Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-Up Christmas Relationship

A family gathering. That’s the last way I want to spend my Wednesday night. Why the hell do people act like they actually enjoy these get-togethers, when secretly, they all hate each other’s guts? I mean, let’s be real. You wouldn’t hang out with those people if they didn’t have your last name, right? This sucks ass.

Pulling up to my parents’ house, I toss my cig into the car’s ash tray, cussing under my breath at how annoyed I am with myself for buying another pack. Yesterday I was supposed to have my final smoke, but then Dad called irritating the living hell out of me.

My hands travel through my hair, and I glance in the rearview mirror, rubbing my fingers over my tired eyes. No sleep last night—my full attention was on Britney. Britney…or was it Whitney? The palm of my hand flies up to my eyes and I squint, trying to grasp the faded words and numbers. Eva. How the hell did I get Britney from Eva? Oh well, it doesn’t matter.

My tongue runs across my hand, erasing the lasting ink stain from existence. Never gonna call her again. She might still show up at Hank’s where she met me, cocktail wizard that I am behind the bar. It’s a known fact that girls flirt with bartenders, and I’ve made more than my fair share of trips back to random apartments, always with a different chick on my arm. That’s where Britney—er—Eva met me. That’s where all of the girls meet me. I never led her or any of them on, and I am very straightforward with each girl, telling them that it was only sex and nothing more. That way, I’m pretty sure if any of them build up some fairytale romance then it’s on them, not me.

I look toward the enormous home before me and slowly exhale with a heavy sigh. Everything about Dad is based on showing off. The sheer quantity of tasteless, gaudy decorations filling the yard is embarrassing. It’s one thing if you love Christmas, but the miles of glittering tinsel, the prolific herd of reindeer, the giant Santa, and flashing lights are simply Dad saying, “Look at me! I have money!” I’m pretty sure NASA is getting a pretty good view of all this from up top, too.

For a split second, I think about retreating, pulling off, but then I remember hearing Mom’s voice in the background on the call last night. “He’s really coming?!” she cried out, sounding way too excited about me making time to visit. After spending most of my life letting her down, I figure I should at least show up for an hour. Or twenty minutes. Whatever. I’ll stop in and say hi for five minutes.

Stepping out of the car dad bought me, I slam the BMW door, and rub my hands together, ready to enter a warzone. The hand-written sign on the door hangs and reads, ‘Five days until Santa.’ I want to roll my eyes that Mom still writes the word ‘Santa’ on the door, since my siblings and I are definitely past the age of believing in miracles and the lies parents feed their kids. Yet, I don’t roll my eyes, because it’s kind of cute, Mom’s belief in our youth. She’s a good mom, always has been. Maybe she was too forgiving of me and my screw-ups as a kid, but it’s nice to have an ally. Someone who loves me, scars and all. Too bad she married a jerk.

Dad opens the door, running his hands through his nonexistent hair, narrowing his eyes on me—but yelling so everyone else could hear within the house. “Well, look who we got over here! If it ain’t my son: the actor.” The level of disgust that rolls off his tongue makes me want to knock his ass out.

“Don’t do that,” I hiss, annoyed with him already.

“Do what?”

“You know what you’re doing. If this is going to be a chance for you to sit around and talk crap about how I’m such a disappointment, you can save it for Christmas morning.” Turning to head back to my car, I feel a hand grip into my shoulder and yank me back. When he pulls me closer to him, I smell the burnt cigar smoke that clings to his polo shirt.

“Your mother is in there waiting to see her son for the first time in a long time. So what you are going to do is smile, stand tall, and walk into the house acting like you’re enjoying yourself.”

That’s funny coming from him, the one person who never cared about Mom or her feelings because he was too busy getting b

usy with other chicks who didn’t have anything close to Mom’s charm. What a dumbass. But after he got cancer and had his balls chopped off, he realized all he wanted to do was be with Mom, the only person who had stood by him through some of his darkest days.

It’s pretty screwed up if you think about it; he had to lose his balls to grow the hell up and become a real man.

Shrugging off Dad’s apparent attitude, I push myself past him and head into the living room, where the whole family is gathered. “Kayden!” Mom squeals, leaping from the couch. She hugs me longer than I let people hold me, but I don’t complain. To tell you the truth, I should let her hug me a lot more often. When she pulls away, she shows her bright smile and lightly slaps my cheek. “I’m so happy to see you.”

I kiss the top of her head and gently slug her on the shoulder, “It’s good to see you, Ma.” My eyes take a once around the space, observing everyone who’s there. My older sister Katie is sitting by the coffee table playing a game of Jenga with my brother Landon and his girlfriend, Jasmine. My Uncle Randy is sleeping in the recliner while Aunt Sally is in the kitchen yapping at her two twin teenagers, Connor and Colin, to sit down and shut up.

“Boys! Video games! Upstairs, now!” Sally yells, and off they go running. When they leave, they shout greetings toward me, not allowing me time to respond. Sally’s whole body sighs with relief, listening to the twins’ voices fade away. She turns, meets my stare, and smiles. It’s not long until she gives me a short hug and pulls away.

Narrowing her eyes, she taps my nose and whispers, “You smoking again?”

“Never stopped.”

Nodding in silent understanding, she rolls up her sleeve and shows me the nicotine patch she’s sporting. Brave woman. “Randy wants another peanut. He must have some type of hate for me. Look at my hair, Kay, I have gray hair. People our age shouldn’t be popping out babies.”

“Kids keep you young,” I smirk at my aunt, whose flair for the dramatic makes her a woman after my own heart.

She rolls her eyes, pats her stomach and slaps her butt. “No, kids keep my stomach huge and my ass fat. Hailey turned seven last month and my doctor said I couldn’t keep using the baby weight excuse.”

“Well, what are you gonna do? Join a gym or something?”

“You kiddin’ me? Hell no. I’m getting a new doctor. Clearly mine’s a misogynist. Freaking creep.”

Looking around, I ask, “Where is Hailey anyway?” I’m eager to see my adorable cousin, who embodies those qualities I admire most in a seven-year old kid: she’s smart, sassy, and the perfect amount of rude.

“Watching those damn Disney movies in the back room.” Hailey’s addicted to anything and everything Disney and whenever I see her, we end up watching some princess movie over and over again. I would get annoyed by it, but it’s cute the way her eyes widen as if she’s seeing it for the first time.

Sally smirks again, slugs me in the arm, and walks over to Randy. “Wake your ass up, Randy! If you were just going to sleep in my brother’s chair all night and not communicate, we could’ve stayed home, saved the gas money.”