“Dinner!” I call.
Everybody comes in from the sitting room and the kitchen, sitting down at the ornately decorated table. My father sits at the head, with Nana to his right. She’s changed into a beaded dress and smells heavily of perfume. Her long silver hair is arranged into a beautiful Gibson girl chignon on top of her head.
“You look like you wandered off the set of Downton Abbey,” Mum says.
“Is looking smart a crime? I can’t stand this terrible trend of ‘dressing down.’ Everybody appears as if they’ve just come back from the gym,” Nana counters.
Libby and I catch each other’s eyes and exchange a smile. Damn it. I keep forgetting I’m angry at her. I pick up the Christmas cracker, fiddling with it.
She clears her throat. “Charlotte? Wassail?” She offers me the jar sitting in front of me.
“No. Thank you.”
Mum leaves the kitchen and comes back into the room holding the turkey. Dad stands at the end of the table and brandishes the carving knife with a flourish.
“Wait!” Mum says. She places the bird on the table and comes back in with a white apron.
“Oh, not this old thing,” Dad says.
“Matthew, you must.” Mum cackles as she drapes the tatty apron over his button-down shirt and navy blazer. She stands back and regards him in a mock-pensive pose, as if appraising art. The apron reads “Kiss the Cook” and has a naked torso of a Roman statue printed on the front. It’s shockingly tacky.
The two of them giggle as Dad pretends to jab Mum with the carving knife. I look over at Nana, who is exasperated. She doesn’t appreciate this sort of display.
“When you’re quite ready, Matthew,” Nana says frostily. “I was rather hoping to eat this year.”
“Of course,” he says, back to all-business as he tucks into the bird.
I love this about my parents. Even though they’re both fairly serious people, they bring out the silly side of each other. They’ve been married for two decades and yet they seem like giddy newlyweds. I hope I can find that for myself someday.
I remember Edward and Libby kissing and my stomach sinks. I still just don’t understand. How could they?
Libby is picking at the food on her plate, barely eating. I realize that she’s lost weight. Even though she’s a traitor, I should throw her a bone. It’s Christmas.
“I like your dress, Libby,” I say.
Everybody looks at me, and I realize that I must have interrupted my grandmother.
“No, no,” she says drily. “You go ahead, please.”
“Sorry, Nana.”
“Libby’s dress does look very nice. Makes your eyes look special, instead of that boring brown. I do wish you had inherited my blue eyes. Did I pick it out?”
“You did, Nana,” Libby says. She looks at me gratefully.
“Quite right. Thought so.” Nana looks pleased as she sips champagne that my mother bought specially for her. “And what about you, Charlotte? We’ve been circling around the topic at hand for hours and I’m tired of ducking it. How is your relationship? How is His Royal Highness?” She relishes these words, letting them roll off her tongue slowly. She’s shimmering with pleasure. I wait a few seconds. Finally, I come out with it:
“We broke up.”
“No! What happened?”
I look at Libby. She looks like a deer caught in headlights.
I take a sip of the half glass of red wine my parents allow Libby and me to have every Christmas.
“Well. I don’t really know what to say.”
“Something must have happened,” Nana says. “You were so excited!”
“I dumped him.”
“Oh, Charlotte! Why?”
“He never had any time for me. And he was spending too much time with other girls,” I say, shooting a passive-aggressive look at Libby.
Nana frowns. “I see. That won’t do.”
I look at her in surprise. “You’re not upset?”
She takes a sip of her champagne, disappointment etched into her face. “I’d hoped for more from him. He’s a prince. But the only person I’m upset for is you, my dear. Maybe you can forgive something like that after you’re married—and only once, mind you!—but this early in your relationship? No. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Prince be damned.”
“That’s what I said! I don’t know if he was cheating, but he wasn’t treating me well. I didn’t care that he was a prince.”
She nods, looking satisfied. “That’s my girl. Kick that deadbeat to the curb.”
Mum’s face registers shock, while Dad looks impressed. Clearly, Nana’s reaction has surprised us all.
“Besides, there was plenty of other stuff, too,” I say. “We just weren’t the right fit. He’s kind of boring.”
Libby shuffles in her seat.
I’m in the kitchen washing dishes while Dad takes out the garbage and Mum and Nana huddle over brandies in the living room.
“Charlotte?” Libby asks timidly at my back.
I don’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“Can we talk?”
“Go for it,” I say, shrugging.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
She clears her throat. “I just wanted you to know: the night you saw us—it was the first time we kissed.”
“Congratulations.” I finish wiping a serving platter dry and set it back in the cupboard. I can see her reflection in the window behind the sink. Like me, she’s still wearing her paper crown from the Christmas cracker.
“We were both really drunk.”
I don’t say anything.
She continues, clearing her throat again. “Um . . . after he kissed me, I realized I did have feelings for him, but I’d been pushing them away because of you. I feel awful.”
“You should. And being drunk is a pretty lame excuse.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Here’s what I want to know,” I say, swiveling around and throwing the tea towel on the counter. “What if I hadn’t caught you? Would you have let it go on for days? Weeks? When were you going to come to me and say, ‘You know how you’ve been paranoid for weeks? Turns out you were right to be’?”
“Charlotte, I promise you that nothing happened while you two were dating. I didn’t even realize I thought of him like that until the night you saw us kissing. I swear it to you.”
“How can I believe a single word you say after you were so quick to betray me?”
She’s quiet for a second. “I understand. But . . .”
“Oh, there’s a ‘but’?”
“Never mind.”
“No. Please share. I’m riveted.”
“I mean, you two only casually dated for a couple months,” she says in a rush. “You said yourself that you didn’t even like him that much.”
“Are you serious? That’s your defense?”
Her cheeks are bright pink.
“Look, here’s the reality of the situation. You’re a boyfriend stealer. You’re selfish. You’re two-faced and clearly only out for yourself. I would never do this to you.”
Libby’s back stiffens.
“You threw me under the bus at the first opportunity to be with him. How low can you get? You betrayed me.”
“Now wait a minute,” Libby says. “You’re not being fair.”
“I’m not being fair? How is my sister making out with my boyfriend fair?”
“Ex-boyfriend.”