Free Catch of the Day by Kristan Higgins Page B

that so many church events have, we’ve turned on only the recessed lighting, not the fluorescents.
    “Thank you, Mom. You are so nice to say so,” I say. “Hi, Dad. It does look nice. Not like prison. Like a nice place. Like a church.”
    Luckily, Mom is scanning the room for someone for me to marry. “Maggie, are you… Have you been drinking?” Dad asks quietly.
    “A little,” I admit. It’s hard to keep both eyes focused right now…the left eye seems to be wandering. I squint it shut so it will stop bothering me.
    “Have you had anything to eat today?” Dad asks.
    “Hmm. Yes. I had a sour cream cranberry muffin this morning, and let me tell you, Daddy, it was freaking fantastic.”
    “Okay, baby, let’s get you fed.” Dad, good old Dad, steers me to a table and pushes me into a seat.
    “Can’t I sit with Octavio?” I ask. “I love that guy!”
    “Stay here,” Dad says. “I’ll be right back.”
    It’s nice, staying here. I’m glad I have to. But the room is spinning just a little, so I put my head on the table. It’s like being on a carnival ride…I can feel the movement, but with my eyes closed, I don’t have to see.
    Someone sits next to me. “Hello,” I say without lifting my head. “Welcome to the dinner.”
    “Are you drunk?” It’s my sister.
    “Mmm-hmm. Daddy’s getting me some food.” I lift my head. Oops. I’m drooling. There’s a wet spot on the table. I grab the flowers and place them on the splotch, then turn to face Christy. “Hi.”
    “Whoa,” she says. “What happened?”
    It doesn’t seem prudent to mention the whiskey I drank earlier. “Oh, I don’t know…I think I had a glass of wine on an empty stomach. Thash all. Jushta li’l wine.” I smile to cover the fact that I’m slurring.
    Dad returns with some salad, bread, a glass of water and a bowl of pasta that could feed a family of four. “Eat, sweetie,” he instructs. “And Christy, can you run interference with your mother? She’s over there talking to Carol.”
    “Sure,” she answers. She stands up and pats me on the shoulder.
    “I love you!” I call, waving to her. “You are so sweet, Christy.”
    I eat the food—it’s delicious, I have to say—and begin to feel drowsy. Christy, Violet and Will come over with plates, and after a little while, Mom, too. Another family dinner. My eyelids droop, but Dad has me on the far end, away from Mom so she won’t know her spinster daughter is now also the town lush. Maybe I can go lie down on the coat pile, I think. It looks so cozy. People mill around, going up for seconds. “Great food, Maggie,” several people call, and I wave sloppily in response.
    Then I see Father Tim. He’s chatting up Mr. and Mrs. Rubricht, laughing, clapping Mr. on the back. Mrs. Plutarski, his self-appointed bodyguard, preens in her proximity to the priest. Preening proximity to the priest. I chuckle. “Preening,” I say out loud. Dad turns to me, concerned, but I can’t take my eyes off Father Tim.
    He’s so nice, Father Tim. We had so much fun the other night, didn’t we? That man is a great guy. He’s no asshole, not like Skip. Nope, Father Tim is my best friend. I love him.
    When everyone is just about finished and eying the dessert table with unabashed greed, Father Tim takes the microphone and clicks it on. His beautiful Irish lilt fills my ears.
    “It warms my heart to see so many people here tonight, in spite of the nasty weather,” he says, smiling at his flock. “And what a lovely dinner we’ve all been enjoying! Thank you, Maggie and Octavio, for putting together such a fine feast, as always.”
    People clap and turn toward me. I stand up, stagger back a little, but decide that no one really noticed. “You’re welcome!” I call out.
    “And thanks in advance to the hospitality committee, too, who’ll be doing all the hard work of cleaning up afterwards,” Father Tim continues. “I’m happy to say that we’ve raised more than—”
    “Can I