Page 23 of Host for the Holidays
She smiles and moves the phone so that we’re both visible. Staring back at us is a jumble of strangers, three of them somewhere around my age, two of them clearly the parents. They’re all smiling, a couple of arms slung around shoulders. They’re a happy bunch.
“This is my host, Rémy,” Madi says.
“Hello, Sheppards,” I say with a little wave. “Good to meet you.”
A chorus of overlapping responses comes through the mic.
“Wow, your English is amazing,” Siena says.
“He’s half-American,” Madi explains. “Even if he doesn’t claim it.” She glances over at me with a little twinkle in her eyes. “Yet.”
“Are you taking care of our Madi?” Mrs. Sheppard asks.
“Very well,” Madi says, saving me a response to an awkward question. “He has saved my bacon multiple times already.”
“How many times has your bacon needed saving?” the son asks with a laugh. “Didn’t you just arrive, like, yesterday?”
Madi groans. “Don’t ask. It’s been humiliating. I should have forced one of you to come along with me.” She looks at me. “The Sheppards are avid travelers. All the kids are named places around the world. There’s Siena, Victoria, and Troy”—she points to each face as she says the name. Troy rears back like he got punched in the face when she points to him.
Madi laughs and shakes her head at him. “And these two angels over here are their parents—mysecond parents—Rick and Sue Sheppard. We’re just missing Austin. Is he on tour?”
“Always,” Siena says. “But we should see him Christmas Day, at least. It’s so great to meet you, Rémy.”
“Yes,” says Rick. “Thank you for taking care of our Madi. She’s special to us.” He and his wife have their cheeks pressed up against each other. It’s obvious they really like each other, and I feel a little pang of envy in my chest. The Sheppards have such a strong, fun dynamic that’s evident even after two minutes with them.
“I miss you guys,” Madi says, like she’s having the same thoughts as I am.
Siena waves off her family. “Okay, you’ve all seen she’s alive and well. Now let me have her. We have a longstanding appointment.”
Her brother and sister give her a bit of grief, following behind her as she tries to walk away so that she can’t get them out of the video. They’re laughing as they do it, but they finally give up, Victoria yelling, “Great to see you, Madi, and good to meet you, Rémy!” just as Siena slams a door.
That’s my cue to leave. “It’s good to meet you, Siena.” I look at Madi. “I’ll just be in my room. You can stay out here, since the signal isn’t great in your—”
“Servant quarters,” Madi supplies teasingly. “Thanks, Rémy.”
I grab my briefcase from where it is by the door and make my way to my room, trying to figure out how I feel. It’s not like I know them well at all, but the Sheppard family oozes something I’ve never encountered in my life. It’s that fun, functional family that I assumed was yet another one of Hollywood’s creations. Being the only child of divorced parents, I’ve never had that. I’m envious of it, envious that Madi gets to be a part of it.
It’s clear, too, from the Sheppards that the draw I feel to Madi is not unique. Everybody seems to love her and want a piece of her time. As long as I can content myself with having this short-term friendship with her, that’s not a problem.
ELEVEN
MADI
Siena enjoyedmy Paris-up-to-now tales every bit as much as I had hoped she would. Amazing how a little time and a good friend can turn tears of frustration into tears of laughter.
“So you’ve basically spent all of your time with Rémy?” she says, summing things up.
I glance at the door to his room. It’s shut, but I’m still worried he can hear me.I walk to the stairs that lead to my quarters, as Siena insists on calling them. I’ll take my chances with the weaker signal there. You never know what crazy things Siena will say.
“And he took you to a museum forthreehours?”
“I know,” I say, closing my door. “He’s a good sport.”
Siena gives a scoffing laugh. “What is he, a seven-year-old playing T-ball? He is a full-grown man with a job and his own place—not to mention a mighty fine face. Hey, I rhymed!”
“Real impressive,” I say. “Though, technically not accurate. This isn’t his apartment. He’s been living with his mom.”
“Madi, Madi, Madi. Sometimes you have to sacrifice accuracy for art. You should know that. But lemme get this straight. When you first met, you threw a shampoo bottle at Rémy’s head. Since then, you’ve asked to borrow his clothing, had him buy you groceries and make lunch for you, flooded the bathroom—”
