Higher Ground (16 page)

“Out with some friends,” Miss Verity answered after giving me a swift look of warning. “He’ll be home by midnight.”

“But you’re not with him,” Mom said to me, taking a step away from my father.

I followed Miss Verity’s lead when I replied, “He has a lot of friends, Mom.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Charm bracelets and barrettes were hardly conversation pieces, so I nodded and pretended to be engrossed in the show until my parents finally made their way up the stairs. After their bedroom door slammed shut, I turned to Miss Verity.

“Why didn’t you tell them Van’s with George?”

Her eyes never moved from the screen as she answered. “That’s Van’s business, isn’t it?”

“You’re not worried?” I asked. Van was only sixteen, while George was at least twenty-one.

“Your brother’s spending time with a kind, caring, and experienced young man. There are far worse things going on in this world for me to worry about.”

Miss Verity knew better than I did about most things, so it was easy for me to trust her opinion of George Murphy. After all, I loved a boy who believed love was bullshit, so I was in no position to judge anyone else’s relationship. My situation with Oliver was a fucked up mess.

The short nap had thrown off my schedule, so I found it next to impossible to get back to sleep that night. As predicted, Van was home by midnight. He pushed open my door long enough to wave and keep going. He was talking to someone on his phone, so I didn’t try to stop him. Instead, I sat on a pile of pillows in the corner of my room for hours reading “The Oval Portrait” and “The Imp of the Perverse.” After that, I decided to give up Poe for the night, since both tales left me cold and thinking of Oliver.

The last time I looked at the clock, it was after 5:00 in the morning. Troya called and woke me up shortly after 9:00.

“You busy?” she asked.

“No,” I yawned.

“Feel like shopping?”

I felt like sleeping, but a chance to hang out with Troya alone was rare, so my immediate answer was yes. She was eating muffins and chatting with Miss Verity in the kitchen by the time I’d made it downstairs after a quick shower.

Miss Verity insisted I eat something, so I took two muffins and a bottled water with me to eat on the way. Troya grabbed her last muffin and followed me out the door. The chilly breeze dried my hair before we made it to the streetcar.

Most of the day was spent ducking in and out of shops on Magazine Street. Almost all of Troya’s purchases were small, art-related—chalk, paints, brushes, charcoal—and for Sonny.

“To keep it easy, we decided to give each other a stocking full of stuff.”

“That’s sweet,” I said. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to get anything for Oliver. I’d bought presents for everyone else, even a sketchpad for Sonny and a hardcover copy of
The Stand
for Penn.

“How do you shop for Miss Verity?” she asked. “It must suck. It’s impossible to surprise her.”

“She drops plenty of hints close to the holidays so we don’t have to try to surprise her.”

“What did you get her?”

“A new silk scarf for her tarot cards, some pre-bundled sage, and a cheesy romance novel with boobs busting out of a corset on the cover.”

She laughed and almost dropped her phone. “No way. Your grandma reads porn?”

“It’s not porn,” I argued. “It’s romance… with sex.”

“Oh, my God. You read it!” She laughed even harder when my cheeks turned pink.

“I had trouble sleeping last night,” I said. “Poe was fucking with my head, so I needed something lighter. It was a good book.”

“I’m not judging you for that. I love some seriously dirty shit, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to share it with my grandma. Plus, yours probably already knows you read it. That doesn’t gross you out?”

I had to stop to think about it for a moment before I answered. “I guess it’s still weird and interesting to you, but I’ve lived with Miss Verity my entire life. I learned a long time ago not to worry about what she can or can’t see. I’d drive myself crazy.”

“Why were you up all night?”

As much as I loved Troya, she was Oliver’s cousin and one of his closest friends. I hadn’t forgotten that, so I took a page from his book and lied. “School. I’ve sent off all of my applications and essays. Waiting sucks.”

“You applied to five schools, right?” She waited for a nod and then continued. “At least one of them will want you. What’s your first choice?”

I’d been wondering the same thing myself. I’d never been to any of the places I’d applied to, and researching a school online wasn’t the same as visiting it in the flesh.

“I don’t know. I wish my parents would let me tour a couple of them. If I had to pick today, I’d say Auburn.”

“Really?”

“All the others are in tourist cities: Nashville, Dallas, Miami, Vegas. They’re not much different than here. Auburn’s a small town. It’s bike-friendly, so I won’t have to worry about a car, and in case I need to get home quickly, it’s closer than the others. And it has a good English department. I think I’d like it there.”

“Have you asked your parents to check it out with you?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No. Why bother?”

“I’ll borrow my mom’s car, and we’ll go for a weekend,” she said without glancing up from the clearance rack of shirts she was perusing.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.” She stopped and gave me her full attention. “It has a GPS. You’ll have to split the gas with me, though.”

“We’re not eighteen. How are we going to get a hotel?”

She shrugged. “If we have to, we’ll sleep in the car.”

“You’d really do that?”

“Sure. It’ll be fun. I’ll tell my mom I want to check it out, too. She’s always asking me what my plans are and if I’m thinking about my future. This might get her off my back.”

It was hard not to get my hopes up. Troya made it sound easy, like a real possibility. It was nice to have someone in my corner.

We shopped until our feet hurt and our arms were full of bags and presents. When we’d had enough, we caught a cab back to her house. Her mom was at work, and her dad was like mine, except hers spent all his free time in a recliner watching sports instead of being obsessed with books in an office.

Troya made sandwiches, and Sonny showed up around dusk to go with us to Penn’s. We’d had a chance to rest, which was good since it was a long walk to the party. When we arrived, the driveway was already full and cars were lining the street on both sides.

Penn came over as soon as he saw us. “It’s going to take me all day to clean this shit up tomorrow.”

“That’s the price of popularity,” Troya said.

“Where’s Oliver?” I asked, looking over Penn’s shoulder at the crowd.

“Haven’t seen him,” he answered. “He said he was stopping at Chloe’s and then he’d be here.”

Chloe Sinclair was a junior and, based on the number of times I’d seen her buying it from Oliver, really fond of marijuana. I’d never noticed if she was the type to wear charm bracelets, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

Van turned up an hour later. He found me burning a fat one on the back patio with Troya and Sonny. He took a few hits to catch up, and I cornered him and forced him to tell me everything about his date with George Murphy the night before. Well, not everything. There were some things big sisters didn’t need to hear.

He’d had fun and was still a virgin, so it was all good.

People came and left. Troya told Sonny and Penn about our wish-list visit to Auburn, and Penn offered to tag along and help share expenses.

Celeste gave all of us “special” cookies—three each, sealed tight in a Ziploc baggie with a snowman printed on it. “Merry Christmas,” she said.

We partied until it was time for me and Van to rush home to beat curfew. My friends did a bang-up job of keeping me busy and distracted. I let them believe it was working, but it didn’t escape my notice that Oliver, who’d promised to see me there, had never shown up.

“Troya was a good friend to you,” Wade says.

His arms are around me, holding on. Stories of teenage Violet haven’t managed to run him off, yet.

“She was,” I agree.

“Did you sleep in the car?” His lips are turned up in a curious grin.

“We didn’t go. My parents wouldn’t let me.”

“Let you?” His hold loosens as he takes a step back to look me in the eye.

“It was different then—”

The double-action door swings open, and Patricia steps into the room with her hands on her hips. “It’s time for presents! I thought you’d be all over it.”

“We are, Mom.” Wade’s hand grasps mine, palms sliding and fingers locking.

We follow her to the tree and take spots on the floor so Jeff’s parents can have the chairs closest. Wade plays Santa, dutifully checking each tag and passing presents to their rightful owners. Based on the number of wrapped gifts between us, my haul’s almost as large as Wade’s this year.

He scores new cuff links from his grandparents; shirts, gift cards, and books from his parents; and the obligatory socks and underwear Patricia embarrasses him with year after year. Beautiful sweaters, earrings, framed prints, and books make up most of my loot. Jeff hands Wade a long white envelope with holly decorating the upper right-hand corner, and Patricia gives me an identical envelope.

Wade glances at them and then at me before hooking his thumb in the loose flap to open his.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“Wade!”

“Sorry, Grandma.” His smile doesn’t waver. “Open yours,” he says to me.

I follow his lead and pull out a confirmation of a half-season plan purchase for the Braves.

“Thank you so much,” I say.

“Most of the games are in the summer, Violet,” Patricia says. “I’m worried more about Wade’s schedule than yours, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy these together.”

“I’m sure we will, for at least some of them. I’ll take Wren when he has to work, so don’t worry they’ll go unused.”

Wade mock-scoffs loudly in protest, making Patricia laugh. “Y’all have a grand time,” she says, resting her hand on my knee long enough to give it a light squeeze.

Jeff surprises her with an envelope of her own. It contains an itinerary for a trip to Aruba scheduled for the week of their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next year. She cries big, happy tears, squeals like a teenager once or twice, and then kisses him with an enthusiasm that makes Wade cringe, while the rest of us think it’s cute.

“Don’t you want me to still kiss you that way twenty-five years from now?” I ask, nudging his side with my elbow.

“Well, yeah, but not in front of our kids.”

“Right. We’ll keep it in our pants around our kids.”

His arm slips from the back of the sofa to land on my shoulders in a half-hug, and then soft lips press against my hair. Subtly and with certainty, possibilities morph into promises. I can see us doing this years from now, in some other house, with one or two small kids and a sea of wrapping paper. For the first time in my life, I want those things.

As predicted, Ari shows up soon after we’ve finished, knocking on the door as she opens it. “I come bearing presents and wine.” She steps into the living room, sets a gigantic brown bag on the table, and starts pulling wrapped gifts from it. “I brought yours, too,” she says to Jeff and Patricia. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

There’s a gift for everyone except me, but I wasn’t really expecting one.

Since I could use the break, I make a quick trip to the bathroom and swing by the kitchen for a bottled water from the fridge. My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and two text notifications show up on the display. The first is from my sister, who lets me know she’s driving to New Orleans Wednesday afternoon. The second is from Wren. It’s an invitation for brunch and shopping tomorrow. There’s also a missed call from her, so I decide to call her back instead of sending a text to answer.

“Hey,” she says. “Merry non-Christmas.”

“Happy Sunday,” I answer. “What are you doing?”

“At this moment? You don’t want to know. How’s Christmas with the folks?”

“It’s good.” I pause long enough to open the back door and sneak out onto the porch. Even still, I keep my voice down when I continue. “The ex’s mom is here. She’s exchanging gifts with everyone. She even got something for Wade’s grandparents.”

“But not you.”

“Definitely not me.”

“Bitch.”

“No,” I say. “She’s not. She’s really nice. And I get it. I mean, would you buy your daughter’s ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend a Christmas gift?” Before she can answer, I add, “Don’t lie.”

“I guess not. And it’s not like you got anything for her.”

“Exactly. I’m not going to lose any sleep over this. I promise.”

“Good. So tomorrow?”

“Make it lunch instead, and I’m in.” The afternoon sunlight catches a facet on the ring, a bright reminder of news I want to spill. Telling Wren would start an internet avalanche that would end on my family’s information doorstep before I step foot in New Orleans. If Wade agrees, we’ll tell our friends after my family.

“Fine. I’ll go the gym in the morning while you’re sleeping until noon.”

“I’m giving up the gym until after Christmas. I’m going to enjoy every bite of Miss Verity’s cooking this week and then diet like hell starting January 1st.”

“Lucky bitch. I want Miss Verity’s cooking.”

“Come down for New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, that would be ah-may-zing,” she says. “I’m going to call Nick to see if he’s in. See you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a goodbye, off to convince Nick to come to New Orleans. This will be Wade’s first time visiting, and if they can swing it, partying with our best friends on New Year’s Eve will make it even more memorable.

By the time I rejoin them in the family room, the others have finished with their gift exchange. There’s a football game playing on the TV, but it’s background noise. Laughter and voices are in the air.

Wade senses me before he sees me, whips his head around to look at me, and tilts it toward the empty spot next to him on the couch. I sit as close as possible and smile when he buries his face in my hair and inhales.

“You’ve been outside,” he says.

“Wren called, so I took a minute to hit her back. We’re going shopping tomorrow.”

A satisfied grin covers his face as he leans back. “Sounds like fun. What are you going to buy me?”

“Organic parsnips.” It takes less than a second for his smile to convert to a grimace. “That’s what you get for asking.”

“He’s always been like that,” Patricia says. “One year, I caught him cutting one of his gifts open with a pocket knife. There was a brand new roll of Scotch Tape next to him on the floor.”

“Seriously?” I ask Wade. “You ruined the surprise?”

“I was heartbroken.” Patricia pauses to take a sip of her wine and smile. “He’d already opened and repackaged almost all of his presents.”

“She cried,” Wade says. “I felt horrible. I think that was the worst Christmas ever for the both of us. Dad was stuck in the middle. Yeah… Not a good year.”

“You were a mess when you were little,” I say, toying with his hand on my leg.

His fingers catch mine, and he holds them firm but with affection. “Don’t worry. No one jinxed me with the ‘I hope you have a kid just like you’ curse.”

“Mine never wished that on me, either.”

Patricia smiles and leans forward to hand me a glass of wine. “Wade’s driving. You’ll like this.”

“It’s from a winery over in Guyton,” Ari says. “Hillary and I have wiped out two bottles in three days.” Without thinking, I lift the glass to my lips. The sweet tang of muscadine grapes hits my tongue at the same moment Ari catches sight of the diamond. “You’re engaged!” Her hands leave her lap to flap excitedly. “Oh, my God! Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Wade says as I swallow and nod in agreement.

“May I?” she asks. Her hand’s already outstretched, fingers reaching for mine and begging to inspect.

“Sure.”

She tries not to be overly impressed with my ring, but she studies it long and hard enough to show she is. “Lovely.” I’m forgotten quickly as she drops my hand and leans over to pat Wade’s shoulder. “Congratulations.” Her first questions are the same as everyone else’s. “When? Where?”

My folks will want the same answers in a few days, and Wren’s going to want details. Wade and I are going to have a talk on the way home. We need a plan and answers, even if they’re vague.

Ari starts talking expenses, educating us on the joys of deposits. She and Hillary have already talked to a few caterers and florists. I toss back the rest of my wine and hold out my glass for a refill.

We’ll need those things, too.

A planner, a dress… a photographer.

Wade gives me a look when I polish off what’s in my hand and reach for the bottle to pour a third for myself. I shrug and whisper, “It’s good.”

Since I take the time to sip it and contemplate the idea of a minister versus a justice of the peace, all the while listening to Ari talk about bridesmaids’ dresses and matching tuxedo cummerbunds, the third glass lasts longer.

“I like vests better,” I mumble, staring into the deep red wine in my hand for answers to wedding enigmas.

Wade bumps his shoulder against mine. “Tuxes, huh?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

He laughs, resting his hand on my thigh and squeezing in light reassurance. “We can figure it out later,” he says. “You okay?”

“Sure,” I answer, leaning my side against his to feel him. “My knees are warm, so this should probably be my last one.”

“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want, you’re cut off. Since you hate public restrooms and it’s a long drive home, it’s not a bad idea.”

“Ugh.”

I hate it when he’s right.

We stay long enough for me to finish the third glass of wine, dodge a conversation with Patricia about honeymoons and financial stuff, and for Wade’s grandma to finally hush the room by saying, “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Give it a rest before they decide to hop a plane to Vegas to elope. You’re going to scare the poor kids to death!”

Maybe not to death but definitely to drinking.

I decline a fourth glass when Jeff pops a third cork. Wade has to be at work early tomorrow, and we have a long car ride to look forward to. “I’m done,” I say, covering my glass to keep the delicious red away.

“We should go soon,” Wade adds.

It takes another half hour to break away. While there are sweet goodbyes and hugs on the front porch, Jeff helps Wade carry gifts and leftovers out to the car. They stand near the trunk, laughing and talking. It takes a lot of effort and my full attention to remain standing without swaying.

Patricia holds tight a little longer than usual and keeps an arm around me to guide me down the front steps. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. He’s wanted to ask you for so long…” She smiles, glances at the ground, then to me, and continues. “You make him happy, and we’re all so happy, and…” This time, she trails off into tears—the good kind that comes with smiles.

“I’m happy, too,” I say.

She doesn’t release me until we’re standing at Wade’s car. He opens the door for me and waits patiently as I say goodbye to Patricia one last time and wave twice to his grandparents on the porch. They wave back, as does Ari, who holds her wine glass in the air in a final toast.

“Love you, Mom,” Wade says, leaning over to kiss Patricia on the cheek.

“Love you, too,” she says. “Both of you. Be careful.”

“We will,” he answers.

They’re still outside, watching us, when Wade backs out onto the street. He stops at a gas station on the way out of town, because it’ll be well past dark when we get home later. A long stretch of the trip is boring highway, so I make a quick trip to the restroom while he fills up the tank and buys a large black coffee for the road.

Because I fumble in the stall, banging my head against the stall door in a true moment of grace, it takes me longer than expected.

Wade’s leaning against the wall when I exit the bathroom. “I considered sending in a search party,” he says.

“Sorry. My coordination’s suffering at the moment.” I rub my sore forehead. “That third glass was probably a bad idea.”

“Probably,” he smiles, resting his free hand where my back meets my ass. “Do you want anything?”

“No. I’m good.”

The cool air feels good as we walk across the lot. He kisses me quickly on the lips before moving his hand to open the car door for me.

“Thanks,” I say.

Classic rock plays quietly between us as he pulls away from the station and merges onto the highway.

“What did your mom say this morning?” he asks.

“Oh, the usual guilt-trip bullshit.” I relax against the headrest. “I told her I wanted to stay at a hotel, and she put Van on the phone to talk me out of it.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Good,” I say. “He’s disappointed you won’t be there for the game Tuesday night. He seems to think the Pelicans can beat the Hawks.”

“Yeah, right,” Wade says, tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m going to be outnumbered as the only Hawks fan there,” I say, pouting.

“You might be,” he says, agreeing for the first time that he might not make it before Christmas. “I called a couple of people this morning. No luck on a swap.”

My eyes slip closed, and acceptance tinged with relief washes through me. “It’s okay. It’s just a few days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to make it up to me on New Year’s Eve,” I say. “We’ll go to the riverbank for fireworks, hit Bourbon after that, and then eat beignets as the sun comes up while some band plays blues covers in the background.”

“It’s a date,” he says.

“Speaking of dates, everyone wants to know. My parents are going to ask the same questions your mom and dad did. Were you serious about wanting to get married soon?”

He glances over and nods. “We know we fit, so there’s no point in waiting.”

“Will the new job affect your ability to take time off?”

“
If
I get the position, I’ll still be able to request vacation time in advance. What do you have in mind?”