Page 28 of Not Home Alone

“I’m cuttin’ you off, Sis,” Connie says, as she brings a cup of eggnog over to me. “There’s only two bathrooms in this house; you can go on the Irish coffee diet when you’re back at your place.” She looks down at the plastic bin. “Whatcha got in there, hon? Crafting supplies?”

“It’s actually from a stage play I starred in ten years ago. The Not-Ballet Nutcracker. It’s a tradition in this town. We call it The Notcracker.”

“Oh, that’s cute! That’s so cute!” Connie exclaims. “And you were the star? Were you what’s her name? Esmerelda?”

“Uh, no, her name’s Clara.”

“Clara! That’s right. I didn’t know you were a ballerina, that’s so fancy. Can I see what’s in here?”

“Sure. But it’s not a ballet. It’s a play that’s based on the same story.”

Connie is already pulling out the program from The Notcracker I was in. “Oh my lord, look at this. Look at you—is that you? Look how cute you are! You guys, come see how cute this girl is.”

Instead of passing it around, everyone comes over to look at the color printout with me and Grant on the cover.

“Ooooh, who’s the guy?” Erica asks.

Joanne thwacks her sister on the arm. “Erica. He’s a teenager. That’s gross!”

“But he’s not a teenager now, right? What is he—twenty-seven?”

“Twenty-eight,” I mumble. “His name is Grant.”

“See! Twenty-eight. Totally doable,” Joanne asserts. “Grant? That’s a hot name. Hot. He still in town? Probably married, right? They’re always married. Is he married?”

“Um. No, actually. He’s not married.” Oh god. Please change the subject.

“Really. Is he in town, though? Are you in touch? Are you Facebook friends? Where does he hang out?”

Here we go. “Actually… he is… I’m… he and I are dating.”

“Whaaaaat?” Connie squeals. “You have a boyfriend? Joe didn’t tell me! I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. He’s so handsome—tell me everything.”

“What didn’t I tell you this time?” my dad says jovially as he strolls into the kitchen.

“Your daughter is dating this handsome young man.”

“Who—Merrily? Who are you dating?”

“Uh, Grant. Grant Moody. It’s very new and not serious.”

“Grant Moody?” My dad blinks, a little stunned. “The Grant Moody? Robert Moody’s son? From The Notcracker?”

“Yep! Not serious. Very new, but good. It’s fine! It’s a good thing and not a big deal, but it’s definitely a good idea that’s fine. He basically groveled because he felt so bad about what a jerk he was, so…” I pull my phone out from my back pocket. “Oooh, my boss is calling me about something. I have to take this work call, excuse me!” I hold my phone to my chest as I scurry out to the living room and then hold it up to my ear, pretending to take a call. “Hello?… Hi, no, it’s fine, I’m just at my dad’s house—what’s going on?… Uh huh… Oh, great!”

They’re all talking so loudly in the kitchen, I don’t think I need to pretend to talk on the phone anymore.

“Say hi to the fake person who didn’t really call you for me,” says a bored, girlish voice.

I jump and cover my heart as she swirls around to face me.

My stepsister, April, is seated in my dad’s overstuffed swivel recliner, holding a book, and staring at me like an evil Bond villain.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there.”

“Of course not,” she says, in her monotone voice that’s sweeter than I’m sure she’d like it to be. “You were too busy talking on the phone to someone who isn’t there. You can hang up now. I won’t tell them you used a lame excuse to get away from them.”

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I say, “Thanks! What are you reading?”