Page 26 of Holidating
Then I forget about him for a few minutes and introduce Abbi to my extended family. First there’s my mom. “Weston! Hello, lovely boy! And you brought a date to meet your family! This is like a Christmasmiracle.”
Abbi gives me a helpless look before she’s swept up into a hug by my mother.
Yikes. I’m going to owe Abbi after this, no matter who wins our bet. My fake girlfriend is gracious about all this weird attention, though. She chats politely with my mom and takes it all in stride.
Then I introduce her to Aunt Mercedes and a bunch of my cousins. They’re all like Switzerland, somehow staying neutral in World War Griggs.
The last person I introduce Abbi to is Uncle Jerry. He’s set up his mixology table at one end of the room, with a signboard propped onto the table announcing the night’s special cocktail: The Lauren.
“What’s in The Lauren?” Abbi asks gamely.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Jerry says, dropping ice into his pretentious crystal shaker with the titanium lid. “Kentucky bourbon, fresh Meyer lemon juice, simple syrup, and a float of red wine.”
“Isn’t all bourbon from Kentucky?” Abbi asks. And I have to hold back my snicker.
“Smart girl,” Jerry says with a cheesy smile. “Not everybody knows that. This is a special bourbon, too—Knob Creek Reserve. Very round-flavored, with notes of plum and caramel.”
Abbi indulges him, watching as he squeezes the lemons and shakes up the juice with syrup and bourbon.
Meanwhile, my dad glowers at us from across the room. He can’t stand it that I’m standing this close to my stepfuncle.
Jerry pours the mixture over ice. “And now for the grand finale,” he says, lifting a bottle of wine with a flourish. “Watch this.” He holds a spoon inverted over Abbi’s glass and pours an ounce or two of the red liquid into the golden cocktail. “The wine is suspended there, like a cloud,” he says.
“Cool,” Abbi says convincingly. “So I shouldn’t stir it?”
“No! It’s meant to look just like this—with the red floating on top. It’s my signature technique.”
“Ah, it’s beautiful!” Abbi says while I try not to roll my eyes. She takes a careful sip and pronounces it delicious.
I can almost hear my father grinding his teeth from twenty feet away. And when I next glance at him, he’s pouring himself a glass of bourbon straight from a bottle. Neat. And not a small amount.
I’ve got a bad feeling about where this night is headed. And it’s only eight o’clock.
For the next hour I try to humor my dad. I really try. And so do my aunt, my sister, and Abbi, who’s a champ.
But not only has he been steadily getting drunker, he’s practically brandishing that bottle of expensive bourbon he stole from Jerry’s bar table, taunting his brother with that sucker.
It’s like waving a red flag at a bull. I can practically hear my dad’s wheels turning. You do not fuck with a dedicated mixologist’s ingredients. Will Uncle Jerry run out of his pretentious unmixed drinks without it? Will he make a scene?
My dad is gunning for it, I think. He gets louder with each passing minute. I’ve been watching that bottle of bourbon this whole time, too, hoping to snatch it away from him. But Dad holds it in one fist like a cudgel.
“Maybe we should hit the road soon,” I suggest. “I’ve got presents to wrap at home.”
“Let me find the ladies’ room first,”Abbi says.
“Oh, I’ll show you where it is,” Lauren offers. She detaches from Nigel, her fiancé. “Right back, sweetie.”
He gives my sister a soft look as the two women walk away. For a guy named Nigel, he seems pretty decent.
I sneak another look at my watch. We’ve been here long enough. We’ve spoken to every cousin and family friend who was brave enough to come over to the chilly side of the room and humor Dad.
So I clear my throat. “Dad, you want anything more to eat? Seems like the party will be winding down soon. We should go.”
But my timing kind of sucks, because when I glance at the nearby food table, Uncle Jerry isrightthere.
Dad makes a snarly face. “I’m good,” he says. “Lost my appetite. Bourbon?" He holds up the bottle like it's the Statue of Liberty's torch.
"No, I'm the driver. But why don't you let me put that back on the bar?”
