Chapter 22
Rory
“Bring Uncle Dante another present,” my mom says to the twins.
Christmas Day gift opening is a slow process, with the kids bringing my dad each present one at a time.
He reads out the label, and then they deliver it to the recipient.
None of us exchange many presents anymore, but my sisters and I get each other a little something.
This year I got Jules a new pair of headphones, and Cassie a monthly tea subscription.
“This one is for Rory,” my dad says.
The twins bring it over, and I glance at the tag. It’s not signed, but I recognize the handwriting. “Oh, this one is from Garrett, so I’ll wait until he comes downstairs.”
I set it behind me, and my dad reads out another name. A present from Tabitha for Allan.
As he opens it, I let my attention drift, and listen to the faint hiss of the shower upstairs. Falling asleep in Garrett’s arms last night…something felt different. And then this morning, sharing a cinnamon roll was a lot of fun.
Understatement.
He managed to make something quite innocent downright filthy.
I know that fun flirtation doesn’t solve whatever failed in our relationship, but it might be a lifeline we can cling to as we sort out the bigger problems.
A quiet giggle behind me is my only clue that one of the twins has stolen Garrett’s gift for me before I hear the rip of wrapping paper.
“Hey,” I protest, twisting around. “That’s mine.”
As I say it, I know it’s the wrong thing to say to a child. Like a red hot poker to their panic reaction, and wrapping paper goes everywhere as he finishes opening it for me because Christmas is just too exciting.
Jules snags it, her hands crushing the cardboard.
I gasp. “Hey, it might be fragile.”
She lifts the lid, frowns, then gets a funny expression on her face. “Nope, not fragile.”
Cassie grabs it, but then my mom grabs it before she can look at it.
“Mom, I wouldn’t—” Jules starts to say.
“Is it a ring?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, it’s not even ring shaped. Give me my present back, please, before Garrett comes down and sees—”
“I’m here,” he says, striding in from the kitchen. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing dark jeans and a faded t-shirt in his favourite colour, army green, but this one has some emerald notes, and he looks like a jacked Christmas elf. “What did I miss?”
My mom reaches into the box and holds up a—
A dull buzzing starts in my ears as I immediately recognize the shape of what is in her hand. The length and width and curve and decoration of—
“What on earth is this?”
How can she not know?
I’m frozen.
“It’s like a tentacle,” she says. “It’s even got little suckers on it.”
I make an inhuman noise as Allan scoops up the toddlers and makes a loud promise of cinnamon buns for them in the kitchen.
“Not a tentacle,” Jules chokes out. “More of an eggplant.”
My dad mutters something about shovelling the front walk and leaves, not making eye contact with me, my mom, or Garrett, who is a similarly frozen statue of shame in the doorway.
“Eggplants don’t have polka dots, though?” My mom sounds so confused, and I can’t save her as she taps her index finger against the bright pink bumps that are in the exact same place as Garrett’s piercings.
Cassie laughs. “Mom, it’s a dick.”
Mom drops it back into the box, and it starts vibrating. “I don’t understand.”
Mara snorts. “Carmie, you have three kids and your bed squeaks. Surely you understand.”
Garrett clears his throat, and nobody notices except me. He’s the last man standing in the room, and it’s his dick my mom was holding, but all he can do is clear his damn throat?
I glare at him and he shrugs.
Shrugs!
“Turn it off,” I mutter.
That, too, goes unnoticed.
Cassie leans over, grabs it, turns it off and waves it in front of my mom’s face. “Don’t let the purple colour confuse you. This is a dick—”
“Stop saying dick,” I yell.
Okay, that was too loud.
“And these are piercings,” Cassie continues.
As one, Jules and Mara both swivel their heads to look at Garrett. Not at his ruddy cheeks or his narrowed gaze aimed pointedly at the ceiling, but lower than that.
“Don’t look at him,” I snap, standing up.
Mara’s eyebrows lift as she looks at me. “Is it accurate?”
“Yeah, he’s purple,” I say sarcastically. “Give me that.”
Cassie shakes her head. “Nope. We’ve scared all the men away. This is a safe space to talk about why Garrett is giving you a dildo.”
I choke on a furious, frustrated groan, and swat at her hand. She tosses it to Jules, who climbs up onto the couch, holding it high above my head.
My aunts are dying of laughter.
And Garrett is long gone, the doorway now empty.
My mom looks at me in genuine confusion. “Rory, what was he thinking?”
“What?” I stare back at her. Why is she asking me? I’m not the person who made a purple replica of his cock and then wrapped it in irresistibly shiny paper.
Tabitha wipes her eyes and tries to stop laughing. “Is Garrett…pierced?”
Mara snorts. “Do you really want the answer to that?”
My mom makes a face. “Is this a midlife crisis? It feels a bit young for that.”
“Well, he is in love with Rory and that’s gotta be hard,” Jules adds, very unhelpfully.
“Hey! I’m right here!”
Jules doesn’t blink and doesn’t look away. “I said what I said. It has to be hard to date you.”
“Wow.” I jump futilely in the air, then resort to using my short stature against her and just hook her around the knees, sweeping her legs out from under her.
As I snatch the dildo out of her hands, she gives me the finger with her other hand.
“Real mature,” I snap.
“Well,” my mother says in her most small town nice lady voice. “I think we can all agree that this is why dickmatized should mean traumatized. Because it just fits.”