Snow Flakes (Burnt Ashes #0.5) (4 page)

Christmas. How I love it. It’s funny that the earliest festive memory I have is of hanging out with my biological dad and mom at the Montreal en Lumiere. I remember thinking how amazing it was, walking through all the sculptures. The time and effort it must have taken to actually carve the things must’ve been like...well, a fuckin’ joke, ya know? At the time, I was feeling proud of my snowman, but looking at it all there, mine was so amateurish. I didn’t want to play in the snow for a while after that.

I don’t know if Braden and the others are going to be pissed that I’m not going to their Christmas shindig, but they gotta know I have other priorities than just them right now. I mean, I haven’t seen my mom in ages, mostly because of the prick who’s living with her. Such. A. Fuckin. Tool. I remember the last time I was over for dinner…

“Hey, Trey. How’s the band practice?”

“S’kay,” I reply, which is my way of saying,
It’s going fine. Now fuck off
. I try to be nice because I know just how much my mom likes the guy, but fuuuuuck. He knows how to get under my skin.

“Your mom and I have been thinking that it’s about time you shape up and come to work for me.” Okay, Mr. Rogers. Sure. That would be super swell... Fucking dick.

“Oh?” I say, as if the subject hasn’t been approached before. “I was really thinking of making my own way.”

“Oh?” the ass-hat starts mirroring me. “I thought you were sponging off of your friend.” I grit my teeth. I am in between jobs at the moment. “Funny way of making your own way, when you are taking advantage of—”

“So you didn’t take my mom’s money and put it into your company?”

“No, Trey...” He takes a minute to recollect his thoughts. “We aren’t discussing me now, are we?” He says it so calm, holding my mother in such a way that I want to fucking shank him right then and there.

“Now, boys...,” my mom says, ending our conversation
.

Standing on the doorstep, I steady my breathing before knocking. I have a gift in my hand for my mom. It’s an ornamental elephant I picked up in the flea market. She has a rather impressive collection of these little figurines, so I figure this is perfect. And I even attempted to wrap it. Admittedly, it looks more like it is a festive straitjacket trying to contain some sort of possessed gerbil, but I think it’s the thought that counts.

I reach forward and knock on the door. No answer.
Okay...
I knock again, louder this time, and wait for a few moments. Still nothing. I step off the porch and try to peek through one of the windows, but all of the blinds are down.

Have they gone to the fuckin’ store or something?

I literally shake myself, shimmying away the “bad vibes” that are creeping their way in. The move makes my wristbands jostle and clink off one another. When I used to live here, my mom would keep a spare key under the doormat. I crouch down to investigate. Fuck knows how rusty it’d be now, but it is better to look for it than just to stay standing out in the cold. I can feel my nose is almost frozen solid already.
Dammit
. The key’s not there. I set the mat back, the cold really starting to seep in.

“For fuck’s sake! Come on!” I yell. A mother walking by with her kids takes one look at me and hurries her kids along.

I pull out my cell and start punching in her number, but there’s no answer. I can’t stop the anger from swelling up inside me. I am going to have to call
him
. More steadying breaths. I was really hoping to avoid any kind of conversation. Begrudgingly, I punch in his number and wait for the call to connect. It does on the second ring, static bursting over the line.

“Hello?” his smarmy voice says.

“Hey,” I say. Yes, I am a bit clipped, but I am being polite! “Is my mom—”

There is a rustling with the handset before my mom is on the other end, giggling. “Hello?”

“Mom? Where’s the spare key? It’s not under the mat?”

“Oh, my goodness, Trey. Isn’t it great?”

“Mom... I need the key, please.”

“The key?” she says, baffled. “Isn’t it under the mat?”

I let out a groan. “No, Mom. It’s not.”

There is a mumbling on the phone, followed by giggling as my mom finds her way back to the receiver. “Tony says it’s under the blue pot.”
Tell Tony he’s a fucking asshole,
I think.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll get off the phone now. How long until you guys are back?” I ask, walking to the pot, moving it with ease. I pick up the key, wiping some of the chilly earth from it onto my leg.

“Two weeks,” she says. “I love you, pumpkin. Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Chri... Wait. What?” I say, confused, but the phone goes dead.
Two weeks
?
Was that a joke
?
It had to be, right
?

I fumble with the key in the door and step inside. The place is almost as cold as it was on the porch. Like hell I’m going to hang around here on my own! Braden and Mac have a place for me, so it looks like I am going to be spending Christmas there after all. I should find a gift, and I know just the thing. The pretentious prick likes to drink his whiskey, and he undoubtedly has a few nice bottles around for special occasions. Waste not, want not. It didn’t bother me that my mom wasn’t here and that she was with the dick, as long as she was happy.

I went into my old room, which had been changed into a study. I’m not intruding on his space. He is intruding on mine. Besides, there is nothing wrong with a bit of snooping.

WOOP, WOOP, WOOP, WOOP
started sounding from the house, startling me out of the study. Had that prick alarmed my old bedroom? Nah, he couldn’t have...
WOOP, WOOP, WOOP
. The sound was piercing and hurt my ears.

The phone downstairs started to ring. I made a dash for it.
WOOP, WOOP
. “Hello?” I say, using one of my fingers to block my ear.

“Mrs, Baker, there has been an alarm sounded on the premises. Is everything okay?”
WOOP, WOOP, WOOP
.

“Yes...,” I say in a high-pitched voice, trying to mimic my mom. Maybe if I can trick the lady on the other end of the phone, I can get her to turn the alarm off. “Yes, everything’s fine...”

“Well, then, if you can tell me your code word, I can deactivate the alarm for you.”

Fuuuuuuuck…

“Mrs. Baker?”

I have no idea what the fuck it can be... “I, uh...,” I say, flustered. “I can’t remember.”

“Mrs Baker, it is protocol that I contact the emergency services. You will have an officer around in a few moments.”

Great,
I think. I am sure I can get things all cleared up. “Really, there is no need...,” I begin.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Baker. I am just following procedure.”

I grind my teeth and try to stay calm. “Look...,” I say in my regular voice. “I am Mrs. Baker’s son. I have no fucking clue where they are right now. I was invited for Christmas dinner, but when—”

The receiver went dead.
Time to run
, I think. I am still holding my mom’s present when I head back out, locking the door. I leave the key in the lock and as I turn to make a break for my car, two officers are pulling up.

“Officers,” I say, running toward them, cradling the present under one arm like a football. “I can explain.”

“Get down!” the first officer shouted. He is black and is pointing a revolver towards me. Slowly, I lie on the cold grass.

The other officer starts approaching me, reaching for some handcuffs on his belt. “Don’t make any sudden moves, son,” he says, like I was waving my arms around and screaming or something. Some of the neighbours pull back their curtains to watch him slip the handcuffs on.

I start to lift up my head. “Officer, I can expl—” My head is forced down.

“What’s wrong with people going around robbing people on Christmas?” one of the officers, I think the one that has been holding the gun on me, says.

“Seriously, guys. This is one big misunderstanding,” I say, being helped back up. I am half blind thanks to a wad of snow stuck to my face.

“Such a sorry sight,” the officer says from behind me, leading me toward the squad car. “How about we straighten this out down at the station?”

Six hours until turkey time. You don’t realise just how stressful going through all the preparation for Christmas dinner is. I have been staring at this monster of a turkey for about ten minutes when Braden turns up with a few grocery bags full of vegetables.

“Hey, sis. You all right? You look a little lost.”

“Just worried the turkey isn’t going to fit in the oven. Do you think I should cut it up and cook it a piece at a time?”

Braden lets out a bark of laughter, then starts to fill the sink up with warm water before emptying half a sack of potatoes into it. “That thing looks more like a pumped up chicken than a turkey. How much did it cost?”

“You don’t wanna know,” I muse.

Braden pulls out one of the drawers to get the potato peeler. He starts whittling away at his supply, discarding the strips of peel back into the same sink, which means, when he’s done, he’s going to have to pull the skin off for the second time.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you—”

“Don’t you have a turkey to tackle?” he quips, arching a brow in challenge.

I groan, set the oven to the right temperature, and look around for what the hell else I am going to do. I didn’t realise I was going to need so much room just for the bird. That means I am going to have to…what? Surround the bird with all the trimmings at different times to make sure it is ready at the same time? Here I thought I wasn’t going to need math after high school. I cry out in frustration, the inside of my brain feeling like there are a couple bugs crawling around, driving me crazy.

“Don’t worry. We have more help coming,” Braden says. He is somehow peeling the potatoes in one strip. It is taking longer but, I have to admit, it is impressive. Whenever I do it, I chip away in rapid succession, sending strips all around me, missing the sink and splattering on the floor.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask. “I thought the guys weren’t sure if they were going to make it?”

“Sam and Chace are going to be late, Trey isn’t coming…but Logan will be here in a little while.” My stomach clenches. Logan left with some floozy last night. He never commented on my outfit, either…the prick. I was sure I was going to get
some
kind of a reaction from him.

Trying to cover my reaction, I say, “Lola is going to be over in a bit, too. I don’t think any of my other girlfriends will be, though.”

Braden pauses in his peeling.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I…I don’t know if Lola will be coming.”

“What? Why?”

“I may have told her we need a break,” he says quietly, getting back to peeling. His pocket starts to vibrate. Casually, he wipes his hands on his pants before reaching in and grabbing his phone.

“Braden, do we need to talk about you shitting on my friends?” Okay, that was a bit of a strong word, seeing as I don’t really think of her as a friend. I just think of her and Braden as an item. She is crazy about him, and I like that. The idea of my brother being with someone so head-over-heels for him makes me happy.

He held up a finger to me, hushing me, while he spoke quietly into his phone, his face serious. A minute later, he hangs up and says, “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, a little freaked out. Whenever I see my brother like this, it’s never good news. Harsh memories from the past start to sink in, as there is a knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he says, slipping his jacket and a scarf back on. There are a few mumbled tones and in walks Lola. She is smiling like nothing happened, coming right over to me in the kitchen.

“Hey, Kayla,” she says, offering a sober smile.

“Hey…” I say, a little confused. Braden made it sound like he told her to go take a hike, but here she was. Maybe he was just messing with me? Ugh… Fuck knows. My brother’s sense of humour is an odd one.

“Do you know where Braden just went?” I ask her.

“Trey is in jail,” she says, sounding cheery. “Do you need a hand with that turkey?”

“Hang on… What? He’s in jail?”

Lola shrugs, then takes off her coat and cotton mitts, setting them in a neat pile on the counter. “What was Braden doing?” she asks.

“I guess going to get Trey,” I say, feeling a little shaken.

“No. I mean, what was he helping with?” I nod toward the sink, and she smiles, heading over to the sink to finish up the potatoes.

“I love Christmas, don’t you?” she says. I think she is speaking to me, but she may well have just been saying it to herself.

“Yeah. Christmas used to be my favourite time of the year,” I say.

She sets out her iPod and presses PLAY, rolls up the sleeves on her white woolly jumper, and gets to work. Bing Crosby starts singing in his sultry tone, while Lola carries on Braden’s job of peeling. She is an odd one, but I appreciate the music. It gives me the courage to tackle the turkey. I can’t remember if the heat is high enough…325
°
F or 450
°
F? Fuck it. Better to be safe than sorry. I throw a sprig of rosemary on top because, well…aren’t you supposed to? I use about ten metres of foil entombing the thing before finally shutting the door. Okay, six hours…enough time to figure out if I have doomed us all to food poisoning.

Just as I want to sit back and think about everything else that has to be done, there is a frantic knocking at the door. I start to move for it, leaving Lola humming to herself with the potato peeler, when the door is flung open and in scampers a shivering, cross-dressing version of Logan Dale.
I swear to god, I had a dream about this once.

“Uh…Logan? Care to explain?”

He is hugging his hands to his chest, his cheeks and nose rosy. He is wearing a pair of girl’s hot pants, a woman’s small t-shirt with a picture of a Nyan cat on it, and two different sized sandals. I have no idea what happened but, as much as it is jarring, it’s probably the funniest thing I have
ever
seen in my life.

“P-p-please, Mac. I-I d-d-d-don’t w-w-want t-to hear it ri-ri-right now.” The poor thing is shaking like a leaf.

“I think Braden should have some clothes that fit you, if you can dig through some…as long as you tell me what happened.”

He growls, and it makes my stomach flip. God, even in women’s clothing, this man is achingly beautiful. I really need to seek professional help. Logan runs up the stairs, leaving the sandals at the bottom.

“Oh, and Logan?” I call up after him. I can hear him pause in his rummaging through Braden’s room. “Stay outta my closet,” I laugh, and can hear him mutter a few choice words in Spanish, continuing his hunt for warm clothes.