince at the squeaking noise my boots make on the marble floors, interrupting the otherwise pristine silence.
Off to the side, behind a desk, is another uniformed doorman, this one in a Santa hat. You’d think he’d be the fun one, but he’s the scariest-looking dude I’ve ever seen and he’s scowling at me like he can smell the vodka emanating from my pores, even after a shower.
“I’m with, um, Theo?” I desperately hope he saw us arrive together because I don’t know Theo’s last name, and I don’t want him thinking I’m some vodka-scented riffraff trying to gatecrash.
He gestures toward the elevators without a single word.
For a moment, I’m relieved, until I realize no one told me which apartment I’m going to or even which floor. I’m about to turn back when the elevator doors open, revealing a third doorman (or would this be an elevator man?) waiting to ferry me up to Theo. He presses the button for PH, and we stand in silence as the elevator ascends.
The elevator doors open into the foyer of the nicest apartment I’ve ever seen. The walls are covered in red wallpaper dotted with zebras leaping through the air, which should be garish or cheesy, but combined with the classic black-and-white checkerboard floors, it makes the space look modern and fun. Off to the side, there’s a lacquered black buffet topped with a pair of gold lamps buttressing an enormous arrangement of white peonies. Are peonies even in season?
I was not ready for a multimillion-dollar real estate situation. First the abs, then the shoes, and now this? My instinct is to cut and run. I may as well call it before I embarrass myself any more. Clearly, Theo is out of my league.
But I can’t make myself turn around and press the button to call the elevator.
“Hello?” Theo calls out from somewhere within the apartment.
“Hi! It’s me,” I say, and then add, “It’s Finn,” because he barely knows the sound of my voice and I don’t want him mistaking me for a robber here to steal his art and antiquities. I can only imagine what the security is like in this place. Guess there’s no going back now.