While You Were Pretending

Chapter Four

“Dad put her up in a hotel, can you believe it? She’s not even staying here for Christmas! What, the pull-out couch in the den isn’t good enough?” Peyton is already steaming with everything to do with Jackie and she isn’t even here yet. “And it’s that fancy place down on Seventh. The pictures from her i********: looks like she’s got a f*****g suite. King bed, marble bathroom, her fancy f*****g dresses hanging in the closet.” She gestures, twitching her wrist. “Whatever, it’s like her life has to be Insta-worthy or she’ll lose her mind.”

Having been listening to this rant all afternoon, I let out a Geralt Of Rivia type grunt.

Swaying back and forth on her computer chair, I just watch her aggressively make her bed. “So… why are you so worried about deep-cleaning your room, now, all of a sudden?”

She doesn’t look at me, fluffing her pillows instead. “I always do a Marie Kondo thing before the new year.”

I eye her bedroom carefully, even the pale grey walls looked scrubbed. The black bookcases and cubed shelves are thoroughly dusted and the rose and thorn tapestry that reads ‘I Can’t Be Good All The Time’ above her bed looks freshly laundered (as does her navy bedding). Her ebony wood side tables look waxed; and instead of being covered with junk, are organized in a minimal fashion with candles, fake succulents, her lamp on one, and her catch-all dish on the other. The matching ebony dressers don’t have peeked open drawers with wads of fabrics on the carpet, and I had to help Peyton do the ‘spark joy’ test with every single item of thrifted and hand-made clothing she has.

“Usually after Christmas, usually on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day,” driving my point.

She takes her Juul off the charger and hits it. Finally stopping with all the flighty movement, she sits on the edge of her bed. “So, I’m doing a little bit early, no big deal.”

“You’ve also changed your outfit three times already.”

She tugs at the hem of her black turtleneck, looking down at her dark skinny jeans. Her fingers then brush over the pendent of the silver necklace her dad had given her, (the same time he’d given Jackie an identical one in gold). “It’s a girl thing.”

This is not an untrue stereotype, but very unlike Peyton. Peyton was always able to make her second-hand clothes look like million bucks and carried herself with such confidence, no one questioned it. This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen her so nervous, and the first time that it’s not boy-related.

“She’s just coming over for dinner, it’s not a big deal.”

She stands up, eyes searching for something new to clean or rearrange. “Mom’s freaking out about that, too. She’s getting all the stuff to make fresh Caesar salad, spaghetti from scratch, picked up name-brand Texas Toast, and even got an apple pie from the bakery. I didn’t even get such a homecoming.”

I stand and bring my hands to her biceps. Getting her to look me in the eye, I coach her into breathing with me. Then, I softly explain, “That’s because you don’t need all that crap. You love your family for who they are, you love spending time with your mom – that’s enough for you. You could live off chow mein and pizza and be the happiest person alive.

“Sure, Jackie is your sister by blood, but she hasn’t been around in five years. She isn’t really a part of this family, really she’s a stranger. And you don’t care about stranger’s opinions, remember?”

She takes another deep breath with me then nods, “You’re right… you’re right.”

*

“Hey, Misses P!” I kiss her cheek. “Smells wonderful in here.”

“Oh, Luke! Thank you so much, dear. I’ve made sure to make lots so you can take some home to your folks.”

“That would be much appreciated, thanks.” I slip into a chair by the kitchen table, “Dad also said he should have that you-know-what done before Christmas and Mom wanted me to ask if there’s anything she needs to bring to the Christmas Eve party?”

After sliding the cookie sheet of Texas Toast in the oven, she straightens and looks over the counter to me. “Well, maybe some drinks? Peyton said she’s going to bake again this year, and Joey and Eric decided on ordering pizzas.”

Peyton had slid into the chair across from me and was now painting her nails matte emerald. “Pizza? For a Christmas party? What about for Christmas?”

Checking on the meatballs finishing in the sauce, Misses Pullman rolls her eyes. “We’re still having ham and all the fixin’s for Christmas dinner, don’t worry.”

“I just didn’t want anything to change ‘cause….”

Misses Pullman shoots her mom look at her daughter, “‘Cause what?”

I look at Peyton and pray she doesn’t start something when Jackie is supposed to be here in ten minutes. She notices my gaze, “‘Cause I went to college. I love our traditions, that’s all.”

Her mom is a smart woman, though, and asks “Peyton, would you please go set the table? Six total tonight.”

I get up to assist but then Misses Pullman catches my eye, “Actually, Luke, would you mind running home and grabbing your mom’s salad bowl?”

“Sure thing! I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

*

Coming through the back door into the kitchen, I slip my boots quickly off before giving the bowl to Misses Pullman. From the look of it, she’s already moved the toast to the dining table, and she already has all the other table settings on the counter for everyone to serve themselves. Now that she can quickly toss the salad, we’re just about ready for dinner.

I hear laughter and music coming from the living room but ask “Do you need any help?”

She waves me away, “Go have fun! It’ll be another ten minutes or so.”

Turning the corner into the entryway, I run into someone. Taking a step back, I comment, “s**t, I’m sorry.”

I see a mass of honey hair falling forward and delicate hands collecting a cookie tin off the floor. When she stands up, Jackie smiles, “Oh, gosh, it’s okay.” She holds the Christmas cookies in the air between us. “Want one?”

After I take one, her grey-blue eyes look up at me with a softness, a sincerity in her expression that I don’t recognize. “How’ve you been, Luke?”

“Well, thanks, and yourself?”

She slides on the wood floor with her socks, moving out of the walkway. “Well enough, I –”

But then Peyton pokes her head in, “Luke! Hey you, took you long enough.” She stands by me, wrapping her arm around my waist, “Let’s go grab our seats, yeah?”

But my eyes haven’t left Jackie’s face. Her clear, pale skin; her natural lips a soft pink; the way the thin gold chain of her necklace falls on her collar bones, and the pearl sits just above the center of her bosom. The light pink sweater she’s wearing hugs her perfectly and brings out the natural rosy-ness of her cheeks. And when she walks by us into the kitchen, I catch the wonderful floral, sweet, and slightly musky scent of her perfume.

This is not the same girl from when I was in seventh grade. This doesn’t even seem like the same girl Peyton and I have blindly hated for years.