The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(29)

“Okay, I see the problem now,” I mutter to Aunt Bobbie under my breath, trying not to glare at the new addition to our crazy.

She’s got a really pretty face and great hair, but she’s she keeps cracking her knuckles and it’s starting to make me a little afraid of her. I don’t know what is going on, but I’m pretty sure if I say one wrong thing, she’ll tackle me to the ground and fulfill her wish of wanting to beat the shit out of people and start a war between just her fist and my face.

“Oh, no, that’s not the problem. The ambiguously gay, love hater on the couch only brought the goods. That over there, is the problem,” she informs me.

I look in the direction of the big window on the side of the room where Aunt Bobbie is pointing, but I don’t see anything that would cause any kind of problem aside from the horrible curtains my mother still has from before I was born. I start to ask her to just spit it out and stop being so vague, when I hear a low moan coming from behind the curtains that hang from the rod above the window, all the way down to the floor.

Scheva and Jamie laugh and Aunt Bobbie shoots them an annoyed look.

“I tried to stop her, but she just wouldn’t listen. You know how your mother gets,” Aunt Bobbie tells me as I quickly move across the room.

I squat down in front of the curtains that have now started to rustle and the moaning gets louder. Grabbing onto a corner of the fabric, I yank it aside and find my mother sitting against the wall with her legs pulled up to her chest.

“I’M DYING! CALL AN AMBULANCE!” my mother shouts as soon as she sees me.

“You’re not dying, Beverly, for God’s sake,” Aunt Bobbie sighs from behind me.

My mother leans forward and grabs onto the front of my shirt with her fists, yanking my face right up to hers until our noses are touching.

“Tell Sam I love him and I did this for him,” she whispers, her body swaying away from me in a circular pattern until I have to grab onto her arms to hold her steady.

“What are you talking about? What did you do for Sam? Will someone please tell me what is wrong with my mother?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the women behind me.

Aunt Bobbie looks away guiltily, while Scheva and Jamie have turned themselves around on the couch and are now resting their arms on the back of it, staring at my mother while continuing to snort and giggle.

“She had a few too many Rice Krispy treats,” Jamie informs me as Scheva reaches over and starts petting her hair. “It’s fine. She’ll be good soon, no worries.”

I take a minute to look around the room and notice a few things I missed when I first got in here. Mainly, the seven cereal boxes and five empty potato chip bags on the coffee table, three empty and tipped-over boxes of Pop Tarts on the love seat, assorted, half-eaten bags of Twizzlers, Gummy Bears and miniature Reese’s Cups on the floor, and a gallon of strawberry ice cream on the fireplace hearth, tipped on its side with four spoons sticking out of it as it melts all over the stone.

“I’M DYING! CALL AN AMBULANCE!” my mother shouts again.

Adding all of the food paraphernalia littering the coffee table, to the fact my mother thinks she’s dying, and my best friend grabbing onto a clump of her long blonde hair, has shoved it into her mouth and is now chewing on it, and I’ve got my answer.

“You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did?” I ask, looking from Scheva, to Jamie and ending with Aunt Bobbie.

“We told her to just eat half of one, but she wouldn’t listen,” Aunt Bobbie tries to explain.

“Nummy, nummy, nummy, Rice Krispy treats are nummy,” my mother chants.

I turn away from Aunt Bobbie to lower my head and try to meet my mother’s eyes as they dart all around the room.

“Mom, how many Rice Krispy treats did you eat?” I ask, speaking to her slowly like I’m talking to a toddler.

“I stopped counting when she got to four,” Scheva pipes up from behind me. “Four, four, four. Four is a funny word. Why is four such a funny word? My hair tastes like pizza.”

“Ooooh, I could totally go for some pizza right now,” Jamie adds.

I turn away from my mother again, just long enough to give both of them a dirty look.

“I cannot believe you gave my mother pot Rice Krispy treats. Are you insane? Scheva, stop eating your hair. Aunt Bobbie, go make some coffee. How in the hell are you not stoned?” I ask her.

“I’m not about to eat high fructose corn syrup. I have to fit into an Aunt of the Bride dress next week,” she scoffs.

I shake my head at her and nod in the direction of the doorway. “Go. Kitchen. Coffee. NOW.”

Aunt Bobbie hustles out of the room and my mother shouts after her.

“BOBBIE! I’M DYING! CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

I sigh and shake my head at her. “Pot Rice Krispy treats, really, mom?”

With her hands still clutched onto the front of my shirt, she yanks my face back to hers.

“I saw this show on television the other night called Weediquette,” she whispers. “It was very enlightening. Did you know weed can cure anxiety and make everything calm and pretty and nice? I thought to myself, ‘Bev, that’s exactly what Sam needs so he doesn’t have to clean Mister Ed’s stall anymore.’ I told Scheva, and she told me about her nice friend Jamie and they came over tonight with some samples. I figured I should test it out first before giving it to Sam. He already killed Turd Ferguson, I don’t want him killing Mister Ed.”