Chapter 27 The （not so） Happy Holidays
The (not so) Happy Holidays
Tyler stepped into the elevator with Matt and hit the button to travel up to the top floor.
It was Christmas Eve and dinner with his dad was tradition.
Matt was in an odd mood this evening, extremely quiet and slightly irritable.
Tyler knew he needed about another half hour before he would be ready to talk about it.
Tyler wasn’t in the best of moods either.
He hadn’t spoken to Jordan in the last few days.
She wasn’t answering her phone. He’d gone over to see her yesterday, but her townhouse was deserted.
He wanted to see her, but he knew that having another opportunity to speak to her wouldn’t have made a difference.
He didn’t know what to say to make things right.
All he knew was that he couldn’t say what she wanted him to say.
She’d completely opened herself up to him and he couldn’t say one word back.
Those were the things break-ups were made of. It was a simple recipe. He was no master chef, but it was easy enough to figure out.
Take one stupid idea, add two fake dates and throw in a couple lies.
Mix thoroughly and wait for that to simmer.
Once the mixture is heated and starts to separate, add shame and regret in equal parts and chuck in some childish games.
A sprinkle of hurt, a dash of jealousy, and just a tiny pinch of sabotage.
A heaped teaspoon of ex-girlfriend drama always goes a long way, so be sure to throw that into the mix as well.
Go easy on communication, though. It might spoil the batter. And then let it cook.
Now for the last step. This part is crucial, so pay attention.
When tensions reach boiling point, pour on a thick layer of rejection.
Tact should not be used in any way or form and don’t bother to sugar coat it.
Doing so will completely ruin the bitter aftertaste.
There. All done. Now sit back and enjoy the mess that has been created.
The recipe for disaster – tried, tested and perfected by Tyler Evans.
The elevator doors opened and they made their way down the corridor. Matt knocked once and a few seconds later the door opened.
The widest smile spread across his father’s face. “My boys!” He threw an arm around each of them and pulled them into a tight bear hug. He kissed one then the other and after another squeeze, he let them go.
“Hey, Pap,” Matt said.
“Hi, Dad.”
The door was barely closed behind them when Roscoe started scolding. “You boys haven’t come to see me in weeks.”
Tyler shrugged off his jacket. “Sorry, Dad. We’ve been a little busy.”
“Busy with what?”
“Well, I’ve been running the company,” Matthew answered. “Tyler’s been into some light stalking.”
Roscoe’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Anything I should be worried about?”
“Just a hobby,” Tyler assured him.
They were led to the small dining room where three place settings had already been laid out.
When he and Matt left home, his father downgraded from a three-bedroom house and moved to a smaller three-bedroom apartment.
It was bigger than Tyler’s penthouse, yet still furnished and decorated in the same way, simple and practical.
“Let’s eat,” Roscoe said, opening up the store-bought roast chicken.
Although he’d always tried to be both mother and father to the two of them, cooking had never been a strength of his. Roast chicken and mashed potatoes were the norm for Christmas Eve dinner. And they loved it.
The meal was eaten quietly, the conversations were stilted and a little forced.
Roscoe accepted the moodiness of his two sons, but it was only because he was waiting for the right time to start probing.
Matthew was always a lot more forthcoming, so Roscoe started with him first. “Something bothering you?” he asked, looking at Matt from across the table.
“Nope. All good, Pap.”
“That’s great.” He didn’t buy it and continued probing, instinctively going to the root of the problem. “And how’s Gemma?”
Matt continued picking a piece of chicken apart with his fork and shrugged.
“I wouldn’t know,” he responded tersely.
“I woke up to a note yesterday morning. It said…See you in two months. XOXO…Gemma.” He smiled, tight and dripping with bitterness.
“She put a cute little lipstick kiss in the corner. I thought that was a nice touch.”
“She’s like that, Matt,” Tyler argued. “She’s unpredictable. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
Matthew was definitely not in the mood to listen to excuses tonight. He gave another dismissive shrug. “Whatever.”
That signaled the end of that discussion and Roscoe’s eyes moved over to Tyler. “What about you? What’s got you wound so tight?”
This feels like a group therapy session. “Well, Dad. I just recently discovered…that…” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “…that Abby’s baby was switched at birth, so…she’s not even the biological mother.” He looked away and stared at his plate. “I’m pretty upset about it.”
“Okay, Son,” his father said with soft reassurance. “When you’re ready.”
“Why are you still watching that stupid Soap Opera?” Matt asked.
“You know why,” he whispered with a disheartened smile.
“Yeah. I do.”
It wasn’t the happiest Christmas Eve they’d spent together.
There were a few laughs. His dad tried to make them feel better, but their combined depression was insurmountable and probably exhausting for him.
At eleven o’ clock, Roscoe decided to turn in.
He kissed both of them on the head and went to bed.
There was silence for a few minutes before Tyler looked over at his best friend. “Hey, Matt,” he suggested.
“It’s a great idea, Ty.”
“What shall it be?”
“Whatever is gonna get us really drunk really fast.”
* * * * *
Tyler and Matthew stood in the check-out queue.
There was a cosmic force against them tonight, one hell-bent on keeping them sober.
They weren’t big drinkers, so the lack of knowledge about places that sold liquor already made it a difficult exercise.
Add to that the fact that it was ten minutes to midnight on Christmas Eve and finding a place that was still open was also a challenging task.
Over and above that, this wasn’t a liquor store. It was a small grocery store that happened to sell alcohol as well, so options were limited. After scanning the selections of cheap wine, cheap champagne and cheap brandy, they’d settled on the brandy.
However, the biggest obstacle they seemed to be facing was this store clerk, a pimply teenager who was part snail and part sloth.
He also seemed to be dyslexic when it came to reading numbers and reversing transactions on an outdated cash register was something they hadn’t taught him during his on-the-job training.
They’d been waiting in line for twenty-five minutes and there were only four people in the queue.
“I don’t get it,” Matthew complained irritably. “It can’t possibly be that hard. And if he doesn’t know how to use a cash register, why is he the only one working tonight?”
“Relax. I’m sure we’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”
“You said that ten minutes ago and we haven’t moved one inch.”
Matt grabbed a candy cane from the rack on the side of them.
It was too big for even an adult to finish in one sitting, so he put it back and continued scanning the array of sweets and chocolates.
The lady in front took her change and left the store.
The customers in front of them shuffled forward, but before Tyler could do the same, a short, fat man dressed in a Santa suit cut in front of them.
“Hey! Excuse me, Fat Santa,” Matthew said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We were in line.”
He half-turned to cast a look at Matt, his white beard caressing his shoulder. “Looked to me like you guys were still shopping.”
“We weren’t,” Tyler said. “We were in line and you cut in front of us, so may we kindly ask you to move to the back of the queue.”
He faced forward again, blatantly ignoring the request. That pissed Matt off real fast.
“We’ve been waiting for almost half an hour, so get to the back of the line and wait your turn.”
Fat Santa turned around. “Look, buddy. I’ve had a really bad day.”
“You’re not the only one having a bad day,” Matt argued. “There’s a reason we’re standing here with two bottles of brandy, but you don’t see us disrespecting other customers and cutting in line.”
“Did a two-year old throw up all over you? No. I smell like vomit and I just wanna get home.”
“Matt, just let him go.”
“No! He’s rude.” He jabbed Fat Santa’s shoulder with his forefinger. “Get. To the back. Of the line.”
Fat Santa was becoming increasingly more aggravated. “Back up off me, man.”
As the only calm one, Tyler could see how this was escalating. “Matt, we’re not fight type of guys. Just let him go.”
“Oh, I’m definitely feeling like a fight type of guy right now, Ty.”
And then Matthew did the unthinkable. He grabbed a candy cane and hit Fat Santa over the head.
It wasn’t too hard, but hard enough for it to break.
And while Fat Santa wasn’t hurt physically, Tyler guessed that it was more a matter of pride.
No man could hold his head up high after being hit with a candy cane.
Fat Santa’s cheeks turned an unnaturally dark shade of red and Tyler was almost certain he saw steam emanating from his ears and forehead. “You’re dead.” The whisper was soft enough to sound scary and he looked like he was about to cut someone.
“Matt, I suggest we run.”
“Great suggestion.”
They turned and bulleted down the aisle, splitting up when they reached the end.
Matt dropped down when he was safe behind a stand of chips and placed the bottles of brandy on the floor. “Okay, grab him when he gets here.”
“I don’t like that plan one bit. Let’s just apologize.”
“Do it!”