Page 90 of Ho Ho Oh No

A half-hour earlier

At some point during my forty-some-odd years on the planet, I learned to listen to the little devil on my shoulder almost as often as I listened to the angel. And tonight, it paid off.

It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure of chatting, so let me get you up to speed and refresh your memory about me—CJ Bliss, formerly CJ Amos.

For most of my life, I favored the rose-colored glasses of the angel. I made peace with everyone and gave people chances to do the right thing. Multiple times. And then another for good measure. Even when their poor choices hurt me.

Guided by my little shoulder angel, I strived to see only the good in the world. I lived my life accordingly, sprinkling sunshine everywhere I went and defusing tension. Growing up as a middle child in a family fueled by sarcasm and chaos tends to have that effect on you.

It worked for a while. Until the stingray barb of fate stabbed me in the butt a few years ago.

Because I was listening to my shoulder angel, I failed to recognizeallthe signs that my ex-boyfriend, Douchebag Danny, was cheating on me. Making it worse, my then coworker and sort of friend, Becki—yes, with ani—was the one he was sneaking around with. She also plagiarized my research and tried to ruin my life. Trusting her was a huge mistake, courtesy of my doormat tendencies.

In the end, though, it all worked out for me.

Rumor has it, Becki’s still picking flecks of glitter from her teeth after Operation Glitter Shield.

But I digress.

Come to find out, my little devil isn’t always trying to poison me against people or get me in trouble. Sometimes, she’s the voice of reason. Perhaps the person she says deserves to have hot sauce poured into her drinking straw when she isn’t looking truly deserves it. Another perfect example is when she convinced me to climb up on the face of my hunky boyfriend and let him do delicious things to me. My ass cheeks still clench at the tantalizing memory.

My angel was huddled in the corner, peeking through her hands. The devil was zipping up her boots and cracking a whip. And now he’s my husband, so you tell me who was right.

Sorry for the thought-rambling. I suppose I’m just feeling nostalgic and nervous in the jolliest of ways. Allow me to circle back to the point.

On this joyous night, my shoulder devil was once again the voice of reason.

I listened to her and remained stone-cold sober, which was odd since it’s the Amos-holes holiday game night, our Christmas Eve tradition. After eating, drinking, and being merry, we always end by opening presents at midnight.

The tradition has changed slightly in recent years. What used to take place in the cozy living room at my grandparents’ homenow takes place in Hudson and Chloe’s sprawling mansion. It’s catered, and everyone has their own room to crash in. And there’s a lot more kids now. But the games are just as unhinged as ever, and the laughter is plentiful.

Another part of the tradition is my sister Cara attempting to pour her special cranberry margaritas down everyone’s throats. Surprisingly, my angel flicked her little angel wrist at me and said,why not drink a little? It’s a holiday party!On the other hand, my devil told me it would be hilarious if I stayed sober, refusing to tell anyone why. She thought it’d be a laugh riot if the Amos-holes started speculating I was pregnant. A Christmas prank. And I was game for it. It unfolded just as the devil knew it would. Millie started the baby rumor. By the end of the night, Vegas odds were established. I just kept giggle-snorting, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

At one point, my hunky husband, Archer, pulled me aside and asked if we needed to talk. I attempted to keep the gag going with him, but he pinched my nipples until I confessed.

He also made me climax, although that’s beside the point.

Five minutes ago, my phone rang with the best news. Had I been drunk, I don’t think I’d be on my way to another happy ending.

Guess what! Our family is growingagain. A Christmas miracle.

And since I trusted my devil, I’m able to drive us to the hospital and won’t make an ass of myself when we get there. A few others were sober for various reasons, so we’ve all loaded into several vehicles, including one limousine. It’s an Amos-hole Christmas Caravan. More than twenty jolly assholes barreling down the road to the hospital.

My teenage stepdaughter, Lily, lets loose her third squeal of the ride, shaking me from my rowdy thoughts. “Is this reallyhappening? No cap? On Christmas Eve, no less? Gah! What even is my life right now?”

Archer and I exchange gleeful glances as he pats my thigh. Relief and joy strum through my veins.

Initially, we were concerned Lily wouldn’t be on board with the adoption idea. After all, she’s sixteen and already has two younger siblings who drive her bonkers on the regular. Bringing a new baby into the mix could have triggered a landslide of teenage angst, making us all miserable.

Before committing, we talked to all three kids over dinner, encouraging them to be honest with us. Good or bad, we wanted to hear it. Ultimately, Archer and I were going to decide. However, we wanted them to feel heard. We value their opinions.

As expected, the twins were over the moon with excitement. But Lily’s joyful reaction left us dumbstruck. No sooner were the words out of Archer’s mouth before she shoved away from the dinner table and wrapped us both in a bear hug.

A single tear leaks from my eye at the sparkling memory.

Without warning, I’m unceremoniously jerked back into the present when two thumps against my seat jolt me forward abruptly. A boyish roar accompanies the kicking.

“Ahhh!” Ethan hollers at the top of his lungs, the deafening sound reverberating around the inside of the SUV.

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