Merry Random Christmas (12 page)

I just stared.
Brown hair pulled back in a messy pony tail. Bags under her eyes. No make up. She wore a blue vest, part of a uniform, and her mouth was small. Tight. No upper lip, and dark, thick eyebrows that were perfectly sculpted.
 

S
he was about my age and wore a crooked name tag that read “Carrie L.”

“
Hello? Sir?” The word “sir” was laughable, so incongruous that it shook me out of my stupor.
 

“Yeah? Oh. Sure. Another box of donuts.” I took three steps, grabbed the first one on top, and tossed it on the counter.

She rang up. “That’ll be $13.29.”

I gave her a twenty and grabbed the bag, headed out the door.

“Your change!”

“Consider it a tip.”

“But I can’t have tips!”

“You can now.”

“
Thank y—”
 

My legs pumped fast, getting me the hell away from that store as quickly as possible. I’d woken up in the middle of the night to find Trevor sitting at the kitchen table
and
that bum, Tortilla, sound asleep on our couch, his chicken curled up in his arms.

Trevor had a bleeding heart, apparently. Darla rubbed off on him.

Darla rubbed off on both of us, clearly, and not just during sex.
Ants crawled all over my body, my jaw clicking as I stretched it, my body tense and tight, as if bracing myself from truths that would attack in formation.
 

There is only so much craziness a person can take in any given time frame.

And I’d had my fill.

As I approached the apartment door, I heard loud voices, then the very clear sound of my bass, hooked up to an electric amp, being strummed.

Opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of Tortilla, now shaved, bathed, and in Trevor’s old clothes, fucking around with my instrument.

Wait. Were those
my
jeans he was wearing? Damn it.
 

Curbing my impulse to shout at him, I walked into the kitchen, pulled out the food, and listened as Trevor talked to him.

“Unplug the amp, dude, or the neighbors will be on us.”

“Cool.” Tortilla unplugged, then strummed. I watched his fingers. He wasn’t great, but he knew how to play.

Trevor gave me an apologetic look. “Hope you don’t mind. He said he plays and wanted to goof around.”

I thought about the clerk
back at the convenience store
. “It’s okay.”

“You guys in a band?” Tortilla asked, head down, watching his own fingers on the strings. The tinny sound of the silenced electric bass filled the room. Normally that was me making the sound.

Darla walked into the room and planted a big kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas, honey,” she whispered, then looked down and squealed, “Donuts! Ooo, maple covered.” She grabbed the second box I’d bought on the clerk’s recommendation and opened it.

Tortilla practically dropped the bass
in his rush to get a donut
.

Four donuts later, Darla was pouring them both a big glass of milk and Trevor was frying bacon.

I stayed silent, just taking this all in. My Christmas mornings at
my childhood
home were so different.
Christmas morning was all about waking up, having a fabulous, luxurious, slow breakfast, making our way through fresh fruit, waffles, organic, free-range, antibiotic-free hormone-free sausages handcrafted from some Amish farm in Pennsylvania where Mom bought all her meat, and opening up my newest electronic request. I remember one year, in high school, pitching a fit because they gave me a white iPhone instead of a black one.
 

Two days after Christmas we had gone
to the mall
to the Apple Store to
trade it in for the right one.

December 27.

My stomach cringed with the memory.

Here I was, watching Darla and a homeless dude
T
revor had invited over eating convenience store donuts out of a box while a chicken ate the crumbs off the floor of our tiny city hovel.

And I was happy.

Tortilla found his grimy backpack and fished around in it, finally pulling out a small metal object. I went on high alert. Was that a knife? Were we about to be robbed? What the hell had we been thinking, inviting some street guy in here? Happiness washed off me, replaced by fear, and I edged toward Darla, who just sat at the table, completely unaware of what was about to unfold, drinking coffee and smiling to herself.

T
hen Tortilla put the metal object up to his mouth.

And played the opening notes of a Mumford
&
Sons song.

“You play harmonica!” Darla said, her smile widening.

I am an ass.

Tortilla took the piece away from his lips and gave an
aw, shucks
grin. “I busk sometimes. People throw down a little money. It keeps me and Popsicle in food.”

And booze
, I thought. The guy looked like he was already drunk. Bet our beer was long gone.

H
e resumed playing, and I had to give it to him. He was good. Amateur good. Nothing that would ever get him a record deal, but for a street guy who slept in back alleys and was probably mentally ill, he did all right.

My skin still tingled with a heightened sense of danger, but it morphed into that feeling that comes from being on alert because of newness, not peril. Today was a day filled with firsts, from waking up on Christmas morning somewhere other than my childhood home to eating a cheap convenience store breakfast to, well—

Tortilla and Popsicle.

Trevor started scrambling eggs in a second frying pan while the bacon finished its sizzling, the scent maddening. My stomach growled and Darla held up the open box of donuts. There were three left out of the dozen.

“Want one?”

I laughed. “No, but you’re about to go into a sugar coma.”

She grinned. “The eggs and bacon will balance it all out.”

I kissed her forehead and whispered, “What’s Trevor thinking? Does he still want to bring this guy to my parents’ house and ask them to watch the chicken?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s crazy.”

“I know. But Paul’s a decent guy.”

“Paul?”

“Tortilla’s real name.”

“Ah.”

“
Breakfast’s ready!” Trevor announced, pulling a stack of paper plates out of a drawer. No one wanted to do dishes during the holidays, so I couldn’t blame him.
 

We three men all settled down around the table while Darla made another pot of coffee, then joined us. Chewing in silence, we scarfed down our Christmas breakfast in a half-pleasant, half-awkward manner that involved careful avoidance of eye contact.

Tortilla kept sneaking pieces of egg down under the table for Popsicle to eat. Finally, I blurted out, “Isn’t that cannibalism?”

All the forks dropped. Tortilla looked like I’d slapped him. His blue eyes widened and his brow turned down. Clean shaven now, the lack of hair on his face highlighted how long he’d had a beard, for the newly-shaved skin was whale-belly white
except where it was reddened by acne
. His hair was clean but hung in long tendrils, curling with a shine that would have been beautiful if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

“Cannibal
what
?” Darla choked out.

“You’re feeding
a chicken
pieces of cooked chicken egg,” I said quietly.

The look on Tortilla’s face was pure horror. Tears filled his eyes.

I felt like a piece of shit, instantly.

“Never thought about that,” he said sadly.

“
You’re so full of joy, Joe. You should be Santa’s helper at the mall. You know, kick puppies, take candy canes away from babies. Spread the love,” Trevor said.
 

“No.” Tortilla came to my defense. “He’s making a good point.”

“Popsicle don’t care,” Darla added. The chicken looked up and turn
ed
its head, giving her a one-eyed blank look.

“Popsicle is filthy,”Tortilla said, frowning. He grabbed her, then stood. “Mind if I give her a bath in that nice sink in the bathroom?
You even have hot water here,
”
he marveled. “It’ll be nice not to have to lick her clean for once.”
 

“No problem,” I said in a rush, eager to stop being the asshole,
but also fighting my gag reflex. Ugh
. “There’s some nice lavender shower gel that Darla uses. Make Popsicle nice and calm.”

Tortilla’s smile was crooked, and he was missing two bottom teeth. “Thanks!” He scurried off. The rush of water began in the distance.

Trevor kicked my ankle just as
his
phone buzzed in
his
pocket. I glared at him a
s he
answered it.

“
Hello?” Trev’s face went immediately to confusion, then he handed me his phone.
 

“It’s
your
mom.”

“
My
mom?”
 

He shrugged and handed me the phone.

“Joey! Merry Christmas! We miss you here at home, but we understand. Nothing could be better than whatever you’re experiencing with your beloveds.” The
s
at the end felt like being tased.

“Hi, Mom.”

“
I had to call you on Trevor’s phone after your little stunt last night.”
 

“You’re not spying on
his
phone too, are you?”
 

S
he completely, blatantly ignored that jab.

“We expect you at eleven! Come for brunch! And bring Darla and Trevor, of course.”

“I was already planning to do that, Mom.”

“I already have a present for her.”

My breakfast turned into a lead balloon in my stomach. “What?”

“
We
called and got all the charges dropped against her.”

“How?”

“
We
know people. A lot of people. And, it turns out, you helped, too.”

“Me? How did I help?”

“Remember how you
r
naked
rear end
is all over social media right now?”

How could I forget?

“
Uhhhh....”
 

“Edie Chadron was at that party. Your grandma’s partner who helped form the
Vagina Power Collective
.”

“
That’s quite a name.
Was she the mummy who pinched my sac?”

Silence.

Then a retching sound.

Dad
came
on the phone.

“What the hell did you just say to your mother?”
he bellowed. Until that moment, I never realized how much dad sounded like John Ratzenberger.
 

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“Jesus, Joe.”

“Yeah. Happy Birthday to him and all that.”

“No, I mean—Joanne’s gagging and gasping something about your grandma’s best friend touching your penis and how she needs some Rescue Remedy and her lavender eye pillow.
She wants me to find out if her homeopath has emergency office hours on Christmas Day.
”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not funny, Joe. Joanne
was
up half the night making phone calls for Darla. She used Edie’s presence at that party as blackmail against her. Edie’s grandson is an assistant DA.
T
ook nine calls
between the two of us
, but Darla’s free. No record, no hearings, no nothing.”

“What?” I sagged against the fridge,
relief making my muscles loose
.

Darla gave me a frown.

You okay?
she mouthed. I waved her away.

“So be kind to your mom, Joe.”

“I just asked if Edie Chadron was the old woman who pinched my sac when I was stripping last night.”

Silence.

“
Stripping?” he blustered.
 

I guess Mom didn’t tell him the full story about The Full Monty.

“It’s a long story.”

“It always is with you, son.”

“Will Gene be there today, when we come over?”

Very awkward silence.

“He might. Why?” Suspicion filled Dad’s voice. I didn’t blame him.

“I think he should be there.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s part of the family.”

Really
awkward silence.

“I’ll let him and your mother know you feel that way.”

“I’ve always felt that way, Dad.”

“
See you all at ten.”
 

“Mom said eleven—”

Click.

“What was that about?” Darla asked. The running water in the sink stopped, the sound of a chicken squawking replacing it.

“
My mom blackmailed an assistant district attorney to drop the charges against you.”
 

Darla’s eyeballs fell out of her head and rolled under the refrigerator.

“SHE WHAT?”

“You’re free and clear.”

“OH, NO, SHE DI’INT!”

Outrage was not a reaction I expected. Relief. Gratitude. Joy. Surprise—sure.

Not this.

“Why are you...upset?”

“Because now I owe her! Big time! And you do not want to be on the owing side of a relationship with Joanne Ross. She owns me, now!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, please.” Darla said dismissively. “Look at you. She has you by the balls.”

“Had. She
had
me. I’m free now.” My hand went to my pants pocket, where the wad of cash from last night rested. Our tour started up again right after the holidays. Frown, our substitute bass player, had done a great job filling in for me on the two concerts we’d done this fall as I recovered from falling out of our bedroom window during sex.

But now it was my turn to play.

And make enough money to be truly independent.

Darla

“
Well, you may be free like a bird and all that shit now, Joe, but I’m the one in a cage. I don’t wanna owe your mama anything. Not one thing. How much did she spend to get me out? I’ll pay her back,” I said, fuming.
 

“I don’t know. I don’t think she spent much. More that she made phone calls. Pulled strings. Called in favors,” he answered.