Duck, Duck, Goose

It was Christmas Day, -10 degrees and my anxiety was so severe, my ears wouldn’t stop ringing. The morning was spent at my aunt’s house with my Dad’s side. Afternoon came and my brother and I got dropped off at my Mom and Stepdad’s.

After a shopping spree’s worth of gifts were unwrapped, I headed upstairs to my room. It was truly the only place that didn’t reek vapid in this estate.

Following a shower, a heavy plaster of makeup and enough hairspray to ignite a small bonfire, I decided that I had done enough to make myself look presentable. One thing I did admire was how lovely my hair looked. The blonde shades of balayage and light brown roots really shined. It was as straight as a needle.

My stepdad Bart, sat in his armless kitchen chair at the head of the table. He was replenishing his glass of Glenlivet scotch when I entered the kitchen.

“We’re leaving at 5:45pm, right?” I glanced at my iPhone.

“Yeah…or whenever your mom finishes her hair and makeup, that woman always takes way too long,’ his eyes could have steamrolled over me had I not walked behind the opposite side of the marble island.

I peaked into the fridge, I had time to kill. It was filled with an abundance of beverages but none looked that appealing. Perrier..no…It would bloat me. I couldn’t do that to myself in this dress. There was a half empty bottle of rosé but nah, too much sugar.

I guess it was water for now.

20 minutes later, my Mom rushed into the kitchen while securing her rose gold Michael Kors watch over her left wrist.

“We ready to go?” She raised her voice.

Bart inhaled the last of his liquid courage. “Your son’s still not down,” his baritone voice bounced off the high ceilings in the contemporary, beige kitchen.

I dashed out of the den and swiped my phone unlocked. “I’m texting Brad right now,” I exclaimed.

Bart grabbed the storage file sized box of wines and headed to get his jacket. My Mom snagged the turkey, gravy and container of stuffing.

“Here Mom, I’ll help,” I rushed over.

“I got it,” she didn’t look up.

My brother’s heavy steps on the hardwood staircase ruminated throughout the house. As he spun around the corner, click-clacking on his phone, I stopped in my tracks and let him pass.

My stepfather drove with the car radio being the only thing breaking the silence. “One of these nights” by The Eagles played.

We arrived at my uncle and aunt’s house 10 minutes later with hopes of finding a close enough parking spot. Lo and behold, the spaceship of a Tesla fit between my grandpa’s grey 2008 Volvo XC90 and my uncle’s 2013 milky white Honda Civic, about 100 yards away.

“We’re definitely early,” I huffed. The poisonous cold pierced my throat, filling it with thumbtacks and needles.

Greeting us at the door with her Hollywood smile, my aunt grabbed the food from my mother’s arms and kissed her on both cheeks. She wore a glamorous jet black sequinned dress that hugged her slender figure and peaked her dirty blonde hair in a high bun. Her ruby stained lips looked absolutely untouched.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” her baby blue eyes gave me a hug.

I chuckled, “Merry Christmas, Aunt Gwen!”

We entered the home, removed our coats, boots and winter garments and headed to our designated posts: my mom to the kitchen, stepdad to the living room and my brother and I fled to the basement.

The basement was fully accessorized with a mahogany pool table, whimsically coloured chairs and couches as well as a silver bar cart. The walls exhibited the phenomenal graphic and graffiti art done by our third cousin Simon.

We were greeted by our first cousins whom we’d grown up with.

“Heyyyy-o,” my cousin Ricky hollered. With the body of an offensive lineman, he hugged both my brother and me simultaneously.

His sister, Tabatha, the youngest teen cousin of the bunch, was comfortably perched on top of a neon green beanbag chair.

“So glad you guys could join the real party,” she sang!

“Oh, you know it, Tabby! Those boomers upstairs are snoozin’,” my frat boy brother added.

I popped a squat on the ground, took my deep purple JanSport off my back, delved inside and twisted open a bottle of Greygoose while also revealing some red solo cups.

“Let’s loosen up this prim and proper soirée with a drinking game, shall we?”

We sat in a circle, almost like one formed to play duck, duck, goose. My brother across from me and either cousin, beside. I filled each cup halfway and handed out the liquor.

“Who’s first?” Brad shouted.

“Not me,” I held my index finger to my nose, my cousins followed.

“Brad’s the sucker!” Ricky nudged his shoulder.

“Okay, okay….Brad”—

“Truth or dare?” Tabby interjected.

“Definitely truth—no worries!” He cracked his knuckles and swayed front to back.

“Alright, tough guy,” Ricky cocked his head, “what’s your number?”

Tabitha slapped the side of his arm.

“Hey dumb ass, his sister’s here!’

“We don’t have any secrets, Tab. She knows all my shit and I know hers,” my brother winked at me.

A lump the size of a hockey puck formed in the back of my throat. This, we didn’t know about each other. I gnawed at the skin around my thumbnail.

Brad’s eyes wandered around the room then he came out with it.

“The truth…” a sly smirk formed across his face, “I’ve been with over 20 women”.

My eyes shot up like fireworks, I bit my tongue and flared my nostrils.

“You want a medal or something…that’s actually disgusting.”

“At least I”m not a fat virgin freak,” Brad shouted.

I lunged forward, my long hair swaying behind me like a cape.

He put his hands up in a mock surrender and cackled.

Tabatha dove in the middle, blocking us with each slender arm.

“If we’re going to have a rematch of the airport brawl circa 2011 then it’s sure as hell not gonna be in our house. Settle down you two!”

I inhaled for four seconds, “just like you practiced in therapy,” I whispered.

“I need some air,” I got to my feet and darted for the stairs.

“I’ll drive us to the dep,” Ricky added.

“I’ll take Brad for a drive then,” Tabby got up as well.

“Well I guess we’re all going for drives, eh,” Brad muttered.

Almost in single file, we marched upstairs and bundled up for the horrid outdoors.

“Where are you going?” My mom appeared from the kitchen and shot us a glare.

“Taking the kids to get some much needed air,” Tabatha explained.

My cousins took their respective keys out of their pockets. As we were stepping out and I opened the door, my third cousin Nathan popped his head in.

“Hey Lizzie,” he hugged me before I got a word in, “Merry Christmas!”

My second aunt Cheyenne and Nathan’s little brother Alex emerged in the doorway.

“Nate! Did you lock the car, sweetie?” My aunt inquired.

He grabbed the dangling Ottawa Senators lanyard from his faded, ripped, skinny jeans and returned to the cold. “I’m on it!”

My mom swirled her wineglass and sighed. “Nathaniel is 16 and has his license…would you look at that!”

“He just got it last week,” Alex beamed.

“Meanwhile my adult children are sitting on their asses doing God knows what,’ she slurred her words.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a serrated cheese knife.

Done with this impossible situation, I walked into the winter abyss. I didn’t glance over my shoulder but I knew my mom’s retinas burnt a hole in my back.