Page 37 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

The words zing through my chest. Every bit of it.

10

The Visiting Nephew

I wake up Monday morning to a text message.

6:13 AM

Adam:

Your cult of Christmas is far-reaching.

Adam’s message sits without context until a picture of a warehouse appears. The wood name placard is cut off, but to the left of superior const is a giant green wreath with a lopsided red bow.

I hold my boobs in my hands as I consider my reply. It’s not sexual—just a thing I do now—like how your tongue absently finds the spot where the Novocain hasn’t worn off after getting a filling.

6:16 AM

Alison:

We prefer the Children of the Claus.

6:20 AM

Adam:

Ha.

—

7:04 AM

Alison:

How do you respond to a text that’s one syllable?

7:07 AM

Mara:

What’s the syllable?

7:07 AM

Alison:

Ha.

7:09 AM

Chelsea:

Soooo things are definitely heating up with Hot Adam then?

7:10 AM

Alison:

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