Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
At this point, I can confidently say I no longer care who shat on my floor.
The shitters have been named, the horrible deed done. It’s all been overshadowed by my sister’s baby bombshell. Now that’s the real shit in my life at the moment.
“This is the most exciting party in Mapledale,” Manny compliments me.
I ignore his comment. I don’t know how to react. To say I’m floored by Jen’s revelation is an understatement because in the space of an hour, I’ve been floored by many strange revelations, but this one takes the cake.
I’m not even finished wrapping my mind around my sister’s affair with the mayor.
Or their devious counterfeit crystal operation. Or the fact that Jen coerced Brian into defecating in my basement and lobbing tennis balls at my head.
When you think about it, my sister’s a raging psychopath, isn’t she?
I blink a few times and shake my head to and fro like I’m having a short-circuit seizure. Call it ‘scandal overload.’ “A baby? You’re having Mayor Dickhead’s baby?” I whirl on Elliot. “Did you know about this?”
He looks surprised for once. “No idea.”
But no one was as surprised as Mayor Thornberry. “A b-baby?” Ivan’s face is paper white. “Are you sure?”
“I’m three weeks late,” Jen beams, basking in the attention. “Surprise!”
“Ha ha ha…” Ivan’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his legs give way.
“Whoa!” Dennis and Manny rush to hoist him up before he crumples to the ground. They plop him in an armchair while I rush to get him a glass of water.
When I return, Jen’s fanning him while our mother hovers over his shoulder, pecking at him like a chicken.
“You take care of blood pressure,” Mom says. “My grandchild needs father and you sooooo old. You join my tai chi club so you have energy to chase after toddler. I will make soup with ginseng and jujube berry…” She pauses in her nagging, and considers. “You have prostate exam yet?”
Ivan digs his fingernails into the armrest like a man strapped to the electric chair. Finally, his bloodshot eyes find Brian. “H-how do I know this kid’s even mine?”
“No way, man!” Sputtering, Brian holds up his hands. “Don’t try to pin this on me. I haven’t hit that in months.”
“It’s true. Brian and I haven’t been intimate in months.
” Jen nods. “He’s too busy playing with his nuts and the nuts are a turnoff.
” She clears her throat. “Sorry, Brian, but your hands are too dry.” Having dispensed with one lover, my sister takes the mayor’s limp hand and strokes the soft skin.
“Now Daddy knows how to select a good moisturizer.”
I look to Elliot. We’re on the same page. He’s shaking his head in disgust and I’m cringing so hard I’m in danger of throwing out a hip.
“Good luck on the baby thing, man.” Brian rubs the back of his neck and mutters, “Glad I dodged that bullet.”
“See?” Jen drops a kiss on the mayor’s temple. “I’m all yours. When’s the wedding? I want the biggest wedding this town has ever seen.”
“Wedding?” He tries to spring out of his chair, but Jen pushes him back down.
“You just passed out from joy. You shouldn’t strain yourself. Not until after you’ve had mom’s soup. Then we can start picking out baby names and I know when we should get married. Valentine’s Day. I’ll need a ring by then. A big princess cut pink diamond…”
“This wonderful news,” my mom says, reaching over and pinching Ivan’s cheek. “I’m finally grandma.”
I watch the entire scene unfold like a fever dream, unable to believe what I was hearing. As everyone (even Brain) steps forward to congratulate Jen and the mayor, I can no longer hold my tongue.
“Have you all gone mad?” I drag my hands through my scalp and pull away three dark strands. Great. Now I’m losing my hair. “Am I the only one who sees the problem here? Elliot… back me up here.”
Elliot jams his hands in his coat pockets, embarrassed. “I caught the shitters. This is between you and your family. I’m not great at mediating squabbles.”
I’m taken aback by his answer. I expected him to be the voice of reason and talk Jen out of her crazy wedding plans. But he’s stepping aside?
“Great.” My hurt finds vent in scorn. “Now your job is done, you’re abandoning me, is that it?”
He holds up his hands. “I really don’t want to get in the middle of this.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll handle this on my own. You opened Pandora’s Box. I clean up the mess.”
“Holly…” he pleads.
“Shhh.” I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “I see how it is.”
Abandoned by Elliot, I turn to my mom. She had a weak moment there.
Her obsession with being a grandma has blinded her to reason.
Jen can’t be with Mayor Thornberry. It’s unthinkable.
He doesn’t even want to marry her. He doesn’t even like her.
She’s nothing more than a good time, an ego stroke, a bandage on his midlife crisis.
As for Jen, well, she obviously has daddy issues. She’s messed up. She needs parental guidance and years of therapy, possibly a hug. Or a night in the slammer. But marrying an old man with a bolo tie is not the solution.
Am I the only one who cares about my kid sister’s happiness?
How could my mom think this is a good idea?
“How are you okay with this?” I nag my mom. “Ivan hasn’t even asked Jen to marry him—”
“Yes, he has,” Jen snaps.
“No, I haven’t,” Ivan mutters.
“—and you’re already picking out baby names? How are you okay with the two of them being together when they talked Brian into pooping in my basement. And speaking of shit,” I prop my hands on my hips, “we’re all here because I have been wronged.”
“Oh, this is about you again?” Jen snorts.
“Of course it’s about me. You urged Brian to poop in my basement. You ordered him to assassinate me!”
“Assassinate?” Jen laughs. “You got hit by one tennis ball in your thick head and you think you’re JFK. This is so typical. I’m having a baby and you’re trying to make this all about you again. You can’t stand sharing the attention.”
“Er, she has a point, Holly,” Victor adds. “You’re kind of making all this about you.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” I stop myself from tugging on my hair. If this nonsense continues, I’ll go bald. “Mom?”
“Holly-Ah…” Mom cups my face. “You thinking too much about poop. Who cares who poop on floor? In a few years, you won’t remember poop, but baby is joy forever.”
“Um… I’m pretty sure I’ll remember who shat in my house in a few years.”
“That’s because you so petty. All you think about is who shit here, who shit there. Your whole mind consumed with shit. If you start thinking about making baby with sexy detective man, you will be much happier.”
From his place at the mantle, Elliot coughs.
I spare him a disdainful glance. Yeah. That’s right.
Stay in your corner. Watch everyone gang up on me.
Don’t lift a finger to help. Live up to your name.
Cold, calculating, heartless Detective Frost. If Uncle Tony’s apathy led to three turds on my carpet, Elliot’s apathy has me battling this nonsense alone.
I thought we were a team. I thought he had my back.
We were a pair of lion tamers in a circus of stupidity and now he’s dropped out and left me fending for myself. I can’t reason with crazy!
Heaving a gigantic sigh, I spring into action. “That’s it!”
“Holly-Ah!” Mom pleads for me to calm down. “Where you going? Why everything so dramatic with you?”
I march to the door and yank it open. “Everyone out!”
“You kicking us out?” Mom asks, bewildered. “On Christmas Eve?”
“Yes! I’m kicking everyone out.”
Dennis looks longingly at the buffet table. “But we haven’t eaten.”
I stomp my foot. “Take what you want and get out!”
“Drama queen,” Jen mutters. “Come on, Ivan. We’ve got an engagement to celebrate.”
Mayor Thornberry, looking like he just had a lobotomy, stumbles past me, clutching his cheap bolo tie. “Merry Christmas,” he mutters absently.
Aunt Cherry harrumphs out the door with a giant tray of Kung Pao shrimp in her arms. “We’re continuing the party over at my place, everyone,” she calls over her shoulder. “You’re welcome to come, Holly, once you’ve simmered down and do something about this attitude.”
Uncle Tony coughs. “Sorry about the poop, Polly,” he says, and slips me a twenty. “For the carpet.”
Victor shuffles past me with his arm slung over Ivy, the kids in tow. “Sorry about the sheets,” he says. “But I can get you a deal on this new bitcoin—”
“Out!”
“Best party ever,” Manny says, thumping me on the back. “I’m going to tell everyone Holly’s place is where it’s at.”
Dennis slips a joint in my hand.
I frown. “What’s this for?”
“Looks like you could use it,” he whispers.
“I don’t need…”
With a charismatic grin, he backs away. “Call me.”
Mom shakes her head as she walks past me. “Family may poo-poo on floor, Holly,” she says. “But poop doesn’t make family enemy. Forgiveness. You need more Christmas spirit.”
“What do you want me to do, Mom? Go to Uncle Tony’s and shit on his floor?”
She secures her three trays of food under her arm. “If it makes you feel better, I ask Cherry if you can come shit on her floor…”
She’s kidding. I hope she’s kidding.
“Goodnight, Mom,” I say, kissing her cheek. Brian approaches me sheepishly. “You know, Holly, I did all this for you…”
I blink several times. “You shat in my basement and attacked me with tennis balls to what? Impress me?”
He nods, seeming pretty pleased with himself. “So you’ll notice me.”
“In what world — No. Nevermind.” I take a deep breath and pray for patience. “Goodbye, Brian.”
“If you ever change your mind…” Brian tries to slip me a walnut like Dennis slipped me that joint.
I tuck my hands in my armpits and shake my head. “You can keep that.”
“I don’t think he knows how women works,” Elliot says, lingering on his way out the door.
And neither do you.
“Hm,” I mutter, still furious at him for leaving me to fend for myself.
He’s been with me every step of the way, not out of the goodness of his heart, but because I’m paying him.
Now his job is done, I’m on my own. I see how it is.
This is not a friendship. This is a business relationship.
Nothing more. “I’ll send over your final payment tomorrow. ”
“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” he says, embarrassed. “Send it over after the holidays.”
“No. I insist.” It’s not as if I have any plans for tomorrow, anyway. “Thank you for handling everything so … efficiently.”
Staring at a spot past his shoulder, I hold out my hand.
After a second’s hesitation, he takes it. His warm hand engulfs my frozen fingers. When I look up, he’s inches away, his expression pleading.
Don’t be angry.
Don’t be angry? He literally fed me to the wolves.
As I try to tug my hand away, he tightens his grip, reluctant to let go.
I know it’s unreasonable to be mad at him for doing the job I hired him for, but I can’t help it.
I expected more from him. Maybe that’s my problem.
I expected too much and misread feelings where none existed.
Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling betrayed.
I wanted Elliot to like me enough to work overtime.
Seeing him clock out so enthusiastically made me feel like chopped liver.
“Holly,” Elliot begins, studying me with a hangdog expression weighed with regret. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, my resentment dissipating. “You were just doing your job.”
“For doing my job too well,” he says. “You now know everything about everyone.”
“I asked for it,” I say coldly.
“Knowing everything is a double-edged sword, in my experience. Do you regret it?”
“Hmm, let’s see?” I tap my chin. “Now I know my uncle cares more about football than my carpet, my aunt’s a stoner, my ex shat in my basement, my cousin had sex on my bed, and my sister’s having the mayor’s baby? Do I regret knowing?”
Elliot clears his throat. “Yeah.”
I stiffen. “I think I need to be alone.”
“Sure.” He nods in understanding. “I guess I’ll…” he hesitates at the door. “I’ll be seeing you?”
“Thank you, Elliot.” My anger is replaced by a yawning sadness. Our partnership is over. We can go back to being casual acquaintances. Or strangers in town. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
“Of course.” A sad smile ghosts his lips. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Halfway to his car, he turns to stare back at me. Then he raises his arm silently. I raise my own arm back, and then shut the door.
My house is depressingly silent. Even Grizzy, sprawled across my armchair, is fast asleep. I light a gingerbread scented candle, put on my Christmas playlist, and mix myself a cup of eggnog (extra brandy).
My Christmas tree, wrapped in glittering warm light and surrounded by a pile of unopened presents, is a resplendent insult.
For the next few minutes, I sit silently fuming in my armchair, watching the lights twinkle as Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas blasts from my speakers. It’s a sad, bleak song. I don’t know why it became a Christmas classic.
By now, I imagine that my guests have regrouped at Aunt Cherry’s house, reheated the food, and are having a merry time without me. The very idea infuriates me. How dare they party the night away as if nothing’s wrong?
You know what really sticks in my craw? No one seemed remotely sorry. In fact, I don’t even recall anyone apologizing, really apologizing for shitting on my floor or basement or having sex in my bed or trying to brain me with tennis balls.
Instead, they act like I’m the problem. Like I’m making mountains out of molehills and killing everyone’s buzz.
All I want is for one person to step forward and say, “Sorry, Holly. Sorry about the turds on your floor.”
Sympathy. That’s all I want for Christmas.
“Hallmark Holly.” My sister’s jeer echos in my head, boiling me up from the inside out.
“I’ll show you who’s living in a Hallmark movie…” I fish out Dennis’ joint from my pocket, light it with the flame of my gingerbread candle, and take a long, deep, satisfying drag.