Page 79 of Christmas Chaos
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BAX
“Cover your ears, gentlemen.” They do as they’re told. “FUCKKKKK. FUCK ME! FUCKING FUCK.” I can’t even get home. I just shoved some McDonald’s down their throats. Some fucking father I’m turning out to be. What a delightful Christmas Eve dinner. I’m not there to meet my one son and these two have zero nutrition—although I did make them eat the apple slices—and have nowhere to sleep or a mother right now.
My phone rings. I glance at the boys and nod. They uncover their ears.
Jay says, “You know that didn’t work. We heard you. You’re swearing like Tabi now.”
“Watch your mouth.”
We all laugh. I answer.
“BAX. It’s Elle.”
“What’s up? Do I have a bed yet?”
“By the way, everyone knows, except Tabi. Your dad and Sam are lousy secret keepers. Your sisters are madly baking cookies for them. Hi Jay! Joaquin! Merry Christmas!”
They yell their response, “Merry Christmas, Auntie Elle!”
She squeals, “Are you close?”
“No. And is Tabi there?” I pull into a different lane with the goal of taking winding surface streets instead of the I-80 nightmare.
“Not yet. Did you talk to her?”
“No and I’m going out of my skin. She hasn’t answered me in an hour. I don’t even know if she has our son.”
“She does, but I heard that from Poppy. But no worries, she forbids Poppy from sending or taking any pictures.” I smile and my heart fills. She wants me to see him live. Or to be the first or whatever. “Just hurry. And meet Josh at Pro/Ho real quick when you get in town.”
“We’re still open?”
“Yes, but he’s confused on the new inventory system, and we’ll never have a decent Christmas if he’s thinking he messed something up. Ok. Hurry. There’s a whole army of people who can’t wait to see you, J&J!”
Joaquin says, “Tell the aunts that Jay’s allergic to peanut butter.”
“Noted. And they’ve altered all recipes to include cashew butter. We got you.”
Jay yells, “BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!”
Elle laughs and hangs up. I turn back to him. “Totally agree, little man.” I reach back and they both grab my hand. I don’t pull it away and we drive on.
I try again. “Siri, call Bee.”
“Why do you call her Bee?”
“Because when we were younger than both of you, I made a joke of her name. And called her Tabeeeetha, then shortened it to Bee.”
“Is that why she has a bee tattoo on her wrist?”
I put both hands on the wheel and pull up my left sleeve and hold my matching one up for them to see. The result of a double dog dare from my wife a year ago.
Joaquin says, “Can we get one too?”
“I’m going to go with a no. No tattoos for Christmas. Or for your entire childhood.”
“Really, man?”
I laugh, “Yes, really. Hard no.”
“But…”
“Nope. But how about we put bees on the Prohibition property, and you can learn how to harvest honey?”
Jay says, “That does not seem fun.”
Joaquin says, “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I’ll take that. I turn on the radio and they groan as Barry Manilow’s Christmas album gives me life.
