Page 35 of Go Back to December

The entire scene makes me sick to my stomach. Money Honey priorities are so skewed that even with their semi-estranged son in the hospital, the Johnsons decided the show must go on, and this party is a spectacle. If this is why Baz is estranged from them, my internal scorecard is swinging back in his favor.

Amid the hum of people and music, a ball of sandy fur hurtles toward us.

“Minnow!” Luiza trails behind and catches the dog before he jumps.

“Sorry, Melody.” She pulls him from her cranberry silk one-shoulder jumpsuit and teeters on her pom-pom toed heels.

“It’s okay, I love dogs.” I reach down to scratch Minnow’s deliciously curly ears, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth in delight. “What breed is he?”

Luiza tilts her head, mouth curved innocently. “Baz didn’t tell you?”

No, he fucking didn’t. But I understand why he told me to stay away from his sister. “Goldendoodle?”

“He gets so excited with all these new people. Miha, put him back in the kitchen,” Sofia says.

“The catering lady doesn’t like dogs,” Luiza counters. “I’ll put him out in the barn.”

Sofia deposits me at a roulette table and signals the dealer. “Melody’s with the house account.”

When he lines a stack of chips in front of me, she adds, “I have to check on a few things. You enjoy yourself here.”

Her smile is a twin to Baz’s Sphinx expression. As she floats away, exchanging kisses and greetings, she moves with his same grace. She’s a study in hustle: knowing exactly when to linger, who to pass people off to. I’m just one of a crowd she’s managing tonight.

All the Johnsons are moving along as perfect holiday hosts without a trace of this morning’s anxiety at the hospital. Their detachment makes me shiver. Either they’re masters of compartmentalization, or world-class actors. It explains so much about Baz’s behavior.

Farther down the room, a man abruptly pushes back from the table precisely as the catering server is passing. She doesn’t dodge his chair in time, and tips forward. Her tray of puffed pastry nibbles tumbles, and the hors d’oeuvres scatter across the floor.

People move their chairs and step aside, but I’m the only one who bends down to help her pick up the mess.

“It’s okay, ma’am.” She hauls up to her feet. “I got it.”

“You got it,” I repeat, feeling the exact shade of embarrassment she’s experiencing. She doesn’t want to cause a stir, come across as incompetent.

It’s her job to take care of this.

I follow her to the kitchen anyway and tell her hard expression I was looking for the closest place to wash my hands.

As I turn on the tap and the server loads another tray of canapes, I’m tempted to attend to the dishes in the sink. I can be of use here, cleaning, organizing. Avoiding Luiza and questions from everyone about me and Baz.

I scan the stacks of used glassware piling up on the counter. “Flying solo tonight?”

“My sister was supposed to be here. But my niece has a fever.”

“Poor kid, that’s the worst at Christmas.” I tilt my head toward the door. “There’s got to be a hundred people out there.”

“I've got it covered.”

“Like a boss,” I agree. “But you’ll be here until New Year’s trying to clean all this on your own. And it’s Christmas Eve. I’m happy to help.”

“No, I got it—”

“Honestly, you’ll be doing me a favor.” I cover my desperate plea for her to rescue me by rolling my eyes toward the living room casino.

She glances nervously at the door, and while I may present as slightly bonkers for wanting to hide in here rather than drink and gamble with everyone, if I stay out there, it’s just a matter of time before I freeze or crash, and I can’t risk it.

I turn on the faucet and pour dish soap into the sink. “You work the floor, I’ll keep myself busy in here.”

Eventually, she concedes and flies back out into the chaos of the party.