Page 9 of Merrily Yours
Ben turns to Jules. “What about me? Are you going to hype me up?”
“Don’t fuck up,” Jules says as his way of encouraging his twin.
“Wow, thanks, Jules. What would I do without you?” Ben asks.
“Probably fuck u?—”
“Alright, here we go,” I interrupt. “Rules are simple for rock paper scissors. Rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, paper beats rock?—”
“I never understood that one,” Anders mutters to Bex who just pats him on the cheek.
“—and every one must choose their hand on ‘shoot.’ Cheating is automatic disqualification. First person to get two wins is this year's Santa. Here we go.”
We gather around and watch the competition begin.
First round: Gabe chooses scissors, Ben chooses rock. One point for Ben.
Second round: Gabe chooses paper, Ben chooses rock. One point for Gabe.
Everyone around them leans in, ready for the tie-breaking round. You can feel the tension in the air as Gabe shakes out his shoulders, and Ben cracks his neck. They both take a deep breath and get into position.
Rock.
Paper.
Scissors.
Shoot.
Gabe chooses scissors, Ben chooses paper.
We all scream and pile on top of Gabe, rubbing his head and slapping his back. Even Ben joins in on the fun, putting Gabe in a headlock and telling him, “You better give me the first present, asshole.” I think I even see a tear in Gabe’s eye. Elodie is clapping wildly, though, I doubt she really understands what’s going on—she’s just happy that everyone else is happy.
Elaine and I hang back as all of the kids tumble up the lawn and back into the warmth. I turn to my wife of thirty years and pull her in for a kiss. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I run my hands up and down them to warm her.
“Today was fun,” she murmurs, pulling away slightly.
I nod in agreement. “You raised some weird kids.”
“They’re pretty amazing, aren’t they?”
Looking around the yard, I sigh. “Yeah. They really are.”
“Christmas is a time when you get homesick, even if you’re home.” — Carol Nelson
Music ebbs and flows through my headphones as I listen back to the recording for the umpteenth time. Something is off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I pull my long hair out of its tie, only to retie it back in the same way.
Tapping on my legs to match the rhythm, I let the melody wash over me. The issue is tickling my brain, I just can’t quite figure it out, which is annoying as fuck. It’srightthere, out of reach in my mind. I circle my fingers around my temples, close my eyes, and lean my head back to rest on the couch cushion.
A hard flick hits me right in the forehead. “What the f?—”
I open my eyes and am greeted by a waterfall of curly hair that matches mine. Bex has her hands on her hips, pregnant stomach sticking out. She looks less than impressed, and Icheck my watch to see that it’s fifteen minutes past the time she said she would be here. I pause the music and take off my headphones, allowing the sounds of life back in.
“You’re late,” I grumble.
“You’re moody,” she retorts. “And I was here on time but you didn’t answer when I knocked, and you moved the spare key. It took me fifteen minutes to find the damn thing.”
“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” I run a hand through my hair again, trying to secure the pieces that have already fallen out. “Gabe kept coming over unannounced, I had to make it a little harder to find.”
