Page 109 of Someone Like You

‘Chrissy, Marv, you haven’t met Raff,’ says Mom, interrupting a couple of side conversations.

Uncle Marv reaches out to shake Raff’s hand. Meanwhile, Aunt Christine releases Monica and looks Raff up and down appraisingly.She flicks her eyes towards me, her chin dropping a quarter inch.

I have approximately 2.4 seconds to school my expression. It’s obvious she thinks Raff is my boyfriend – likely because of the last-minute addition of him as my plus one – and the slight incline of her chin is an approving nod.

Geez, Louise.

‘Coffee, anyone?’ Dad asks loudly, and almost everyone says yes.

Mom herds us into the kitchen and Raff says something about murdering a cup of tea. I push past Uncle Marv and turn on the kettle for Raff’s tea while Dad doles out coffee and points to an array of milk and creamer choices.

As I wait for the water to boil, I catch Aunt Christine’s hand hovering over the plate of cookies Dad set out. I don’t blame her when she goes for one of Raff’s rather than mine. It doesn’t matter that they taste the same – on day two, mine look about as appetising as lumps of dried-up Play-Doh.

She takes a bite and groans appreciatively. And as she chews – to my horror – the groaning intensifies.

‘So, you’re the baker,’ she asks Raff after she swallows. She may be the first person in history to load the word ‘baker’ with innuendo.

‘Guilty,’ Raff replies, smiling modestly.

‘Well, cin cin,’ she says, raising half a Santa in a pseudo toast.

Her gaze lingers on him a moment longer, then she addresses the room. ‘Is it too early for a drink?’

‘Chrissy, it’s not even nine,’ says Mom, her brow furrowed.

‘So? My daughter’s wedding is supposed to be tomorrow and for all intents and purposes, we’re snowed in.’ She looks at my dad, then pushes her mug of coffee towards him. ‘Roland, better make this an Irish coffee – and a double.’

‘So, now you’ve met my Aunt Christine,’ I say to Raff as soon as we’re back in my dad’s study.

‘Indeed,’ he replies with raised brows. ‘I didn’t know she and your mum are twins. You never said.’

‘I didn’t?’

He shakes his head.

‘To be honest, I tend to forget – probably because they’re so different. And not only in appearance,’ I say, thinking of my mom’s cropped salt-and-pepper hair and makeup-free face and Aunt Christine’s honey-blonde bob and full beat. Even today, she’s put makeup on.

‘I can see why,’ he says. ‘Right, should we crack on, then?’

Raff picks up his list, his eyes scanning down the page, but before we dive back into work mode, I should probably warn him that Aunt Christine’s under the impression we’re a couple.

Hah! If only.I bite back a wry smile.

‘Um… there’s something I need to tell y—’ I start, but I’m interrupted by the devil herself.

‘I hear this is Wedding Disaster Central,’ says Aunt Christine, lingering outside the door. Ninety minutes ago, she was screeching down the phone line, and now she seems as cool as a cucumber. Maybe it’s the Valium/whisky combination.

‘Hi, Aunt Christine, come on in.’

She wanders in, sipping her doctored coffee, her gaze roving Dad’s desktop, which is covered in printouts. She leans against a bookshelf. ‘It’s all a bust, you know.’

‘The wedding?’ I ask rhetorically.

‘Yep.’ She hits the ‘P’ hard, taking another sip of her coffee. ‘A hundred grand…’ she says, as if to herself. ‘Gone, poof. Just like that.’ She snaps her fingers.

‘Thereyou are, Chrissy.’

Uncle Marv comes into the study, inspecting Aunt Christine the way a parent looks at a teenager when they’ve arrived home late after a party. ‘Maybe slow down on this a bit, huh?’ he asks, taking the cup out of her hand. Surprisingly, she lets him. But I probably shouldn’t be surprised by anything my aunt does.

---