Page 37 of Burn

“Traffic.” That’s not a lie. Traffic was a nightmare getting over here, so I do okay with telling her that part.

She waves toward the dining room where the rest of the family is seated at the table overflowing with food. “Everyone’s gathered at the table. Join us and we’ll do gifts later.”

Nodding, I reach for a glass of champagne on the counter before making my way inside the dining room.

Christmas morning at my parents’ house is an event in itself. Our whole family comes over and most of the family I don’t care for. Mostly because they use my parents for their money and while I know Mom and Dad see it, they don’t say anything because family is the most important thing to them.

It’s sad, really, because they’d rather give gifts to have people come over and celebrate with them than be alone.

Stepping into the room, conversation flows from the table. Dad’s eyes meet mine with warmth. “Kendra,” Dad yells from the table to my mother still in the kitchen filling a plate with bacon wrapped scallops. “Come in here, darlin’. We’re ready to eat.”

They’re sickening with their adorableness.

“Coming,” Mom chimes, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she scrambles into the dining room.

Dad winks at me, his arm around my shoulders as he squeezes me to his side. “Hey, honey, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

Brunch gets started quickly and everyone is talking, loud laughter at the stories my uncle tells, and I think maybe I’m going to get away free without anyone asking where my plus one is. I usually bring someone with me to Christmas. It’s like I can’t go anywhere by myself. Which is true to my personality. I don’t like to be alone. And here you were thinking, shit, this chick’s cool. Well, you found my downfall. Secret’s out. I attach myself to people in fear of being alone.

It’s then with my thoughts on my phobia of being alone, Dad glances around the room and my heart skips a beat. Fuck. I had told them earlier in the week Judah was coming with me and he’s figured it out.

My dad Doesn’t like Judah. In fact, I can’t think of many people who did. “Where’s that guy, James?”

See? Doesn’t even know his name.

“Judah?”

“Yeah, are you still living with him?”

Of all the luck. Why would he ask that? Do I have break-up-post-greatest-one-night-stand-of-my-life face on right now?

In fear of lying to my dad, something I’ve never been able to pull off, I take the biggest bite I can fit in my mouth of prime rib just so I don’t have to speak. And then I nod.

“Where is he, Milena?” Mom asks, cutting into her meat with grace. “I thought you said he’d be coming with you.”

My mother is always so perfect from her well-thought-out clothing choices to her hair and makeup. I can’t ever remember seeing my mother a mess. Unlike myself right now. I look like someone who, well, got very little sleep and took a two-minute shower. I’m pretty sure there’s still shampoo in my hair.

And I know what you’re thinking. How does a girl like me manage a hotel?

Despite my behavior these last forty-eight hours, I do have a handle on my life. Not a good one, but at work I know what I’m doing. I’m completely capable of doing my job. It’s everything else, like existing, that’s somewhat of a challenge for me at times.

“He’s at his parents’ house today.” That’s not a lie. I may not know where he is, but I can guarantee he will be at his parents’ at some point. Dude’s a mama’s boy. He probably still calls her mommy for Christ’s sakes.

We once had a fight over how long you’re supposed to cook spaghetti noodles, and he called her to ask. Then spent the next forty-five minutes telling her all about his week. I swear they talked every day, but for a twenty-eight-year-old drummer, that’s weird, right?

Taking my fork, I push my cheesy scallop potatoes around the plate, my cousin Nick smiling beside me. I don’t like Nick. You’ll see why any second when he speaks.

“Mila, what’s the matter?” Nick asks, his crooked teeth caked with food. “You look nervous?”

Oh look, you didn’t have to wait too long.

I turn toward him, my eyes roaming over his greased-back blond hair to his coked-out black eyes. There’s a reason why I don’t like him, and it has nothing to do with his substance abuse problems and his lack of dental hygiene. It’s the fact that he uses my dad and uncle as his own personal bank and on more than one occasion, we’ve let him stay at the hotel in an attempt to get his life together.

Yet he doesn’t. He’s thirty-one. You’d think at some point he’d realize, wow, I’m going about life the wrong way.

He’s somewhat of an inspiration to me. Like, hey, I’m not as bad as Nick and yet somehow at every family function I’m stuck sitting next to him. Maybe it’s because we’re both the ones showing up late.

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