to round up pens for the game. That left me to the socialy
torturous task of making nice with Stela's parents, Nanny
and Poppa.
Like their daughter, they weren't bad people. They'd never
gone out of their way to be cruel. I wasn't Cinderela. And
I understood, now, what it must have been like to try to
find a place in their hearts for their new son-in-law's
children, and how awkward it must have felt. A hastily
wrapped Jumbo Book of Puzzles and a prewrapped box
of knit mittens would always fal short in comparison to
exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with
exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with
matching bows, the contents new clothes or toys. I
understood. Spending Christmas at my dad's had been last
minute, haphazardly planned and rare. At least Nanny and
Poppa had made an effort.
It seemed easier for them now that I was a grown-up,
though it was more difficult for me. As a kid it had never
occurred to me they wouldn't like me. Now I was
convinced they didn't.
"Helo, Paige," George, also known as Poppa, said. "How nice of you to come."
He meant wel, but the unspoken insinuation of surprise
made me bite my tongue against the shout of "Of course I
came! She's my father's wife!"
But, like Stela herself, I could never hope to impress
them. I just wanted not to prove them right. So instead of
shouting, I smiled.
"How are you?" I couldn't cal him George, Mr. Smith
sounded absurd, and I would never cal him Poppa.
I'd been asking out of politeness, but he told me exactly
how he was. For fifteen minutes. And I listened, nodding
how he was. For fifteen minutes. And I listened, nodding
and murmuring in appropriate places, as though I cared. I
didn't know half the people he mentioned, but he acted as
if he thought I should. He never asked me about myself,
which was fine, because then I didn't have to answer.
Finaly, the game of Pictionary got under way. Gretchen's
husband, Peter, begged off, volunteering to take care of
Hunter, their three-year-old son. Steve and his vastly
pregnant wife, Kely, played, though, as did my dad and
Stela, al the grandparents and Tyler. And me. Jeremy had
disappeared. We split into teams, boys against girls.
"I'l sit out," I said when we'd counted up the teams to find the girls' side had an extra player.
"Oh, no, Paige, are you sure?" Stela protested, but not
too hard. She liked things even and square.
"Sure. Not a problem. I'l go check on dinner, if you
want."
Okay, so maybe I'd cast myself in the Cinderela role. Just
a little. But it was a relief to get into the kitchen and set out
platters of vegetables and dip, cheese and crackers.
Decorative breads and soft cheeses with pretty spreaders
Decorative breads and soft cheeses with pretty spreaders
that matched the platter. Stela loved to have parties.
I found the cold-cut platters in the garage fridge and
brought them into the kitchen to put them out on the table,
which was serving as a buffet. I startled Jeremy when I
came back in, and he whirled, can of soda in hand, from
the open fridge.
From the living room, the sound of laughter wafted. I set
the platter of meat on the table. Jeremy and I stared each
other down.
"You're not supposed to be drinking that before dinner," I told him.
"I know." His chin lifted. He hadn't yet cracked the top.
"I'm not going to tel you on you, kiddo." I turned to the
table and took off the platter's plastic lid so I could get rid
of the fake greenery around the edges. I knew how to
make things pretty.
"Don't cal me kiddo," he said.
I expected him to slink away with his stolen prize, but he
didn't. When I turned to look at him, he was stil playing
didn't. When I turned to look at him, he was stil playing
with the can, shifting it from one hand to the other.
"Something up?" I moved past him to the big, mostly
empty pantry, to pul out the fancy plastic plates and
plastic-ware, the matching napkins.
"No." Jeremy shrugged and disappeared up the back
stairs.
After that, the party realy started.
It was easier for me with more people there. Stela's
friends knew who I was, of course, and avoided talking to
me so they didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of
how to address their friend's husband's ilegitimate
daughter. My dad's friends knew me, too, but had fewer
inhibitions for some reason. Maybe because I'd known
them longer, or because they had no conflict of loyalty.
Some of them didn't like Stela much, and maybe that was
part of it, too.
Of my father's other kids, I saw very little. Gretchen, Steve
and I had never been close, even though it wasn't my
mother who'd finaly won our dad away from their mom.
Of course, their spouses weren't sure what to make of me,
Of course, their spouses weren't sure what to make of me,
either, and it was easier for us to be superficialy polite
without trying to get to know each other. Their children
were and would be my nieces and nephews, but I doubted
they'd ever think of me as an aunt.
"Paige DeMarco, how the hel are you?" Denny's one of
my dad's oldest friends. Fishing and drinking buddies,
they'd known each other since high school. He'd known
my mom, too.
"Hey, Denny. Long time no see."
"Yeah, and you a big-city girl now, too. How's it going?"
Denny gave me a one-armed hug.
"It's going great." It wasn't an entire lie. Most of my life was going great.
"Yeah?" He tossed back the dregs of his iced tea. I
guessed he was hankering for a beer, but Stela wasn't
serving booze. Not that I blamed her. Alcohol always
made a different kind of party. "Where you living at? Your
dad said someplace along the river?"
"Riverview Manor."
There was no denying the pride sweling inside me at
Denny's impressed whistle. "Nice digs. And your job?
You're not stil working with your mom, are you?"
"I help out once in a while, if she's got a big job."
Denny grimaced at his empty cup, but didn't move to pour
more. "What's she up to? She stil with the same guy?"
Questions my dad never asked. I was the only part of my
mother my dad needed to know about. He'd never said as
much, but I knew it.
"Leo? Yes."
"And that kid, how old's he now?"
"Arty's seven." I had to laugh for a second. "Wow. Yeah.
He just turned seven."
"You tel her I said hi, okay?"
"Sure."
We chatted for a while after that. The party got louder.
Stela reigned over it like a queen, even if she was claiming
Stela reigned over it like a queen, even if she was claiming
to stil be only twenty-nine. When it came time to open the
gifts, I thought about slipping out, but forced myself to
stay.
Stela sat in the big rocking chair in the living room, her
presents arranged at her feet and her closest girlfriend
beside her getting ready to write down the name of every
gift and its giver. Stela opened gift cards, packages of
bath salts, certificates for spa treatments. Sweaters.
Slippers. A new silk robe someone had brought from a
trip to Japan. She oohed and aahed over each gift
appropriately.
By the time she got to mine, my stomach had begun to eat
itself. The harsh sting of acid rose in my throat, burning.
My heart thudded sickly. I had to turn away to pop
another couple antacids and sip from a glass of ginger ale,
even though I knew the soda would ruin the effects of the