Page 4 of A Cozy Holiday
“I can clean kennels somewhere. Scrub holding cages with a toothbrush. Restock needles. I’ll wear a disguise.”
“I’m getting on my cruise now. Maybe I’ll let you join us in Barbados if you’re nice. Maybe we’ll both find a man.”
“No, thank you.”
“That is exactly what you need. A month off with some good dicking.”
“Other bosses don’t say this kind of stuff.”
“It’s for your own good, Joy. Merry Christmas.”
“I hate you.”
“See you in the new year. Rest. Please. Watch Hallmark holiday movies. Bake cookies and go to the mall to fuck a man in a Santa suit.”
“Too soon.”
“Love you!”
When my parents divorced,I was ten.
Mom sat me down, rubbed my back like she used to when I got a B on a test, and said, “Never, ever put your career on hold for a man. Don’t sacrifice your independence. Love doesn’t always last.”
I memorized those words, repeated them in my head until they became a mantra. Eventually, relationships became secondary, nice if the timing worked out, but never essential.
And yet, somewhere buried deep, a small, stubborn part of me has always wanted a family. Wanted kids. Wanted the early morning pancakes and a hockey game to go to after work. I want laughter and a love that feels like being pumped full of helium.
I can still hear the echoes of my parents fighting in the screeching of the subway system or when patients get frustrated. But I never wanted to be like Mom. I never wanted to end up scrambling to rebuild my life and career like she had to after Dad left her with nothing.
So, I threw myself into vet school, residencies, and endless nights at the clinic. I memorized protocols and perfected sutures.
In work, I was in control.
In work, I mattered.
In work, no one could break me.
Somewhere along the way, I settled in love.
It’s not the first time Parker and I have broken up, but it’s usually him breaking up with me after I get out of a fifteen-hour surgery because of yet another date I forgot. Not because I caught him with his dick inside someone who definitely isn’t me.
I cannot be here when he gets back. I can’t keep settling.
I could join Mom and Frank, my stepdad, on their Italy trip, or Dad and my stepmom, Didi, in Japan, but I don’t want to deal with the third degree about what happened with Parker. I’ll tell them after the holidays.
Maybe after New Year’s. Or Valentine’s Day.
Or never.
Across the couch, Jubilee blinks at me.She finally regained consciousness and is munching on daisies.
“We need to get out of the city,” I tell her
She flicks an ear.
An hour and a bottle of Parker’s nice Chardonnay later, I have thirty-two tabs open, including Airbnb, Craigslist, VRBO, and a blog post titled “How toCry,” which starts with “WatchMarley & Me.”
Am I really soulless?
