Page 1 of A Little Christmas Jericho
Chapter 1
"Jericho, we need to talk."
Ugh.
No conversation worth having ever started with those words. I continued measuring out the dog food as Oscar continued to tap his foot against the scarred linoleum floor like some middle-aged, melodramatic stay-at-home parent fighting with her unruly child.
I suppose...
"Jericho, I said—" He puffed up, crossing his arms like he thought he was in charge. But real Daddies didn't have to announce themselves three times before anyone listened. And that was part of the problem, wasn't it?
"I know what you said, Oscar," I bit back before he could start with his tirade.
I didn't look up.
Instead, I tipped the scoop into the chipped ceramic bowl on the floor and gave it a little shake so the kibble leveled out nice and even. Murphy, my scrappy terrier mix, was already dancing in frantic little circles behind me, toenails clicking on the floor.He routinely bumped into me, the counter or Daisy, my Great Dane, thanks to his very poor eyesight.
Daisy, in turn, sat down with all the grace of a collapsing skyscraper, drool already hanging from her jowls. She eyed Oscar as she always did, careful to keep as much space between her and him as possible. As big as she was, she was terrified of him.
Of most anyone that wasn't me.
The cats were nowhere to be seen, but I couldn't blame them. I'd be hiding too if I thought I could get away with it.
"Jericho," Oscar said again, his voice climbing toward a whine. "Are you even listening?"
I finally turned, bowl still in my hands, and let him see the scowl on my face. "I heard you the first time. You don't need to repeat yourself like a broken record."
His jaw clenched. "I'm serious. This—" He waved a hand at the animals like they were a pile of dirty laundry instead of the family who kept me breathing through my toughest times. "—this isn't working. Every time I come over, it smells like... well, like a zoo. They're everywhere. On the couch, on the bed, even in the bathroom. Always in the damn way. I can't even get your attention without competing with them."
Murphy barked once, sharp as if in agreement, except I knew he was just excited I hadn't set his food down yet. My boy liked being fed. Almost as much as he liked cuddling with me on the couch.
I crouched to place it on the floor, smoothing the food into a little hill because Murphy liked it that way, before I answered. "Maybe that says more about you than them."
Oscar huffed out a breath before tightening his arms even further. He looked, in that moment, less like the Daddy he claimed to be and more like a kid sulking because someone else got the bigger toy.
"Jericho," he said, slow and deliberate now. "I can't keep doing this. It's me or them. Either the animals go... or I do."
I stared at him. Murphy nudged his bowl until it got wedged in the corner between the two kitchen counters so he could dig in properly, and Daisy lifted her tush from the floor to bump my hand.
She didn’t want her food. She was good at waiting until it was time. No, my girl could feel when my insides were all over the place, and she shoved her fear aside to press against me, anyway. Daisy hated Oscar with a small, dignified fury. It might have had something to do with her anxiety and his larger than life presence, but she avoided him as often as possible. But for me, she could be, and would be brave.
I couldn't pretend I didn’t know this was coming. Oscar had been dropping little landmines for a few weeks now. Snide comments about “too many animals,” jokes that weren’t jokes, the way he'd look at the fur like it was clutter instead of the best parts of my life. But they weren't just animals. They were mybabies. I might have pulled them out of cages at the shelter, but they’d pulled me out of a different kind of darkness.
After Mama died, the world got quiet. My apartment smelled like grief and microwave dinners, and then one by one the universe put these weird little miracles in my path. Finch with his morning meows that sounded like a broken music box. Tofu who slept on my chest like a small, purring anchor. Murphy, who thought every shoe was a chew toy and doggy grinned at me when I scolded him. Daisy, huge and soft and clumsy, who learned to sit like a lady because I taught her with a pocketful of biscuits and a no-nonsense voice that still sometimes reminded me of Mama's. They had been practice for being loved again.
And here this faker was standing in front of me, trying to tell me that I needed to pick between him and my pets? My family?
As if!
But daddies were rare. Real ones, people who stepped up, who could hold you when you were small and still respect the fact you were also an adult, were not something you found at the corner store. Daddies who wanted a little boy? Practically extinct. The thought of being single again, of not having somebody who would—sometimes—hold me and tell me everything would be okay, even if he did it badly…that thought tightened my chest so hard my breaths came out like broken glass.
"Right before Christmas too," I said, because the timing felt cruel enough to make me sound childish.
Oscar's face softened for a second. Then hardened right back into that exacting, practical... asshole he always tended to be. "I'm not being cruel, Jericho. I'm being realistic. You can't keep living like this. Iwon'tlive like this. It's unsanitary, expensive and... just unsexy."
"To you," I said. The word came out small and brittle. "To you it might be all those things, but to me, it's my home and myfamily."
Daisy leaned all the way into me. I put my palm flat on her head and let my fingers sink into her fur. My voice felt far away when I said, “They saved me, Oscar. They are my family.”
