Page 27 of The Santa Rules
CHAPTER 9
BELLA
“Mom! MOOOOMMM!”
I come tearing down the stairs running toward his voice. “Isaac? Where are you?”
“In here! You have to see this!”
Turning the corner, I come face-to-face with my thirteen-year-old who, in the past few days, has magically eclipsed me by at least an inch in height. “What is it?” I ask, clutching my chest, willing my heart to stop racing. “With the way you were yelling, I thought it was an emergency.”
He steps back, ushering me into the bathroom by grabbing my shoulders and moving me directly in front of the toilet.
The putrid smell assaults my nostrils first. But it’s what I see when I look down that has me nearly about to dry heave. “Oh my God. Oh God. Is that your turd?”
Iamgoing to throw up.
When I turn away—because how the fuck can I look at that baby arm trying to claw its way out of the toilet?—I gape at him in wonder. How did this skinny little body makethat?
“It was a one-wiper,” he says proudly.
I am done. Done with the conversation. But against mybetter judgement, I continue to engage him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know. A one-wiper. It’s when you only have to wipe once and the toilet paper is clean. Isn’t it funny how it takes two wipes to know it’s a one-wipe turd, but it takes one wipe to know you’re going to go through a whole roll just to get clean? I hate those ones when it feels like you’re wiping a marker.”
I stare at him dumbfounded, clamping my mouth shut so no more of this stench gets inside. “Are you seriously referencingParks and Recright now?”
“It’s a classic. Wipe, a little bit of poop. Another wipe, still a little bit of poop. Wipe again, a little bit more poop. You keep wiping and wiping like you’re swiping at a marker.You know.”
I speak out of the side of my mouth so I can’t taste the smell of his bowels still permeating the bathroom. “I wish I didn’t know what you were talking about. But I doknowthat Santa will not step foot in this house if you keep making smells like that. Now move. I’m not going to continue standing in this outhouse that you’re trapping me in and listen to you give a dissertation on wiping your ass.”
“I bet Dad would think it’s cool. I mean, the headispoking out of the water.”
I push my way past him, into the hall, moving into the kitchen with him hot on my heels. I turn around and pull him into a hug.
“You know, you have this annoying way of calling me an asshole, and I’m not sure I like it.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” he says, trying to hide his emotions, but I can hear it in his tone and feel it in the single hitch of breath he lets out.
We stand there for several seconds as he lets me hug him. I can’t remember the last time this kid let me hug him this long, but I can guarantee he wasn’t almost my height, and his little body was a lot squishier and not so gangly.
“I don’t want to go to Dad’s for Christmas,” he mumbles as he pulls out of the hug and stalks over to the cupboard.
“Oh?” I try to play it cool, but inside my heart is dancing like that meme of Oscar fromThe Office.
“Yeah. I mean, Aspen sounds cool, but I kinda wanna stick around here.”
I deflate a little, realizing he’s probably just wanting to hang out with his friends.
“I’m working on this gift for Avery,” he admits quietly.
“You are? What is it?”
“It’s a surprise.” He shoves a handful of pretzels in his mouth, and I know he’s done sharing, and I watch him saunter up the stairs to his room. When I walk by the bathroom, I look in and notice his turd poking out of the water.
“You didn’t flush!” I scream after him, and he nearly falls down the stairs, grabbing the banister as he slides on his socks and darts into the bathroom to flush it.
“Sorry, my friends are waiting for me, and I’m AFK right now.”
