Don't Kiss the Bride

That’s a lot of fuckin’ ornaments.

I watch Skylar slowly walk around the room, oohing and ahhing over the animated elves and snowmen holding wrapped boxes. She catches me staring at her and then she quickly looks away.

I hate this.

“We love the holidays,” Aunt Suzy says. “I’ve had these decorations forever. Some of them belonged to my mother and my grandmother. When I die, Lucky will get them all.”

I’m probably not the best person to inherit sentimental ornaments. The tree I bought for me and Skylar is still sitting in a box in the hallway like the ugly elephant in the room.

I grab the shopping bag with the silver gift-wrapped air fryer and enough food and toys to keep the bird living a life of luxury for at least a year, and hand it to my aunt. “This is for you, too. And can we not talk about death on Christmas?”

Smiling, she puts a floppy red Santa hat on my head, just like she does every year. “Why? I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid to not live.”

As she busies herself getting the birdcage set up on a fake-snow-covered table in front of the window, me and Skylar sit on the couch together, and I finally get a good look at what she’s wearing.

“I see you rose to the challenge.” I nod my chin toward her ridiculous sweatshirt—the fox printed on it is all tangled up in a string of holiday lights that are actually lit and blinking. “Did that thing come with batteries?”

“It did. I scoured the internet to find something that would live up to your expectations.”

“You succeeded.”

She bats at the white puff hanging off my hat like a naughty kitten and then looks away from me.

“Let’s open presents,” Aunt Suzy says, pushing a pile of presents three feet high in front of us. “Just read the name tags on them. There’s a bunch for both of you.”

“Holy shit. Why did you get so much?” I ask. “Just get me a pair of socks and call it a day.”

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Skylar adds.

“What else do I have to do with myself? It makes me happy.”

The bird squawks, once again waking Uncle Al from his nap. “What happened?” he mumbles.

“We’re doing presents.” My aunt tosses a box onto his lap.

Ten minutes later I’ve got a stack of new flannel shirts, socks, a scarf I’ll never wear, a dog sweater for Cassie, a new Zippo lighter, chocolate coins, and a carbon fiber thermos.

“This is all so beautiful,” Skylar says after she opens her stack. Aunt Suzy gave her everything she loves: an old Led Zeppelin shirt, crystal earrings, fuzzy socks, a catnip mouse for Gus, a flowery headband, and a hardcover book signed by one of her favorite authors. “I love everything. Thank you so much.”

I get that heavy feeling in my heart when she gets up to hug my aunt and uncle.

It all looks so real.

It all feels real.

After presents, we help Aunt Suzy put dinner on the dining room table, and Skylar’s usual anxiety over anything food-related is visibly diminished when she sees that my aunt has made Skylar’s “safe” foods in addition to our usual dishes.

Fresh bread with homemade honey butter.

Steamed carrots and cauliflower—something new Skylar has started eating after some recent therapy sessions.

Mashed potatoes.

And instead of putting the entire turkey on the table, Uncle Al sliced it—putting only the platter on the center of the table so Skylar wouldn’t have to look at the turkey carcass as she was eating.

Trying to stay on my best behavior, I even refrain from making any eat-the-bird jokes in front of the parakeet.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Uncle Al waves his fork at me as we’re eating.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“The bar’s not making much money. The same customers come in every day. Never anyone new.”

“The place is old,” I reply. “I’ve been tellin’ you that for years. There’s two inches of dust on everything. It’s dark and musty.”

“Lucky.” Skylar kicks me under the table.

“It’s okay, honey,” Uncle Al says. “It’s true, the place is a dump.”

Aunt Suzy touches his hand. “I wouldn’t call it a dump. It’s just aged.”

“I think it’s time I sell it. I can’t afford to give it everything it needs.”

I lean back in my chair. “That bar’s your life.”

“We had a good run, but it’s time. I’ll miss it, but it’s too much for me to handle now. I ain’t getting any younger.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Sell it. Thought maybe you’d want to buy it.”

I choke on my turkey. “What? Me?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you a good deal.”

“What would I do with a bar?”

“Fix it up and make it successful. It’s in a great location,” Aunt Suzy says. “And it has parking. Most bars in the area don’t.”

“Did you two forget I have a business?”