Page 81 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“Not super grinchy, no. But I did overhear you once saying that you hate Christmas music.”
“I don’t hate it exactly. It’s just…the incessant noise I hear in December.”
“Alright, it’s official. Yes, you are a grinch, and I am horrified by your humbugging.”
“Sorry,” she chuckles, not sounding apologetic at all. “When you work in retail, Christmas music infiltrates your brain all day, every day this time of year. It becomes a nuisance. Like a gnat.”
“Wow! As a Christmas music aficionado, I simply have no words.”
She doesn’t respond right away.
“You’re surprised I know the word aficionado, aren’t you?”
She lets out an embarrassed breath. “Kinda, yeah!”
“Damn, girl!” I laugh. “That meathead impression you got of me was strong, huh?”
“It’s dissipating,” she says. “I promise.”
“For the record, I know what the word dissipating means, too.”
“I’m sure you do, Christmas boy,” she teases. “Let me guess, your Christmas tree is one of those pre-lit trees with faux snow sprayed on the branches. You have tinsel and garland. White and multicolored lights. You have all the decorations you made in preschool and kindergarten hanging on it, as well as a full collection of those Picolas Cage ornaments.”
“That is quite an imagination you have going there, madam. What pray tell are ‘Picolas Cage ornaments?’”
“They are exactly what they sound like. Look ’em up and thank me later.”
“I will do that. I’m sorry to burst your imaginative bubble, but currently, I don’t have a tree.”
She gasps into the phone. “How is that possible? What happened to going ‘balls deep into Christmas?’”
“Well, my dad died on Christmas, so it’s always been a thing,” I say.
“Oh my god, Matt. On Christmas?”
I chuckle. “I think that’s enough of the heavy talk tonight. It would be nice if you actually wanted to call me back sometime.”
“Of course I’ll call you back sometime,” she says. I’m just—After that, Christmas must’ve always been a sad time in your house, huh?”
“Yeah. My mom didn’t want to celebrate it, decorate for it, hell, even acknowledge it, which was totally understandable…”
“Sure, but you were a little kid.”
“I tried celebrating it a little at school when she wasn’t around, but I always felt guilty about it. When I was older and met Eugene, I’d dabble a bit at his family’s Christmas parties too, but...”
“…you never went balls deep,” she says thoughtfully.
I laugh. “Until now.”
“Makes sense,” she says. “With your mom being sick, and with your relationship being so different… you felt like maybe you could finally celebrate it this year without feeling guilty?”
Damn, she’s good.
“Does that make me a bad person?” I ask.
“No way. People deserve to experience joy. Especially after they’ve been through something so painful.” I hear her wince through the phone. “I’m sorry I said the gym looks like Father Christmas took a dump on it.”
“You weren’t wrong! Santa pissing string lights off the loft was a bold choice on my part. It’s not for everybody.”
