Happily Ever After
Chapter One
“Five?”
Kate is calling me from the bottom of the stairs. I’m stuck up in the attic bedroom in the Vail vacation mansion with Oliver, as usual. He’s still snoring. Kids. They love Christmas. He was so excited last night, he stayed up talking me to death until three AM.
“Five?” Kate yells again.
I look in the bathroom mirror and smooth an out-of-place hair, then straighten my tie.
“Why didn’t you answer me?” Kate asks, coming up behind me. She’s clearly annoyed with my indifference, because she has one hand on her hip. “I’ve been calling you.” She stops short and covers her mouth as she laughs. “You are not wearing that.”
“I’m busy, Kate. I have adult things on my mind.”
When I look over at her she’s just giving me that dumbfounded stare. “I’m older than you.”
“Age is not what makes a person mature.”
“Anyway,” she says, sighing and blowing some of her dark bangs out of her eyes. “Rook is making us all breakfast. Pancakes!” This lights up her face. Kids love their pancakes too. “But seriously, Five. No one wears suits to Christmas Eve breakfast. It’s stupid.”
“It says upwardly mobile.”
“That’s stupid too. No one wants to look like they’re going on a job interview at family breakfast.” She pauses, looking me up and down with a critical eye. “You know she’d like you more if you weren’t so weird.”
“I have no idea to whom you are referring. And I’m not weird.”
Kate snickers. “OK. But she’s my best friend, you know. Rory tells me everything and she thinks you’re weird.”
“She does not,” I say, spinning around so I can look Kate in the eyes. “Princess Shrike is my one true love. She knows this. I know this. And one day, when we are of legal age to marry, the world will know this.”
Kate sighs. “I was kidding. Well, a little bit. She has remarked about the suits though, Five. For real. Don’t wear it. I’m not steering you wrong here. I’m trying to help.”
“I agree,” five-year-old Oliver says from behind Kate, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Lose the suit and put on the snowmen, Rutherford the Fifth. Trust me, I live with her. She likes this stuff. She’s always telling me how cute I am in these.” He points to his flannel character pajama pants.
“First of all,” I say, putting up a finger, “do not call me Rutherford the Fifth. Second, I don’t have snowman pants. Third, suits always say normal.”
“Wait here,” Kate says with a sigh.
“Whatever,” I say, turning back to the mirror to check my tie again.
“You should take our advice, Five,” Oliver says. “I’m a girl expert. I have five sisters. I live with them. Rory likes boys who wear t-shirts. Like that Marshall kid in her class.”
“Marshall?” I squint at myself in the mirror, my mind whirring to try and place a kid named Marshall. “Who is Marshall?”
“Quarterback for the varsity team,” Oliver says. “She went to the library with him last week.”
“Hmmm.” I hate not being in the same school as her anymore. She’s at a charter school in Fort Collins and I’m commuting to University of Denver twice a week. Why do I have to be so smart?
“Yeah, Marshall something. Do you want me to find out his last name so you can hack into his email like you did the last boy she was talking to?”
“Jesus, Oliver. You have some imagination. I don’t hack things.” I do hack things, but I’m not allowed to hack things, so Spencer’s big-mouth son needs to keep his mouth shut. “But I’ll take that last name if you can get it.”
Oliver gives me a conspiratorial wink just as Kate comes bounding up the attic steps again.
“Here,” she says, thrusting a present at me. “You’ll have one less thing under the tree, but it’s more of a Christmas Eve gift anyway.”
I take the gift bag filled with bright red tissue paper and peer inside. Pajama pants. “No,” I say, handing it back to Kate.
“Seriously, Five. You’ll look cute.” And then she reaches up and messes up my hair. “Girls like that too. And you should stop shaving those three stubbly things growing on your chin. Girls like a shadow.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Kate. I know what Princess likes. Me. I don’t have to wear weird pants or look like a vagrant. I just need to be me.”
“I saw her staring at Marshall when he was at football camp last summer,” Oliver says. “Princess was at the cheerleading camp across the field and—”
“Five?”
Kate is calling me from the bottom of the stairs. I’m stuck up in the attic bedroom in the Vail vacation mansion with Oliver, as usual. He’s still snoring. Kids. They love Christmas. He was so excited last night, he stayed up talking me to death until three AM.
“Five?” Kate yells again.
I look in the bathroom mirror and smooth an out-of-place hair, then straighten my tie.
“Why didn’t you answer me?” Kate asks, coming up behind me. She’s clearly annoyed with my indifference, because she has one hand on her hip. “I’ve been calling you.” She stops short and covers her mouth as she laughs. “You are not wearing that.”
“I’m busy, Kate. I have adult things on my mind.”
When I look over at her she’s just giving me that dumbfounded stare. “I’m older than you.”
“Age is not what makes a person mature.”
“Anyway,” she says, sighing and blowing some of her dark bangs out of her eyes. “Rook is making us all breakfast. Pancakes!” This lights up her face. Kids love their pancakes too. “But seriously, Five. No one wears suits to Christmas Eve breakfast. It’s stupid.”
“It says upwardly mobile.”
“That’s stupid too. No one wants to look like they’re going on a job interview at family breakfast.” She pauses, looking me up and down with a critical eye. “You know she’d like you more if you weren’t so weird.”
“I have no idea to whom you are referring. And I’m not weird.”
Kate snickers. “OK. But she’s my best friend, you know. Rory tells me everything and she thinks you’re weird.”
“She does not,” I say, spinning around so I can look Kate in the eyes. “Princess Shrike is my one true love. She knows this. I know this. And one day, when we are of legal age to marry, the world will know this.”
Kate sighs. “I was kidding. Well, a little bit. She has remarked about the suits though, Five. For real. Don’t wear it. I’m not steering you wrong here. I’m trying to help.”
“I agree,” five-year-old Oliver says from behind Kate, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Lose the suit and put on the snowmen, Rutherford the Fifth. Trust me, I live with her. She likes this stuff. She’s always telling me how cute I am in these.” He points to his flannel character pajama pants.
“First of all,” I say, putting up a finger, “do not call me Rutherford the Fifth. Second, I don’t have snowman pants. Third, suits always say normal.”
“Wait here,” Kate says with a sigh.
“Whatever,” I say, turning back to the mirror to check my tie again.
“You should take our advice, Five,” Oliver says. “I’m a girl expert. I have five sisters. I live with them. Rory likes boys who wear t-shirts. Like that Marshall kid in her class.”
“Marshall?” I squint at myself in the mirror, my mind whirring to try and place a kid named Marshall. “Who is Marshall?”
“Quarterback for the varsity team,” Oliver says. “She went to the library with him last week.”
“Hmmm.” I hate not being in the same school as her anymore. She’s at a charter school in Fort Collins and I’m commuting to University of Denver twice a week. Why do I have to be so smart?
“Yeah, Marshall something. Do you want me to find out his last name so you can hack into his email like you did the last boy she was talking to?”
“Jesus, Oliver. You have some imagination. I don’t hack things.” I do hack things, but I’m not allowed to hack things, so Spencer’s big-mouth son needs to keep his mouth shut. “But I’ll take that last name if you can get it.”
Oliver gives me a conspiratorial wink just as Kate comes bounding up the attic steps again.
“Here,” she says, thrusting a present at me. “You’ll have one less thing under the tree, but it’s more of a Christmas Eve gift anyway.”
I take the gift bag filled with bright red tissue paper and peer inside. Pajama pants. “No,” I say, handing it back to Kate.
“Seriously, Five. You’ll look cute.” And then she reaches up and messes up my hair. “Girls like that too. And you should stop shaving those three stubbly things growing on your chin. Girls like a shadow.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Kate. I know what Princess likes. Me. I don’t have to wear weird pants or look like a vagrant. I just need to be me.”
“I saw her staring at Marshall when he was at football camp last summer,” Oliver says. “Princess was at the cheerleading camp across the field and—”