“I know he brought it. I know he did.” I searched for the biggest box in the room. Some were wrapped in my favorite color of gold. Others had red and green paper on it. Each one displayed big bows.
The song ended and started over again. Stevie Wonder’s voice rode the upbeat lyrics.
I spotted the biggest box in the room and ran over to it. “This has to be it. It must be!”
I sang with Stevie Wonder and tore through the wrapping paper.
A weird feeling rushed over me. As if someone was in the room watching me. I paused from singing and looked to my right. Nothing was there, but more presents. I grinned and ripped more of the paper off. The image on the box greeted my eyes. A little blonde girl with pigtails rode a big red bike.
I tore away the paper. “He did it!”
Still, that weird feeling hit me—like someone was watching.
I turned to the right and froze in horror. The wrapping paper left my fingers. My teddy bear fell from my arms.
I screamed. “Mommy! Mommy!”
My body shook. I didn’t know how to process. My brain shattered into pieces. My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was scream.
“Mommy! No!”
There, my mother hung in the doorway leading to the kitchen. A rope held her up by her neck. There’d been a chair kicked to the side on the floor. The rope had been hammered into the top of the wall by hundreds of nails.
The Stevie Wonder song ended, and then played again.
Trembling, I urinated on myself. The warm liquid spilled down my legs, wetting my pajama pants and bunny slippers. My body spasmed as I stood but I didn’t know what else to do.
The word burned my throat. “Mommy!”
My mother’s legs dangled. Her eyes were popped open. Her light brown skin had shifted to a brownish gray.
“Mommy!”
Knocking sounded from the front door. “Ivy, baby. Open the door. Ivy!”
“Mommy!” I screamed as I continued to stand in my own urine. My feet felt hammered into place like the rope nailed to the wall. And I couldn’t stop looking at her. I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t think about what, how, or why. All I could do was scream.
“Mommy!”
The door burst open. I turned to see my father rushing in with the neighbor’s kids—Holly and Saint.
“Mommy!”
“What’s wrong, Ivy?” My father hurried my way, noticing the urine around my legs. “Baby, let’s get you cleaned up—”
“M-mr. Smith.” Saint tapped his arm and pointed to Mom.
My father cried, “Jesus! No, Gloria! No!”
He let go of me and rushed off to her.
Holly screamed in horror.
Something shook me.
A deep voice sounded off in the distance. “Ivy, are you okay?”
I turned to my Christmas present showing the bike. “No. I’m. . .not. . .”
“Ivy?”
Waking up, I rubbed my eyes. “W-what?”
“Ivy?” Red gathered me into his arms. “You were screaming for your mother and talking about a bike.”
Blinking, I scooted out of his hold. “What?”
“You must have been having a nightmare—”
“Sorry. I. . .I slept here.”
“That’s not a problem.
“Sorry, I woke you up.” I shook my head and sat up in bed.
“You were yelling for—”
“Sometimes I have nightmares like that around this time.”
Concern covered his face. “You have nothing to be sorry about. What was the dream about?”
I checked his clock on the nightstand and then climbed out of bed. “Fuck. I can’t believe I spent the night. I have a plane to catch this morning.”
“What? Wait, Ivy.” Red hurried out of bed too, not even covering himself. “Where are you going?”
I picked up my pants from the floor and began dressing. “My best friend’s wedding is this week, right on Christmas Eve.”
“It is?”
I yawned and stepped into my pants. “Yeah.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Finland.” I grabbed my bra. “Why?”
“Because we’ve been fucking for three months now and I don’t know anything about you besides what I can Google.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It’s your social media persona. I would like to get to know the real Ivy like what are your—”
“Red.” I snapped on the bra and then searched for my shirt. “We’re just a fun situation. There’s no need to make it bigger. You like to fuck. I like to fuck. We fuck together—”
“But there’s more to this now.”
Stunned, I stepped back. “Is there?”
“I would like to think so.”
Sighing, I checked the nightstand. “Where the hell is my shirt?”
“Ivy, there is more to us.” He picked up my shirt on the lampshade. “Here you go.”
“How did that get over there?”
“You arrived here pretty drunk off champagne and did a striptease.”
“What?” I took his shirt. “Fuck. I must’ve blacked out for that part.”
“You kept singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas.’”
I put on my shirt. “God. Sorry for that—”
“Stop apologizing for being yourself and letting me in.” He walked over and handed me my panties. “Before you go, I have a present for you.”