here for Christmas. She says it’s because their divorce is amicable (um, no) and Seany and I need a father figure in our lives, but all they ever do is fight. This morning it was about my hair. Dad wants me to dye it back, because he thinks I look like a “common prostitute,” and Mom wants to re-bleach it. Like either of them has a say. Oops, gotta run. My grandparents just arrived, and Granddad is bellowing for his bonnie lass. That would be me.
P.S. Love the picture. Mrs. Claus is totally checking out your butt. And it’s
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: HAHAHA!
Was it a PROMISE RING? Did your father give you a PROMISE RING?
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: HAHAHA!
I am so not responding to that.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: Uncommon Prostitutes
I have nothing to say about prostitutes (other than you’d make a terrible prostitute, the profession is much too unclean), I only wanted to type that. Isn’t it odd we both have to spend Christmas with our fathers? Speaking of unpleasant matters, have you spoken with Bridge yet? I’m taking the bus to the hospital now. I expect a full breakdown of your Christmas dinner when I return. So far today, I’ve had a bowl of muesli. How does Mum eat that rubbish? I feel as if I’ve been gnawing on lumber.
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: Christmas Dinner
MUESLI? It’s Christmas, and you’re eating CEREAL?? I’m mentally sending you a plate from my house. The turkey is in the oven, the gravy’s on the stovetop, and the mashed potatoes and casseroles are being prepared as I type this. Wait. I bet you eat bread pudding and mince pies or something, don’t you? Well, I’m mentally sending you bread pudding. Whatever that is. No, I haven’t talked to Bridgette. Mom keeps bugging me to answer her calls, but winter break sucks enough already. (WHY is my dad here? SERIOUSLY. MAKE HIM LEAVE. He’s wearing this giant white cable-knit sweater, and he looks like a pompous snowman, and he keeps rearranging the stuff in our kitchen cabinets. Mom is about to kill him. WHICH IS WHY SHE SHOULDN’T INVITE HIM OVER FOR HOLIDAYS.) Anyway. I’d rather not add to the drama.
P.S. I hope your mom is doing better. I’m so sorry you have to spend today in a hospital. I really do wish I could send you both a plate of turkey.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Christmas Dinner
YOU feel sorry for ME? I am not the one who has never tasted bread pudding. The hospital was the same. I won’t bore you with the details. Though I had to wait an hour to catch the bus back, and it started raining. Now that I’m at the flat, my father has left for the hospital. We’re each making stellar work of pretending the other doesn’t exist.
P.S. Mum says to tell you “Merry Christmas.” So Merry Christmas from my mum, but
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: SAVE ME
Worst. Dinner. Ever. It took less than five minutes for things to explode. My dad tried to force Seany to eat the green bean casserole, and when he wouldn’t, Dad accused Mom of not feeding my brother enough vegetables. So she threw down her fork, and said that Dad had no right to tell her how to raise her children. And then he brought out the “I’m their father” crap, and she brought out the “You abandoned them” crap, and meanwhile, the WHOLE TIME my half-deaf Nanna is shouting, “WHERE’S THE SALT! I CAN’T TASTE THE CASSEROLE! PASS THE SALT!” And then Granddad complained that Mom’s turkey was “a wee dry,” and she lost it. I mean, Mom just started s
And it freaked Seany out, and he ran to his room crying, and when I checked on him, he was UNWRAPPING A CANDY CANE!! I have no idea where it came from. He knows he can’t eat Red Dye #40! So I grabbed it from him, and he cried harder, and Mom ran in and yelled at ME, like I’d given him the stupid thing. Not, “Thank you for saving my only son’s life, Anna.” And then Dad came in and the fighting resumed, and they didn’t even notice that Seany was still sobbing. So I took him outside and fed him cookies, and now he’s running around in circles, and my grandparents are still at the table, as if we’re all going to sit back down and finish our meal.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY FAMILY? And now Dad is knocking on my door. Great. Can this stupid holiday get any worse??
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: SAVING YOU
I’m teleporting to Atlanta. I’m picking you up, and we’ll go someplace where our families can’t find us. We’ll take Seany. And we’ll let him run laps until he tires, and then you and I will take a long walk. Like Thanksgiving. Remember? And we’ll talk about everything BUT our parents . . . or perhaps we won’t talk at all. We’ll just walk. And we’ll keep walking until the rest of the world ceases to exist.
I’m sorry, Anna. What did your father want? Please tell me what I can do.
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: Sigh. I’d love that.
Thank you, but it was okay. Dad wanted to apologize. For a split second, he was almost human. Almost. And then Mom apologized, and now they’re washing dishes and pretending like nothing happened. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to get all drama queen, when your problems are so much worse than mine. I’m sorry.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: Are you mad?
My day was boring. Your day was a nightmare. Are you all right?
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Are you mad?
I’m okay. I’m just glad I have you to talk to.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: So . . .
Does that mean I can call you now?
