Page 10 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
“She has to keep up with her hot young husband,” Erik jokes, planting a smacking kiss on Jody, who’s six years older than him.
“Ew,” Naomi says.
“Now, honey,” my mom starts, and I know where this is going. “Your mother is a vibrant woman and has needs. There’s nothing gross about her sexuality.”
“Moving on,” my dad says, saving us from more sex conversations by herding us out of the room to finish the downstairs tour. Each space is decorated for Christmas, from a Nativity scene to miniature trees with tiny ornaments to real garland twined around the banister on the stairs.
Everyone else has been here for hours already, but they still feel the need to show us around and provide their own commentary. After a long car ride of mostly silence with Bea, it’s a welcome cacophony that continues through dinner, meatloaf made by Yvette and Lance.
(Erik tells usmeatloafis the best safe word to use, and Naomi tells him she’s heard that joke before. Erik shrugs and says, “What, do I have to have original content?” and then we have to explain to my dad what a safe word is.)
Finally, when everyone’s done eating, Jody says, “It’s time to draw for the secret Santa!”
I groan, because this is going to take ages.
Jody gets up to gather supplies, and my dad pulls a pen out of his shirt pocket.
Bea clears her throat. “So, uh, remind me what the new rules are again?”
Everyone stills for about two seconds, glancing at each other until they burst out laughing.
“The rules haven’tchanged,” Jasper, Kayla’s husband, says.
“There was a whole email thread,” Bea insists.
“Yes, well, your father got the harebrained idea that we should do white elephant gifts instead?—”
“I found the perfect gag gift,” Erik interrupts.
“—but we unanimously vetoed him because we’re all adults and the last thing we need is people fighting over gifts that are just going to go into the trash in a month or two.”
“Exactly right,” Mom agrees.
Our secret Santa rules are simple: we draw names the first night together, and then we have to buy the present from somewhere local for less than twenty dollars. In Pithole, this was often a favorite snack from the supermarket or miscellaneous crap from the fly-fishing store (completely negating the idea that our secret Santa gifts have never been wasteful and each recipient cherished their gift, but I digress). This year, we’re excited to have actual gift shops to shop in, and that was the third biggest reason not to change the rules—behind tradition and no one wanting to feel bad for stealing the better gifts.
“I still have the white elephant gift from my office exchange two years ago.” Erik turns to the rest of the table and brags, “It’s a reindeer that poops candy.”
“I’m sure someone will get you something just as tacky as a pooping reindeer,” Jody assures him, returning to the room with paper and a glass bowl.
Erik sighs good-naturedly with a lopsided grin.
“So,” Jasper reiterates. “No changes.”
“God, Bea, read your emails,” Kayla gripes.
Bea glares at her sister. “I read my emails?—”
“Clearly.”
“—I have ajob.”
“Girls.” Jody uses her no-nonsense tone and Bea and Kayla snap their jaws shut. Bea’s sisters love to razz her about my big-city job.
“Okay, now, everyone write your name on a paper, fold it up, and throw it in the bowl,” Jody explains, as if we haven’t been doing this for the past decade.
She distributes pens and paper and soon the bowl is full of wadded-up paper balls. Jody produces a twelve-sided die and rolls it, reading six from the ivory face, and counts clockwise from her left till she points at Lance. He draws a name, reads it, and stuffs it in his jeans pocket.
The next roll is eleven, and Jody starts the count from the seat to Lance’s left, until she lands on Bea. And so on, until Jody’s finger points at me.
