Whispers In The Dark

Riley

Riley

Winter break was interesting, to say the least.

Of course, my dad had several Christmas parties to attend; women in dresses and men in suits, gold-painted jewelry shaking on wrists and between collar bones, tall glasses filled high with expensive drinks. I already knew that he hadn’t refused any invitations, and that he would be gone most of the week. He wouldn’t miss Christmas day, though. Even he isn’t that ignorant.

What I didn’t expect, however, was for him to ask me to tag along to one of the parties.

I didn’t decline, though I probably should have. Everyone knew the story: Oh, her twin brother jumped off a bridge and her mother took off. What a pity case. Let’s talk to her like she’s a small child who has yet to learn her ABCs and show her how sad we are with our sympathetic puppy dog eyes and pouting lips.

It was a Christmas Eve party, and while it was great to be able to spend time with my dad after a week of sitting around an empty house, it was excruciatingly uncomfortable.

After five minutes of silence in the car, I turned on the radio and let the commercials play. Eventually, even the overly perky voices of “real” customers in advertisements became deafening.

“Are you doing okay?” my dad asked softly.

I played with the hem of my dress; a lilac, knee length dress, with short sleeves and a heart cut into the back, from shoulder to shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“If you want to start to seeing someone again, we can--”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I said sharply. I softened my face with a smile when I saw hurt flash across his features. “Really.”

He nodded, and left the matter alone.

My dad stuck with me for twenty, maybe thirty minutes of the party, before he was whisked away by women in floor-length gowns and their towering husbands. He sent me an apologetic glance. I smiled reassuringly in response.

I wandered around for a bit, introducing myself to those who asked who I was, biting the inside of my cheek when their faces responded with something along the lines of: “Oh, yes! The one with the dead brother!” A rare few even voiced it.

I was loitering around the refreshment tables when another woman approached me. She was alone. Her hair was tied back into a perfect bun and she was dressed in a snug black dress that fell just below her knees, paired with a pair of black stilettos that allowed her to look down on me slightly, even in my own heels.

She smiled kindly. “Who are you?”

I sighed internally. Externally, I curled my lips into a smile. “Riley Evans. And you, ma’am?”

Her eyes didn’t flash with recognition; it was refreshing. She laughed, the sound rich and happy. “Oh, please, don’t call me ‘ma’am’, it makes me feel like my mother.” She shook her head. “I’m Alicia Vander.”

I grinned, suddenly much more relaxed than I had been since the beginning of the night.

She plucked two tall glasses of Champagne from the table behind me. She held one out to me, eyebrows raised.

“I’m only seventeen.”

She rolled her eye and smirked deviously. Her actions reminded me of Victoria. “Well, the whole party doesn’t need to know that.”

I took the glass hesitantly and looked across the room to my father, my eyes catching his immediately. I raised the glass in question.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly and tilted his glass toward me as if in cheers.

I turned my eyes back to Alicia, a small smile playing across my lips. I had drowned myself in alcohol all week, so why not do so with permission? Christmas may not ever be as good as it was a few years ago, but everything was better with alcohol in your bloodstream. I raised my glass to her, my smile broadening as she mirrored my actions.

“Merry Christmas, Alicia,” I said slyly.

“Merry Christmas, Riley.”