Page 57 of Minted

“What?”

“Shut up.” Then I hang up.

Dave was utterly useless, except for telling me that I absolutely have to go to their house tonight. And that I have to bring my A-game.

That loser wants to win her back? He threw her away! Is he kidding? My hands ball up even thinking about Mr. Better-than-you Beckham. I’ll bend him like. . . Actually, I don’t even know if Barbara’s loser ex plays soccer. But he looks like a soccer wannabe. I can just see him, running around and. . .kicking things.

The rest of the work day feels like an utter slog, and around four o’clock, Oliver kicks me out. “You’ve been distracted all day. You may as well leave.”

“Oh, ho, ho, I didn’t know an assistant could kick out his boss.”

Oliver’s smiling, but he doesn’t budge. “We can when our bosses clearly aren’t able to focus.” He tosses his head. “Go.”

So I do.

And then, once I’m home, I stare at my closet for a solid twenty minutes trying to figure out what to wear. It’s bad enough that I whip out my phone.

I want to call Barbara. She’d know just what I should wear.

But I can hardly ask the person I’m marching into battle to save how to dress. That leaves me very few options. I finally dial Emerson.

“Uncle Bentley?”

“Hey, kid, sorry to bother you.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “Fine. It’s just. . .” What am I going to tell him? That I have no idea what to wear? I should’ve called Dave, but he’s worn the same khakis and blue polo shirt to every single event for fifteen years, so he’s not exactly a pinnacle of fashion. “Uh, are you going to the party tonight?”

“Are you?” Emerson asks.

“I mean, yes,” I say. “I am.”

“Oh. I thought it was just family.”

“Ouch,” I say.

“You’re family,” Emerson says, “but like, just siblings I mean.”

“Well, your dad invited me, so.” I clear my throat. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

“Wear?” Emerson laughs. “It’s literally family. Who cares?”

Who cares. Right. Because in all the time I’ve known him, I can’t think of a single time that I recall even noticing what Emerson was wearing. But now I’m calling him to ask what clothes I should put on. To see family.

I’ve lost my mind.

I need to fix this somehow, or everyone will know I’m unhinged.

“What I mean is, while I’m standing here trying to decide what to wear, I wanted to see if you had ideas for holiday gifts for your family.” I cringe a little. I need to get off the phone without making this even weirder.

“Wow, the great Uncle Bentley, the greatest holiday shopper of all time, is asking me for help. This day can’t get stranger.”

I hang up.

It was the only way out.

When Emerson calls me back, I text and say I have bad reception. I’m not sure whether he believes me, but I can hope. And finally, defeated, I call Dave.

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