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around in her skull.
    The food was amazing, and there was so much of it that I envisioned myself, with some dismay, eating nothing but turkey for the remainder of our visit. Gareth and I exchanged a few pleasant words, but Julie and her mother didn’t speak at all. In fact apart from the gift-giving, they hadn’t spoken all day.
    A lot of things came up over dinner. People wanted to know how Julie and I met, they wanted to know what I did for a living, and they wanted to know… wait for it… whether or not we were planning a family. Julie chimed in quickly, probably to prevent me from answering.
    “Well,” Julie began to explain slowly, but Kathleen interrupted her.
    “Of course not,” she said dismissively, and I dreaded what was going to come out next.
    “Children need a mother and a
father
, isn’t that right, Julie?”
    “Do they?” I noticed that Julie’s sour lemon face looked just like her mother’s. It was scary. “It’s a wonder I survived, then.”
    Andrew’s voice chimed in. “You’re going to have a baby Aunt Julie?”
    The table went silent. Julie stared at Andrew. I stared at Julie. Kathleen stared at Gareth and finally, Gareth said, “Could someone please pass the mashed potatoes?” and that, thank God, ended the conversation.
    Several courses later, Julie and I excused ourselves and went for a walk to rest our stomachs and take in some of the beautiful, crisp, clean, Vail air. It really was beautiful there, I can’t seem to say it enough. The most beautiful place I’d ever been. Too bad I don’t ski.
    In lieu of skiing, we spent the remainder of our evening in bed and I let Julie give me the rest of my Christmas gift. She tied my wrists to the bed frame with her new toe socks.

6
    Early the following morning, the McHugh house was quiet. The cousins and other extended family had all gone home the night before. Julie was still asleep, as were her parents as far as I could tell. Slowly, I made my way down the wide bending stairway and across the slated foyer.
    The morning sun pierced through the windows aggressively, but somehow failed to warm the chilly, stone floor as sunshine should. I wiggled my toes in my new slippers, grateful for their protection from the cold slate. I made my way through the large dining room and into the kitchen in search of coffee.
    The kitchen was magnificent. It was stainless steel and blues and greys with a ceramic tiled floor.
    One end enjoyed an amazing view, though the windows weren’t as tall as at the other end of the house. I peered out at the mountains. Someone must have been awake because the small Bose radio was on.
    “Carmen,” I said aloud, though to no one in particular, as the kitchen appeared empty.
    A voice from the pantry replied, however, and I jumped a little. “Julie? Is that you, sweetie-pie?
    I’m glad you came down, I wanted to talk to you.”
    Shit. Kathleen. I was alone with the Mother-In-Law. “Um no, it’s—”
    “Gail,” Kathleen stated coolly, cutting me off as she returned from the pantry. “You’re up early.”
    “I couldn’t sleep so I came down for some coffee.”
    “Coffee doesn’t help you sleep.”
    That was such a mother comment. “Well, no, Kathleen, I’d given up on sleeping.”
    Kathleen tilted her head at me and asked, “You know Carmen?”
    “I love opera.”
    “I never would have guessed.”
    I shook my head. “I’m thinking there’s a lot about me you would never guess.”
    “I don’t know many bartenders who enjoy the opera.” She chuckled slightly and poured herself a cup of coffee, too.
    “And how many bartenders _do _ you know, Kathleen?”
    She looked at me. “Oh, all right, Gail, very few.”
    I looked at her.
    “Fine. None. Well, you, that’s one,” she said with an exasperated tone. Her lips went flat. “But you know what I mean.”
    “Yes, Kathleen, I know what you mean.” Bartenders are uneducated idiots. I heard her loud and clear. The air went still and quiet and the