Tangle of Tinsel

“Hey, Mom, Dad, Pop, Nona, you might remember my old friend from New York, Laurene.”

“Hello.” She wiggles her fingers, and I bite back a groan. I’m in hot water about to boil. This must be what a lobster feels like. “Romy, Laurene. Laurene, this is Romy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Romy says softly with a smile. I can practically hear the wheels in her head crank. An invisible wall erects before my eyes. The smile on her lips fails to reach her eyes.

“Likewise.” Laurene wraps her fingers around my biceps, and I tense.

“There’s plenty of room. Take a seat. We waited for you to arrive before we started serving.”

“Which means we’re starving, kid. It’s never a good idea to have hangry dinner guests.”

I instantly grow new respect for my dad’s charm. The only two seats left are beside Romy ... because, why wouldn’t they be? I sit between her and Laurene. Amusement flitters in the depth of my father’s eyes. I glare at him, and he snickers.

“If we knew you were coming, I would’ve set another plate,” Mom says.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Miller. Caleb had no clue I was coming to see him. I’ve just missed him so much this past year. It seemed like the perfect gift.”

“How is the Big Apple?” Dad asks.

I send him a grateful look.

Laurene sighs. “Bustling and gorgeous. It’s always decorated so exquisitely this time of year. I think it’s my favorite time in the City.”

“But not this year?” Mom asks. I saw the look of recognition in her eyes. She knows exactly who Laurene is, and Mama bear mode has been activated.

“No, there were more important things to consider.”

Anger flares up inside of me, boiling my blood. I grab my water glass and take a long draw. My face heats up.

“Hmm.” Over the years, Mom made it clear she wasn’t team Laurene. She wanted to see me happy and in a committed relationship that involved love and building a life. We were anything but that. I’m still trying to figure out why she’s imposed on us at all.

“What do you do in New York, dear?” Nona asks.

“I volunteer with several charities.”

Nona’s eyes widen slightly. “How lovely.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those girls out there marching and working toward changing unjust laws?” Mom asks.

I want to slip under the table. My mom, the feminist involved in local politics, smells blood in the water. It’s only a matter of time before she stops circling and goes in for the kill.

“Oh, no.” She frowns. “I leave that to the experts who understand the ins and outs of legislation. My father’s lawyer genes skipped me, I’m afraid.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Dad mumbles.

“Erik.” Mom’s warning tone earns an eye roll from Dad, who shrugs.

I clear my throat. “Her father and I worked together at the old firm.”

“The one that never gave you enough time off to

come home for a decent visit?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Nona, do you need help bringing out the food?”

“I sure do, Caleb. Thank you.”

Springing up like a jack-in-the-box, I stalk to the kitchen like the hounds of hell are giving chase.