Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
“My parents love their holiday party, but this year it’s bigger than ever,” Shane said. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
He reached over and squeezed his arm around my waist.
All at once, my heart felt like it was filling up and cracking at the same time. Tonight was everything I’d wanted, other than that stupid email reminding me of who I really was. Where I came from.
“Right. Liquor,” I said. “I’m going to go for that cranberry-ginger mimosa your sister was talking about when we first walked in.”
“Mariel’s got good taste,” Shane assured me. “Which reminds me, she wanted you to meet our other cousin, Laney. Let’s head into the living room.”
The next hour was a total blur of meeting more and more of Shane’s family members. The music turned up, people started drinking and laughing more, and even more people kept walking through the front door.
It was pure magic in Christmas party form. I even saw two of Shane’s elderly distant relatives come together, hugging as they were in the same room for the first time in thirty years. Shane told me the short story: they were two women who were cousins, and had spent lots of time together as kids. But they’d fought a lot during middle age, and had only forgiven each other about a year ago. Tears streamed down their faces as they hugged.
“What were those two ladies even fighting about, back in the day?” I asked Shane as we mingled, walking past a group of kids playing some kind of card game on the hardwood floor in the hallway.
“A refrigerator,” Shane said.
I snorted. “A decades-long feud about a refrigerator?”
“Yes,” he said. “Ethel wanted Betty to give her an old one, but Betty wanted to keep it for her garage as a second fridge… or maybe Betty wanted to give it to a neighbor, but ended up keeping it? I can’t remember the exact details.”
“...And that made them not speak for thirty years?”
“One thing led to another,” Shane said. “The refrigerator made Ethel think Betty hated her, but Ethel didn’t know that Betty was in a tough marriage. She was criticized by her husband for everything she did, fridge choices included. So much was unspoken for so long, but after years of healing… the truth eventually came out. The truth heals everything, I guess.”
My throat was suddenly tight.
It snuck up on me. Just a moment ago I’d been laughing about the old ladies’ feud, but Shane’s words hit me like a wallop to the chest.
The truth heals everything.
I wanted to tell him the truth. So badly. I wanted to let him know that secretly I was grieving the loss of my old life—hell, grieving the loss of my parents as loving figures in my life entirely.
But how could I talk about that on a night that was supposed to be his special night?
Why was talking about myself at all so fucking difficult for me?
“Yeah,” I finally said, coming back to Earth.
He waved a hand through the air. “Eh, maybe I’m wrong, though,” Shane said. “Sometimes the truth doesn’t heal things. Sometimes it really just hurts. And… well, I think it’s time for another cocktail, how about you?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. Another drink sounds amazing.”
When we went into the bar area at the edge of the dining room, a round of hooting and hollering was already emanating from the corner beside the liquor bottles. We walked over to see Shane’s parents and sister all with red liquor in shot glasses, ready to toss them back.
“There they are!” Shane’s mom said, reaching out to grab my hand and pull us in closer. “Join us for the fifth annual game of Straight Face.”
“Oh, no,” Shane said as he stepped up, joining the circle.
“Now, these are cocktail shots,” Mariel explained. “So don’t worry too much if you lose. It’s not pure liquor.”
“And you will be losing, a lot, after what I put in the hat,” Shane’s dad said.
“How do I play?” I asked.
“We asked everyone around the party to write down funny, crazy, or raunchy things on slips of paper,” Shane’s mom explained. “We all have to reach in, pull them out, and read them out loud in a British accent. Anyone who smiles or laughs has to take a shot.”
“Wait, this is unfair,” Shane protested. “Rowen is a professional actor. He’s probably practiced not laughing a billion times.”
“I have practiced not breaking in front of a camera,” I admitted, “but I’ve never been all that good at it, to be honest.”
Mariel gave me a sideways glance. “But are you telling the truth about that? Shit, you never can tell with a good actor, can you?”
Everyone laughed, and I knew she’d been joking, but guilt pooled in my chest.
I was so tired of it.
Tired of being a good actor, honestly. I just wanted to fucking be myself—completely, fully myself—and not stop to wonder if I shouldn’t.