The Twelve Days of Dash & Lily(11)

“I’ll put this in my room,” Lily said. I understood from the way she said it that I was meant to follow. But there was no way I could leave my mom alone.

“We’ll go in and meet everyone,” I said.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be right in.”

In most situations involving stress and strife, the last person you’d want to add into the mix is an ex. But in this case, when I walked into the living room and saw Sofia, all I felt was gratitude. She and my mother had always gotten along well.

“Come say hi to Sofia,” I said, leading my mother over. “I told you she came back from Barcelona, right? Why don’t you ask her if that cathedral is finished yet?”

“So good to see you!” Sofia’s smile was wide, and her eyes were reading my SOS. “I don’t really know anyone else here—Boomer’s late, and Lily’s been running around getting everything together. It’s great to see a familiar face.”

My mother smiled back. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said. Because there was still the bomb-disposal task of managing my father.

He was starting to talk to Langston, and I didn’t have to hear what he was saying to know that every word out of his mouth was confirming Langston’s worst view of my lineage.

“…no reason to look so smug. I have every reason to be here. I was invited, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m sure Lily invited you, sir,” Langston replied. “But I don’t think she did it for Christ.”

This flustered my father for a moment, and Langston used this pause to say “I have to go see a man about a reindeer” and bolt to another room. My father immediately started scouring the room for his next conversational hostage.

“Dad,” I said. “Over here.”

I knew that if there was anyone in this room who could handle my jackass father, it was Mrs. Basil E. I wouldn’t need to say a word of explanation to her—from her perch on Lily’s sofa, she would have already taken in the situation with a knowledge approaching omniscience. I knew she didn’t suffer fools gladly, but she’d gladly make a fool suffer.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I told my dad. “This is Lily’s aunt.”

My father eyed her, and paid her little more mind than he would an old lady trying to cross the street. He was prepared to walk right past.

“So,” Mrs. Basil E. said, eyeing him with both curiosity and a desire to kill a cat, “you’re this rapscallion’s father?”

My father straightened up a little at that. “Guilty as charged. Or at least that’s the story his mother told me.”

“Oh—and you’re rakish as well! I’ve often found it helpful to have a shovel around when you’re dealing with a rake.”

“I’m not sure I follow….”

“And I, sir, am not very sure you lead. But no matter. Why don’t you sit down next to me? As little as I expect I’ll enjoy your company, it will gratify me greatly to see you out of the way. Lily takes these celebrations very seriously, and in my estimation, you are currently the person in the room with the highest likelihood of ruining this one. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Mrs. Basil E. didn’t exactly pat the seat next to her. Instead, she seemed to cast a spell on the cushion so it wouldn’t be tainted when my father sat down.

“I didn’t have to be here, you know,” he mumbled. I almost felt sorry for him. But not quite.

“That reflects well on you,” Mrs. Basil E. conceded. “Now don’t alter that reflection with further speech. Let’s sit and watch the others.”

Powerless, my father obliged.

“Get your father some cider,” Mrs. Basil E. ordered.

“Make it a double,” Dad said.

“The cider is entirely devoid of alcohol,” Mrs. Basil E. disclaimed.

“But still—it’s cider,” my father replied, finally earning a slight glimmer of her respect.

I performed this errand with haste—handing my father two mugs, neither of which read WORLD’S GREATEST FATHER. Then I went in search of Lily, who had yet to return.

First I checked the kitchen, but only found her father there, looking as if he was trying to remember which appliance was the stove. Then I ventured down the hall to see if the bathroom door was closed; it wasn’t.

It was quiet as I got near her room—so quiet, I assumed she wouldn’t be there. But when I peeked in, there she was, all alone. She wasn’t looking for anything. Wasn’t checking her phone. Wasn’t making a last-minute change to her holiday playlist. Instead, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out at the edge of the world. Lost in thought, or thinking thoughts that would be lost the minute I said her name and she snapped to attention, fugue-state fugitive. It was disturbing to see her like this, but I still wasn’t sure I should disturb her. There’s an alone that calls out for rescue—but this appeared to be an alone that wanted to be left alone.

I was going to quietly head back to the party, but at the moment of my first retreat, she slipped out of wherever it was she had been and turned to see me in the doorway. Maybe she’d known I was there all along. Maybe I had no idea what she was thinking.

“Dash,” she said, as if we both needed to be reminded who I was.