Page 2 of A Very Bossy Christmas
Especially when they should be answering my phone and redoing whatever mundane task I’ve asked them to perform.
But I don’t have to do that anymore.
Because Maddie Cooper is competent.
Maddie Cooper can handle me.
Maddie Cooper can give as good as she gets.
Maddie Cooper is hot and claims to hate me.
It’s problematic.
But she’s one problem I’m not willing to solve.
Not yet, anyway.
And just like that, I’m frowning again.
You happy now, Impala?
Yeah. This feels right. This feels like my fucking life this year.
I lean on the horn again becausefuck you, everyone in front of me.
I’m about to call Cooper, just as my sister’s name and number come up. She’s not supposed to try me on my work phone unless it’s an emergency.
Shit. Now what?
“Casey?”
“Are you coming for Christmas or not?”
“Seriously? That’s why you’re calling me on my work phone? During business hours?”
“Also to say good morning, asshole.”
“Good morning, asshat, andnot.But don’t tell Ma—I haven’t called her yet.”
“I knew it. Declan...”
“I have to work.”
“I thought you started in-house lawyering so you could have a better quality of life.”
“I did. And I have a much better view from my office now.”
That is true in ways that I will not be explaining to my sister.
“Dec. Don’t be glib.”
“I’m not being glib. I only work fifty-five hours a week, and I get six hours of sleep a night on weekends. I’m practically a slacker. I can’t help it if New York honesty sounds like superficial insincerity to people in Ohio. And what makes you think the quality of my life would improve if I went home for Christmas this year? I’m dying to see most of you, but I can’t. It’s not like it would be easy for me either way…”
Boom. There it is. Saying things without saying things and attempting to elicit sympathy. It’s the only way I’ve been able to talk to the women in my personal life since I was five years old.
My sister sighs, loudly, because she carries the weight of the entire Cannavale family on her shoulders. Most of us are men, and we’re composed of lean muscle, my father’s relentless pride, my mother’s ability to talk anyone into or out of anything, Irish whiskey, and my nonna’s meatballs and deep-fried-everything that takes half a year to digest. We’re heavy. We’re belligerent. And we all want our ma and sister to love us the best.
Casey is the only girl of five kids, and she’s been the peacemaker since the day she was born. It’s a shit job, and none of us assholes are gonna do it.
