The Plight Before Christmas(13)

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even consider it a breakup, more like a one-night stand that lasted a few months because I had nothing better to do—literally and figuratively. I used him, objectified him for his huge,” I lean in so the baby doesn’t hear, “Dick.”

“Dick,” Peyton repeats, and I wince.

“No, dick, Pey Pey, penis,” Serena flashes me a death glare.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. He’ll forget all about it in a little while.”

When her gaze lingers on me, I decipher the look. I know that look, and I despise it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” Lifting from the chair, I reclaim my nephew from her arms.

“But,” she speaks up behind me as I make my way downstairs, “if you want my opinion—”

“Nope,” I say, rounding the staircase.

“Mope,” the baby repeats, and I kiss his cheek. “The car is yours, kid.”

“It’s just that if you would get picky, you might narrow it down.”

I pause at the top of the stairs and address my nephew. “Mommy just called me a hoe.”

“Mep,” he agrees as I do my best to smooth his wayward hair down.

“I did not. It’s just when you waste your time with guys like that, knowing it won’t go anywhere, you lose time with someone that could be worth it.”

“I’ve been out there far longer than you.” I glance back at her, pausing at the top of the stairs. “Maybe I’m over the whole concept. Maybe this is my life. Career woman, aunt, daughter, sister. That’s a lot. That’s plenty.”

“I’m not saying it’s not.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Don’t go nuclear, Whit.”

“Then don’t go there,” I warn.

“I just don’t want you to be alone anymore. It’s been three Christmases since you even brought a boyfriend home. There’s still time for—”

“Stop. You bitch about being married all the time.”

“Yeah, but—.”

“You know what’s amazing, sis?” I stare up at her from a few stairs down as her restless baby wiggles in my arms. “I get to go home at night, kick off my heels, eat whatever I want for dinner in yoga pants, do the dishes or don’t before I binge whatever I desire, answering to no one or worrying about whether or not a soul will hear me fart.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Because I don’t believe you. You’ve been married, with Thatch, forever, and you’ve never farted in front of the man?”

“I don’t fart.”

“Liar.”

“Mep,” the baby agrees.

“I’m just saying. You’re not helping your chances by playing musical beds with idiots. It’s like you don’t even care anymore.”

“You know,” my cheeks flame in anger. “You make it hard to be honest with you when you act like this. I have moments. If I can’t share those moments with you—without you throwing it up in my face—you’ll lose my confidence.”

“Don’t get all bitchy. It’s just…I love you.”

“Then stop harping on me. It’s Christmas. Not to mention you tell me all the time how lucky I am to be obligation-free, and for the reasons I just told you. You’re always yapping about marriage and kids and being stuck with the same penis, day in and out.”

“Dick,” Peyton says.

“No dick, Pey Pey, penis,” Serena corrects before glancing over her shoulder and turning back to me, her eyes narrowed. “What the hell!? What if Thatch heard you?”

“Sorry. But stop acting like my marital status is a problem, and I know you discuss it with Thatch. He tried to set me up with one of his buddies. Ewww. Not to mention you’re the one with a nasty case of FOMO lately.”

“I don’t have fear of missing out.”

“You so do.”

“What exactly am I missing out on? You’re practically a bitter old maid now.”

“And you’re bored.” We stare off for a few seconds, our collective nerves raw from the truth.

I speak first. “Are we seriously fighting already?”

“No,” she sighs. “Sorry, I just know you well enough to know it’s hurting you.”

“Just like I know that you and Thatch are in a rough patch. It doesn’t mean we need to hash it out this minute.” Reluctantly, I pass the baby to her. “I’m okay, Serena. Really.”

“I don’t want you to give up.”

“And I just want you to wake up and realize how shitty—not to mention hard—your life would be without Thatch.”

“Auntie Whit! It’s been like twenty minutes, gah!” My niece calls from the dining room table.

I sigh. “Let’s just try to have fun, okay? You were supposed to cheer me up, remember?

“Okay,” she agrees with a sigh. She nudges my shoulder. “Sorry. Love you.”

“Love you.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and she gives me the side-eye. “Had to go there with your perks of freedom list, didn’t you?”