Reunion chapter 8
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Did I space off for a moment there? With a ridiculously dreamy expression even?
Well it was like a dream to me – those several days of my mother's terrible McDonald family reunion. I mean, (and just to recap because at this point, we are far, far away from where I began telling you this story…)
I mean…
I had partial sex with my arrogant, obnoxious step-brother the night before we both left town to start our new lives.
Then he ignored me for five and half months during which I became University of Toronto's most successful and extra-curricularily prolific student.
Meanwhile, the stepbrother became hockey's most notorious bad-boy and, shock of all shocks (not really), an even badder boy in his serious live-in relationship. (A relationship which basically unraveled after one nightmarish party at Ralph's.)
Then the McDonald family reunion…erupted… and my superstar, super-hot stepbro was nearly molested by my Uncle Robert's very miserable and very horny wife…
But, finally (finally, finally, finally), Derek and I completed the act that had started all of this mess between us in the first place..
and it was…oh my God…
Well, you've seen him, right?
On the television? Playing hockey?
Throwing his gloves and to the ground, eyes blazing as he charges across the ice to take a vicious swing at another player, helmet knocked loose and long boyish curls clinging and sweaty against his neck and forehead.
Or being interviewed?
His cocky smirk when asked about his bad boy reputation. The languid slouch, one arm spread against the back of the chair, shirt unbuttoned (maybe a little farther than respectable, maybe like he just doesn't care about being respectable), long fingers drumming impatiently against one muscled thigh while he raises an eyebrow over those slanting bedroom eyes with their impossibly long curling lashes. The semi-scratch of his voice…the conceit..the unbelievable, mindboggling conceit obvious in every answer…
Well, you can just imagine…
Wait – you haven't actually imagined it, have you?
(Don't answer that. )
Anyway…
I was completely in love.
And I thought that he was too.
There were several days of near honeymoon happiness between the two of us…
I had scheduled so many activities into the days (finding that not everyone is able to keep up with a Casey McDonald 'spirit of the holiday' schedule and still maintain a …well…'spirit of the holiday') but -- the point being -- my family was so busy and exhausted that there were no repeats of the fighting and seducing that plagued our first night together.
AND (even better) there wasn't a lot of attention given to what Derek and I were doing in the linen closet near the hotel conference room…
or in the public bathroom of the mall…
or in the parking lot of the Italian restaurant…
or in the unoccupied stairwell of the Aquarium…
or behind the empty shed at the Reindeer ranch…
or in the thatch of forest near the cross-country ski trails…
or behind the alley dumpster during the Christmas Parade…
or in the darkened kitchen of the nursing home…
What?
Oh! See I thought it would be a wonderful gesture of "Holiday Giving" if we all went to the nursing home for caroling!
It was something I scheduled with one of my very favorite high school groups, the JS Thompson Glee Club – an organization I was shocked to find neither Edwin nor Lizzie were members of (until I called and had them enrolled)!
Oh!
You meant: In the kitchen?
Well, as I KNOW that I have already alluded to in this story…
Derek is an insatiable pig!
Yeesh! Haven't you been paying attention???
"Whose name did you draw Step-Nana Susan?" Marti was bouncing on her toes and trying to see into a gift bag as my grandmother placed it under the tree.
"Marti, sweetie, I told you to just call me "Nana" and not "step-Nana"…and you know that I can't tell you who's name I drew for the gift exchange…"
"Because I really, really like those slippers…if they're for me…." Marti interrupted.
"They aren't."
I had to break in at this point, because there was absolutely no cheating when it came to the secret Santa gift exchange! So, Marti quizzing everyone in a process-of-elimination strategy was definitely cheating. "Marti!" (I felt the look I gave her adequately re-convered the rules for the Secret Santa gift exchange, which we had already covered at least four times a day for the last three days).
"Awww…come on Casey…"
"Yeah. Let the kid have some hints…"
Derek was bounding down the stairs in that deceptively ungainly way of his.
Right before he got to the bottom steps he vaulted over the railing and landed with all the agility of a cat.
It was part of what gave him so much of an edge when he played hockey – he could be all loose-limbed "puppy-on-skates" one minute and then the very definition of precision and power the next.
It was…kind of breathtaking …now that I wasn't hating his guts anymore.
Derek strolled up behind me – way too close – his breath grazing the back of my neck -- and smiled down at his little sister.
"Anyway, Marti, you know that Santa is going to bring you way more gifts than whatever lame thing you get in Casey's even lamer gift exchange." He swooped down to sling the little girl over his shoulder.
"Put me down, Smerek!"
My Nana Susan winced at Marti's shrieks. "Gosh it gets really loud in this house doesn't it?"
Ahhh… I remember the pre-Venturi visits that Nana Susan used to make to our condo in Toronto – my mom would play soft classical music as a background while she worked quietly with her sketches and swatches. Lizzie was usually out in the back yard playing a pick-up game of soccer with Papa Fred while I read a book. Siiiiigh… it really had been so much more….
"Watch out below!"
Edwin dumped a basket of his dirty clothes over the top railing and onto the wooden floor.
With a loud smack the entire downstairs was filled with the aroma of swamp water and rotting food particular to my youngest stepbrother.
One of his stained socks clung to Nana Susan's neat, graying bobbed hair.
"Oh my!"
My mom appeared, morning coffee mug in hand, from the kitchen with Aunt Fiona and Vicky. "Edwin, what did I tell you about dive-bombing your laundry basket?"
"Sorry Nora!"
Today was the grand finale of the McDonald Family Reunion – Christmas Eve gift exchange! Silly me for thinking that and a home cooked dinner would be enough to keep these horrible people occupied. – Whoops! Did I just say that out loud?
But things had obviously reached the point where we were all looking forward to the reunion's conclusion.
Aunt Sandra sauntered around my mother holding her own cup of coffee – her shimmering red negligee hiding NOTHING, I might add. She and Uncle Robert and their twins, Jessica and Dave, were all staying in a nearby hotel.
Apparently, the rest of the family found plenty of time to shower and dress before coming to our house each day to group-up for activities. But my Aunt Sandra claimed she "feels more comfortable just hanging out in her pj's (translate: flimsy silk and satin ensemble which could best be described as a 'Whore of the Old West' costume) rather than hold you all up in the mornings" -- Disgusting!
Derek playfully flipped Marti onto the couch before narrowing his eyes at my aunt's creepy walk of seduction –
"Were you looking for Edwin? 'Cause you probably missed him. I'm pretty sure he has a standing Dungeons and Dragons game lined up for Saturday mornings."
Aunt Sandra's face pinched like she just bit her own tongue, "No problem, Derek. Actually, I was just thinking how sweet you look when you play with your sisters. Will you be flipping Casey onto her back next?"
Yikes!
"Ummm…you were going to…ummmm… run to the grocery with me this morning, weren't you Derek?" I hastily interrupted.
(Of course there was nothing I needed from the grocery on Christmas Eve – I would never be that ill-prepared! However, Something else I did not need was to deflect snarky comments between my aunt and my stepbrother first thing in the morning!)
This was the last day of my perfectly scheduled, although somewhat less perfectly scripted, McDonald Family Reunion.
I wasn't about to let Derek antagonize my aunt into revealing the relationship she knew existed between us.
I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the house before he could retaliate against the "sister" card that my aunt had provoked him with – I was doing her a favor actually!
Derek had NEVER tolerated anyone saying "your sister" to him about me.
He'd shoved Sam against a locker our sophomore year for making the slip!
He'd even punched Ralph during a drunken after-prom party Junior year, when Ralph told him, "That was pretty cool that you made sure your sister got to come."
His face had gotten red and he'd growled out, "She isn't my sister," before taking a hard swing at his friend.
Let me tell you, after almost four years, nobody made that mistake anymore!
And I'm sure they all thought – had thought – that he couldn't stand the reference because he couldn't stand me – a keener preppy princess – being connected in any familial way to him – the great Derek Venturi.
Ha! If they only knew!
I might be oblivious about a lot of things, but I was not oblivious to the proprietary way – the 'to this I am entitled' way – the 'this is part of my dominion' way -- he treated me from the first moment I moved into his house!
He was always watching, asserting and controlling …criticizing my clothing, acting like he had approval with my friendships, manipulating which clubs or …even gym activities… in which I could be involved, tracking me down at parties to remind me of a curfew he had no intention of keeping himself, dictating the nights I could drive and checking the mileage to see where I went…
If that behavior wasn't brotherly – if the mere suggestion that it could be brotherly was so repulsive to him – then what the hell was it?
All the time we were growing up, I wouldn't have dared to consider the question, let alone the answer.
And, with the way Derek reacted, no one else was going to consider it either!
At any rate…Aunt Sandra didn't know the beast she was poking at, not if she thought she could snark about the family connection Derek and I were forced to share.
The grocery was packed – Derek and I shuffled up and down the isles looking for the hard-to-find items I had pretended to need in order to get us out of the house.
And people are so friendly at Christmas time!
Gosh, surprisingly friendly really…hmmmmm….
For example, a really nice woman let Derek take her cart just as we arrived.
Then a teenage boy, working in the bakery isle, had asked Derek to sign his shirt and given us a free doughnuts.
Then two girls about my age asked to have their picture taken with him and told us – well mostly Derek – to "have a nice holiday". . .
But like I was saying…the grocery was packed.
And I guess that caused me to think about (and share with Derek of course) how it is actually a shameful commentary on society that this many people had put off getting their groceries until the absolute last moments before Christmas…
Now two guys about my age wanted to tell Derek that "Hey, you rule, Dude!" and high five him.
But back to what I'd been saying …I'd had everything bought, chopped and ready for the oven since yesterday because I had used my super-organized "Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan." It is actually an excellent and . . .
"Oh no thanks…we don't need any help. We're finding everything okay." I had to snap my fingers twice in front of the woman's face before she would drag her eyes off of Derek's body and notice me.
You know, now that I think of it…when she asked if there was anything we wanted , she probably didn't mean "assistance finding the feta stuffed Greek olives" I was searching for. I'm not sure that question had been directed at both of us anyway…
So AS I WAS SAYING… "The Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan"…All my mom had to do was to follow the cooking chart I had made for her and taped to the refrigerator. Preparation! If more people just took the time and effort…
Oh for crying out loud!
"Can everyone PLEASE stop ogling my stepbrother for one freakin second so I can find the damn olives!"
I turned to look at Derek, completely exasperated, before I realized that …this one time out of maybe a gazillion times in the last four years that I had been completely exasperated…it wasn't his fault!
As a matter of fact, Derek had been doing nothing but slouching against the cart munching a doughnut.
(So, alright…the way he leaned against the cart made his snug t-shirt ride up just enough to flash the defined ab muscles that showed above his jeans…and his butt in those jeans…well even if you never watched a game of pro-hockey in your life it was …well… pretty obvious that he played some kind of sport – played it a lot.)
(And, then there was the doughnut and Derek's love of anything with a fat and sugar content far exceeding its nutritional value…it really was sort of indecent to see a guy as hot as my stepbrother lick doughnut glaze from his lips and fingers between bites of something he was clearly enjoying with so much unabashed intensity as that doughnut…)
Ahem.
But, to tell the truth, (a truth that, at one time, I would have rather choked to death than utter), Derek had always been this hot.
Girls had always checked him out – even when he was with me – despite the fact they had no idea that I was in the seemingly unthreatening role of "stepsister" rather than "girlfriend".
But it had always been just that…some "checking out" and maybe an occasional…well, slightly more than occasional…attempt to "make contact" – like girls pretending to bump into him, or girls asking him if they "knew each other from somewhere" or …girls brushing by flirtatiously while stuffing a napkin with a telephone number written on it into his pocket (can you believe the nerve??? Unbelievable!!!).
But this…open…fawning…of not just women but …boys …and men… and housewives…and everyone…
"Let's get out of here," I mumbled towards him. I was trying to act like I didn't notice the peeking and staring at us from all over the store.
"Uh, Spacey? We haven't actually bought anything yet," Derek said loudly (at least it seemed loud to me).
"It doesn't matter." It was uncomfortably apparent that everyone staring and peeking was now trying to add eavesdropping as an accompaniment to their covert spying of us.
I felt myself get hot and red. "Can we please just go? Now?"
Some part of my embarrassment must have registered for him, because he suddenly became as aware as I was of the attention we…he…was and had been getting. "Oh," he looked down at me and shrugged -- a little bit apologetic, "People sometimes act like they own a piece of me now…" his voice was, thankfully, low and close to my ear. "I got used to it."
"Well, " I wasn't sure how to express the discomfort I was feeling.
I just knew that I had wanted to get out of the house and away from my family to be with him… only him…not the rest of these people who were trying to mooch in on our grocery store trip.
"I don't want anyone owning me…" I managed.
"I don't want that either." There was that long-familiar expression of ownership again – the way his forehead creased a little and he sucked in a breath and locked his jaw – " I definitely don't want that."
We held hands on the way out of the store – like a real couple. But it was strange.
I'd been so wrapped up in the bustle of the family reunion and the thrill and relief of our secret love-making, that I hadn't had time to absorb the reality of a relationship with Derek – his celebrity, the fact of his life on the opposite coast, the fact of an apartment on that coast he was still sharing with Sally, the fact of how completely incongruous our lives were and how impossible it seemed that this – us – could ever, ever, ever work out.
Let me tell you, about the last thing I needed to hear was:
"Hey! You're Derek Venturi aren't you?! " The man coming towards us was stocky, bald and aggressively thrusting his hand forward for Derek to shake. "Wow, I almost didn't recognize you – you look so different…so much, more…" I can't believe people! Couldn't they tell the mood I was in? Couldn't they see the grim line of Derek's mouth or the anxious way he was watching me and not the parking lot in front of us?
I knew Derek had to have been reflecting on all the same things that I had been reflecting on…and more…because of the death grip he had on my hand. He was probably worried I was about to make a run for it – (because it was something I would do) …just bolt away from the curious gawkers and the pain that came from knowing that the last few days of giddy romantic bliss were –most likely – an anomaly in what would undoubtedly be the rest of my arranged, stale, frigid life.
I felt like I was about to cry for Godsakes!
"That's enough!" I shrilled, turning on Derek's startled looking fan.
"Yes, he's Derek Venturi. Yes, he is REALLY the "Bad Boy of Hockey" -- walking right here outside of your grocery store! And YES, he appreciates that you think he is "cool" or "scored the winning goal" in whatever game you are remembering right at this moment but…." And here (humiliatingly) my voice started to tremble and (even more humiliatingly) my eyes started to leak indignant tears,
"…but I had him first, okay? You don't know all the …suffering that I have …endured…
(and now MOST humiliatingly I was beginning to sound like a Jane Austen character)
"… to just… BE with him, holding his hand. SO PLEASE…can I just BE here WITH HIM. AND ONLY HIM… "
The stocky man sort of gaped at us in this, (oddly familiar? ), wide-eyed "Dude, I don't get it?" kind of way. Then he turned towards Derek, "Ummm..?"
Derek was a little red and snorting in an obvious attack of laughter at my expense – (because he is a total ass! Can't he see how sincerely distressed and, although somewhat melodramatically, how I was trying to make a stand for the sanctity of our relationship?)
"She's been through a lot lately Mr. Papadopolus. Maybe Ralph told you how we've been trying to give the asylum an occasional break and gradually introduce Casey back into society? It's been a slow process. "
The stocky man (Ralph's dad) looked back at me, the corners of his eyes turned down in sympathy, "Well, he'd mentioned before that your stepsister suffered from mental problems, but I hadn't realized… " Mr. Papadopolus made a compassionate clucking sound and patted me on the head before turning back to Derek.
"Well, you look so much more grown-up than I remembered you, kid. Heck, it seems like just yesterday that I used to take you and little Sammy and Ralph out to pee-wee hockey… "
I ripped my hand from Derek's, "I'll wait for you in the car…" I hissed at him.
I tried to be more polite and smiled back towards Ralph's dad, "and it was nice to…" but Mr. Papadopolus was leaning away from me in fear – like the polite version of me was somehow more disturbing than the ranting or irate versions.
He completely ignored what I was saying and turned to Derek instead, "It seems like her meds are kicking in…did you need to …feed her…or…restrain…"
"Ugh! Never mind!" I rolled my eyes as Derek tried to pass his laughter spasms off as a sudden need to shake snow from the bottom of his shoes.
"I'm waiting in the car…" I grumbled and stomped off.
From the car I could see Derek talking seriously to Ralph's dad. They were talking hockey, of course.
The reason Mr. Papadopolus hadn't recognized Derek right away was because he traveled almost every week of hockey season as a pro-referee for the NHL.
When he was in town, Derek and his friends used to sit, enthralled, while he recounted for them all the behind-the-scene action of the game: the things the players taunted each other with, the force and speed with which the puck hit the ice, or whether the penalties he'd called has seemed intentional or just sloppy mistakes. Thrilling stuff huh?
Like…right now Derek was leaning in and muttering something that had a lot of frightening gestures: high-sticking, (Derek raised and invisible hockey stick and wacked it against Mr. Papadopolus), elbowing (He lurched over and mimed crunching his arm into Mr. Papadopolus' side)…
and was that a kick with a skate blade slash? Even Hockey's Bad Boy wouldn't sink that low – Would he?
Now Mr. Papadopolus was doing a flawless pantomime of charging (his beefy shoulder leaning into Derek's chest) -- plus he grabbed at Derek's jacket to show the same move while coming up behind a player –
Extremely dirty! Maybe Mr. Papadopolus wasn't the greatest influence on Derek at this stage in my stepbrother's life…
I cracked open the door, "DEREK – Get your butt in the car! I'm freezing in here and we need to get home. NOW!"
He and Mr. Papadopolus were exchanging numbers in their cell phones, so he waved me off.
"Der-rek!"
He was silent and brooding on the way home, one hand clasped over mine as he drove. When we pulled into the driveway, he leaned over and touched his lips against my own.
"Sorry about the store, Case."
I pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you just apologize for something – not even something you actually did?"
He smirked but it didn't reach his eyes – they were still gloomy, "Sally loved all that shit, you know." He scrunched his forehead a little, "So did the other girls…I've been with…in Vancouver…" (At least he had the decency to seem somewhat ashamed that there had been other girls).
I didn't know what to say…the "other girls" part seemed louder to me than the other stuff he was saying. He couldn't be faithful to a girlfriend he actually lived in the same city with and I expected …what?
I leaned my head back against the seat and looked at him. "What are we going to do, Derek? About us?"
His hair was falling messily in front of his eyes, and I was close enough to see the light spray of freckles on his nose, the perfect shape of his lips and each of those long curled lashes over his sleepy eyes.
I guess it was a typical Casey move to not only fall for my stepbrother but also my famous, irresistibly handsome stepbrother.
There is a wide gap between being "up for" a challenge and pursuing an absolutely ridiculous, doomed-to-fail dream.
Yet, I had managed to leap that gap and was now standing face to face with the poster boy of all "she should have known better" relationships.
"You're tough, Casey. No matter what I ever pulled, I always knew that you could handle it. "
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Derek tucked some of my hair behind one ear, "That you need to remember how tough you are. You need to remember that whatever happenned: your dad leaving, your mom moving you here, boyfriends dumping you, me being a jerk, the crazy crap our family always got into…whatever… you have always handled it. Right?"
I nodded, but I was completely confused. Because it sounded like a break-up.
You would think so too, right?
If a guy gave you a speech like that – a guy that you had no hope whatsoever of hanging on to for more than the couple days that you would be in his line of sight – you'd think he was just preparing you for the worst too…with a speech like that.
But the way he was looking at me, and that gesture of tucking my hair behind my ear. ..
Derek loved me. I knew it.
He wouldn't breakup with me! He couldn't ever get over me – never – I was certain. And he was certain too! He HAD to be.
But I was feeling uneasy as I entered the kitchen, (where I found that my mother and sister and Aunt Fiona and Vicky and Nana Susan – all of them put together – had still not managed to follow my carefully color-coded Casey Holiday Meal Preparedness Plan! What a mess! I was forced to restructure the entire first three hours of the plan to get us back on track!)
Then, I couldn't really leave the kitchen for the rest of the day without risking things falling apart in there:
First of all, my mom and Aunt Fiona kept trying to sit down with magazines. Then, Nana Susan claimed her bunions, on her feet, were bothering her and she couldn't possibly mash the potatoes, with her hands, the way I had told her too.
Also, Lizzie was occupied slipping samples to Edwin (who was hiding in the laundry room in case Aunt Sandra made a reappearance before dinner).
And at some point Vicky had decided she needed take "drink orders" from everyone and completely vanished.
My only real helper was Marti – and I didn't find out until it was time to sit down at the table that she had garnished everything with cocktail cherries, Coolwhip and Playdough flowers.
"Oh well," I sighed. At least it was a family dinner!
I watched as George started carving the turkey and Uncle Robert passed my home-baked rolls to the twins. My Aunt Sandra was making a big show out of spooning a taste of my specialty, caramelized sweet potatoes, into Edwin's mouth.
"Now do me!" Marti chirped.
It was somewhat the scene I had imagined when my mother first told me about this reunion. We weren't perfect, but we were still a family enjoying a family dinner.
However, Vicky was standing by the front window looking a little lost.
I hoped this didn't mean that her…illness…was coming back.
"Vicky, " I offered, "Why don't you go upstairs and get Derek. Tell him that dinner is ready."
Vicky turned back towards the room and there were tears streaming down her face. In her hands she held a towel that looked suspiciously similar to the one Derek had used to shower that morning.
"He's gone," she sobbed.
"What?!!" It wasn't even me that screamed in shock. It was someone at the table behind me.
I was numb and completely unable to speak – my mind replaying the scene in the car, Derek's breakup that hadn't felt like a breakup at all.
He left?
"He got in a taxi and told the driver to bring him to the airport. He was on the phone with his coach in Vancouver. He won't even stay for Christmas…" Vicky was close to hyperventilating…"and I got his name for the gift exchange!"
Aunt Fiona was consoling Vicky – who still clung to the dirty towel.
Marti had burst into tears.
Aunt Sandra had burst into laughter.
But I was still numb.
He COULDN'T have left. He loves me. I know it.
To be continued…
(and sooner than it has been – I swear!)