Double Dare(347)

I let out a big breath, relieved, but Pete turned on me, brows lowered.

“I thought you said it was just your parents and us,” he muttered. “Who the fuck was that?”

I shrugged helplessly.

“That’s what I thought too, but guess not. Guess the whole Smith clan is in attendance,” I sighed. “You’re in for a treat,” I added wryly, because as we stepped into the house, a blast of noise hit us, voices loud, a chorus of carolers, the clanking of dishes, a couple kids squabbling in the living room. My parents’ house isn’t big and if they’d invited my entire family, then it was going to be jam-packed.

And oh shit, but yeah, there were people everywhere, standing in corners chatting, blocking the doorway, all sorts of ugly Christmas sweaters on display, even a dog or two snuffling about, looking for cookie scraps.

“Um, excuse me,” I said, ducking around a group of teens. I didn’t even know who these kids were, some distant relatives of mine? But finally, Pete and I made our way to the kitchen, where my Dad was leading a round of caroling. But instead of seeing Christmas songs, they were singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer. Why why why? Why were the Smiths doing this, today of all days? And judging from the empty bottles on the tabletops, my family was getting started early.

“Pete! Pete!” boomed my dad, coming over and clapping a hand on Mr. Parker’s back. “So great of you to make it, especially after you stole our little girl from us for Christmas.”

Mr. Parker made to say something, but I interrupted.

“Daddy, he didn’t steal me, I went of my own will. I’m helping take care of Violet, Mr. Parker’s daughter, remember? She’s just a baby, they needed some help as they look for a permanent nanny.”

“Oh right!” chortled my dad. “Mandy’s really good with kids,” he winked at Pete. “She’s got five younger siblings, helped raise every one.”

I colored then. Because it was true, my own mother had been so busy getting pregnant and giving birth that I kind of had become a surrogate mom to my younger brothers and sisters. It was natural, I was twelve years old when the youngest was born, old enough to give little Elsie bottles, change her diapers, take her to the park, so my maternal instincts were honed through practice and experience, not books and reading. But Mr. Parker was suave.

“That’s it exactly,” he said in a deep voice. “That’s why Mandy’s invaluable, why I’m paying her top dollar to sit for Violet.”

My dad chortled again then.

“Top dollar for a babysitter?” he said excitedly. “What is that? Twelve bucks an hour? Fifteen? Mandy’s raking it in!” he hooted.

And Pete’s brows drew into a frown, his mouth opening to correct my dad. But I stepped in immediately because I didn’t want to cause a commotion, the amount I was getting paid was beyond my family’s wildest dreams, beyond what they could ever hope to earn. And this wasn’t the right place because how could I possibly explain the exorbitant sum? Fifty thousand dollars every two weeks, until I went back to school? That was like setting off a fire alarm, drawing attention to something that I wanted to keep hidden for the moment.

So I spoke quickly.

“Mr. Parker’s been very kind,” I said with a smile, “He’s providing me room and board so I don’t have to spend anything. When you add a salary on top of that, yeah, I’m doing very well.”

There, that was a diplomatic way of saying it, of soothing the flames. But it didn’t matter because my dad had already turned back to the singing and was belting out “Oh Holy Night” now, really screeching out the high notes. I sighed. Family was family, and mine was one of the best, with all the highs and lows. I threw a look at Pete, apologizing with my eyes.

But the big man was holding up well. He gazed around the crowded space, arms still laden with presents, the corners of his mouth twitching, like he recognized the absurdity in all this, my creeper relatives, my oddly condescending dad, the way my family drank like fish on every occasion, even Christmas Eve.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, raising my eyebrows.

But the big man just gave a shrug of his shoulders before depositing the presents with a group of others on the counter, pouring himself a cup of eggnog, wrinkling his brow when he tasted it. Oh yeah, the Smiths don’t go light on that stuff, it probably had a gallon of rum in it, not the touch that most recipes ask for.

But the thing is, I was proud of him. I was proud to be seen with Mr. Parker, how handsome he was, the dark hair and blue eyes flashing, a head taller than anyone else, even though he was allegedly just my employer.