Halfway to You(66)
While Barbara and Todd checked in, I stood off to the side with Keith and Iris, perusing the welcome brochure, which included a long list of activities, from cookie decorating to guided snowshoe walks around the lake.
Keith nudged my arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous,” I admitted. I wanted so desperately to make a good impression. Not only was this Keith’s family—in a way, they were Todd’s family too. “And tired,” I added. My bladder was vaguely full, I was stiff and stale from the long car ride, and I craved a moment of quiet to regroup before meeting everyone.
“I know it might be awkward, but they’ll warm up to you, I promise.”
My remaining ounce of confidence shrank. Awkward? If Keith was admitting it, then perhaps my anxiety was more warranted than I’d hoped.
Just then, Todd and Barbara returned with our room keys.
Todd glanced between Keith and me, clearly catching a whiff of my heightened discomfort, but he simply said, “Third floor.”
We shuffled over to the elevator, and I hit the up button about five times. When it finally arrived, we were halted by a high, cheerful voice. My pulse quickened. Iris ran toward the voice. Keith and Barbara hurried close behind—he raised his arms while she squealed with joy. Todd pivoted, his hand on my waist, and I allowed him to gently guide me away—but not before watching the double doors of my escape slide closed with a flat ding.
“My goodness, is this a lovely place, Keith,” a brunette was saying. “I’m so glad you suggested this over the usual Whitaker to-do.” She kissed his cheek before wrapping her arms around Barbara in a warm, welcoming hug. When the women parted, the brunette held on to Barbara’s hands with both of hers. “How was your drive? Wasn’t the scenery breathtaking? Like being in a snow globe. Oh, Barbara, it has been too long, hasn’t it? I love what you’ve done with your hair.”
Filled to the brim with sudden nerves, I looped my arm through Todd’s, using his shoulder as a half shield as we approached. His eyes had gone a little tight around the edges, the darkness creeping into his expression like fog along the edges of a lake. I waited for it to obscure him completely, but when the brunette swung her gaze in our direction, a quick grin lit up his face and the fog cleared.
“Natalie,” he said, opening his arms. He stepped out of my hold and into hers. The two of them rocked like a metronome for a few beats, then parted.
“Todd, just as handsome as ever,” Natalie said.
Keith nudged me forward. “This is my sister Natalie,” he said to me. “And Natalie, this is—”
“Ann Fawkes.” Her greeting embrace—while appropriately brief—was sweet smelling, her silk blouse smooth under my fingers, her hair feather soft on my cheek. When she pulled back, I could see her resemblance to Keith, a darker version of his features, with the same freckles, kind eyes, and strong mouth.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Natalie’s hand lingered on my arm. “I loved your book—and not just because my brother worked on it. We’ve been following your fascinating life for years—it’s a thrill to meet you in person!”
I smiled. “Thank you, that’s too kind.”
“And gosh, do you and Todd make a handsome couple. Todd’s an honorary Whitaker, as I’m sure you know, and it’s delightful to see him smiling like that.” She wiggled her fingers at him, a ruby-crusted tennis bracelet jangling on her wrist. “Come, everyone’s in the common room.”
With no choice but to follow Natalie away from the elevators, I grasped Todd’s arm again to steady myself against the coming onslaught of introductions. I hoped the rest of the family was as sweet as Natalie, but Keith’s words—I know it might be awkward—chanted through my head.
Around the corner, a large room was filled with plush chairs and multiple themed Christmas trees—one cluttered with blue and white orbs, another decorated with carved wooden forest animals, and so on. A fireplace brought warmth to the expansive space, while a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the entrance offered a frigid view of the frozen lake and landscape. An attendant was serving tea and cookies at a table near the doorway, and people were gathered all round: a pair of men playing chess, a family of four by the fire, an elderly couple reading (one of them asleep in her chair).
Was this how regular families experienced the holidays? Tinsel and cookies and warm fires? Once, my mother’s boyfriend had found a scraggly pine growing by the highway and cut that down as our tree. We had gaudy plastic ornaments that all looked the same and stale-tasting candy canes my mother collected in her purse from work. It was always just me and mom and maybe one of her friends or a date. A stocking with gum, a toothbrush, some chocolates. Small gifts in big boxes—the whole holiday empty but overdressed.
Thinking of my mother and the holidays made my heart ache with an odd, sad sort of regret. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint me. She would’ve loved the themed trees here, the heavy glass ornaments, the scent of cookie frosting. She would’ve cherished a Christmas trip like this.
Mom wasn’t here, though.
But a new family was.
As Natalie led us through the common room, I felt so out of place my skin itched. I often got the sense that the first impression I made was a letdown. Because of my book, fans built me up in their heads as this eloquent, impressive author—but most of the time, I was reserved and inarticulate. I wished I could edit myself as heavily as I edited my writing. I worried I wouldn’t measure up to their expectations and their pleasantries would grow more forced as they realized I was not nearly the woman they thought I would be.