Death Comes For Christmas

Chapter 6 ~ December 18

Chapter 6 ~ December 18 Kenna Plays SantaKenna grunted as she wriggled her considerable girth into a more comfortable position on the long, sapphire-blue velvet sofa. It was a relic of her childhood, its rich fabric remarkably intact except for a couple of burn marks from parties back in the day, when everyone smoked. She wedged herself in place with pillows and arranged her iPad on her lap, then pulled a fluffy cream-colored throw over her legs.

She was rolling rye and Diet Coke around in her mouth, reveling in the sweetness followed by the burn of the whisky, when her older sister, Rita, texted.

Everyone confirmed for Boxing Day except Tony. Cass isn’t coming as usual. Any word?

Kenna gave her a thumbs down emoji and laid her phone aside. Within seconds, her phone dinged again.

Jesus, Rita...

But it was her son, Micky, texting.

Coming over in a few, need anything?

She smiled. He was such a good kid, always looking out for her. She texted him back.

Sure I’ll take a lotto and a diet coke

“Mum, Mickey’s coming over. Aren’t you going out with your friends tonight?” she said.

Freda leaned into the living room, stirring cream into a cup of tea.

“Stop screeching, I’m not deaf. And I’m staying in this evening. The Feast of the Seven Fishes is tomorrow, so the club will be deserted tonight. Plus, I have to finish my cards. Christmas is almost here, and I still have so many to write.”

As Freda turned away, Kenna scowled and stuck her tongue out. She wanted Freda to go out so she could relax with Mickey, just the two of them. It could be a lovely mother-son visit, but not with Freda throwing in her two cents, like the Queen of goddamn England. The crotchety old bat sucked the joy out of things. But what could Kenna do? Freda lived here, too. For now, anyway. But she was about to be 85, for chrissake, so how much longer could it be?

“Do you want anything from QuikMart? Mickey’s picking up lottos and some DC on his way over,” Kenna said, fighting the resentment in her voice.

“I would love one of those pumpkin spice lattes from Timmy’s, thanks,” Freda said.

Kenna started to respond that Mickey wasn’t going to Tim Horton’s, and that it wasn’t right to ask him, but she reconsidered. Let Mickey see for himself how unreasonable and demanding Freda was, how her relentless air of entitlement was rude and childish.

Kenna sent Mickey the text with an eye-roll emoji and went back to her online poker game. She was up a few hundred but still needed a big win to break even. She fortified herself with another deep gulp of her cocktail and focused on her game.

Mickey showed up a half hour later, stomping off snow and ushering a billow of cold air into the front hall. He kicked off his boots before stepping into the living room holding two coffees aloft, like trophies.

“Ladies! Your champion has arrived!” he said.

“Aren’t you just full of the Christmas spirit?” Kenna said, her face lighting up at the sight of her only son. She motioned him in, her arms open for a hug. “Come warm up, it’s cold as a well-digger’s ass out there tonight!” she laughed.

“That it is, Mum! Like a witch’s tit, eh?” Mickey said, laughing as he set the coffees down.

“Language, you two!” Freda chided, but they ignored her.

“Mum, I’ll put your diet Coke and two lucky lottos here.” Mickey set a plastic bag on the end table, and swung a tote bag full of wrapped presents onto the faded Persian rug. “I came bearing gifts to hide under the tree for Christmas morning. Can you believe it’s Sashay’s second Christmas?”

Kenna fussed over Mickey as Freda settled between the fire and the bay window in her favorite chair, a wide Bergere upholstered in navy and cream toile. Mickey presented Freda with her latte, the aroma of cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg filling the room.

“Here you go, Gram! Still piping hot! Smelled so good, I got one too,” Mickey said as Freda tilted her cheek for a kiss. “How about a wee shot of brandy to spice it up a bit?”

“That would be lovely dear, thank you. There’s a bottle of Hennessy in the kitchen bar,” Freda said, smiling up at him.

“Mum, somebody left the cap off and it evaporated. I dumped what was left. How about rum instead?” Kenna said.

“Don’t be an i***t, Kenna. How could an entire bottle of brandy evaporate? And what do you mean you dumped it? Down your throat? I guess you owe me a new bottle, now, don’t you?” Freda sniffed.

Kenna glared at Freda.

Fine, you old cow, have the last word.

“That’s okay, Mick, I’ll have rum. But make it a light splash. I have to write Christmas cards this evening,” Freda said.

As Mickey placed gifts under the tree, Kenna and Freda settled in; Freda silently sipping her latte while Kenna noisily slurped her rye and DC. After a while, warmed by the booze and blazing fire, their resentments thawed. Freda turned on the stereo to Christmas music, and soon Kenna and Mickey were singing along, with Freda joining in on a chorus now and then. Before long, the three of them were bantering, competing for laughs. It surprised Kenna to realize they were genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

With a soft moan, Freda set her cup aside and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “My goodness, that rum has gone straight to my head. Kenna, be a love and bring me an aspirin and a glass of water, will you? I’m feeling a bit wobbly all of a sudden!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mum. You’re fine. Probably too much caffeine this late in the day,” Kenna said, hoisting herself up and lumbering to the kitchen.

She returned with a glass of water and handed Freda a tablet. Mickey knelt by Freda, concern scrunching his eyebrows into an inverted v.

“Jesus, Mum, take your sweet frickin’ time while Gram chokes off on pumpkin spice!” Mickey said, reaching for the glass of water and glaring at Kenna over Freda’s head.

Kenna shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, Mick. She gets like this now and then.”

Freda dutifully swallowed the tablet. “I do not. And it has nothing to do with caffeine,” Freda said, as she stood. “I think I’d best lie down for a bit. Mickey, help me upstairs, dear.” She took Mickey’s arm, her right hand pressed to her chest.

Freda shuffled along, leaning heavily on Mickey’s arm, gripping the thick oak banister as she slowly climbed the stairs.

For a moment, Kenna saw her mother’s true age and felt a pang of regret, but it floated away on a wave of rye and resentment. Of course Freda would bring their good time to an end. At least she was out of their hair. Kenna was so tired of the lack of privacy under her mother’s roof. And she was tired of the way Mickey sucked up to Freda, bowing and scraping for her approval. When he came down the stairs on tiptoes, Kenna quickly rearranged her face, ditching the scowl for a smile.

“Not sure what got into Gram,” he said. His own latte and rum, now tepid, was still on the coffee table, and he downed it in one gulp. “She’s just too old to be drinking, I guess,” he added.

Kenna eyed him suspiciously.

“Mickey, the only thing in Mum’s latte was coffee and rum, right?” Kenna asked.

“What the hell, Mum? Jesus. What a thing to say,” he sputtered, his indignation shaming Kenna for her accusation.

“Hey, hey, settle down. I just don’t want any blowback if she wakes up with a roofie hangover,” Kenna said in a stage whisper, smirking into her glass.

“Really? That was like 10 years ago and a totally honest mistake! That roofie was for me, not Gram, and you know it, so don’t throw that in my face again. For real. I mean it,” Mickey retorted, his face flushing.

“Oh calm down, Mr. Sensitive. Come on over here and sit with your old Mum,” she said, patting the sofa with her plump fingers, the glint of jewels reflecting the twinkling lights of the tree.

Kenna had a more-is-better approach to almost everything in life, including jewelry, layering rings on every finger, at least two pair of earrings, multiple pendants, a Rolex watch and a stack of bracelets, all in various concentrations of gold, diamonds, and—tonight—sapphires. Her nails were painted a frosty blue with tiny crystal snowflakes embedded in the polish, matching her sequined Christmas sweatshirt.

Mickey sighed and plopped down, mother and son bookending the elegant sofa.

“So, what’s up with my dear old Mum today? How’s your pain doing?” he asked. “Do you need me to get you more fen?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have some on hand because it never lets up these days, hon. And thanks for worrying about me,” Kenna said, less irritable now that Mickey’s attention was laid out before her. “All the meds they have me on, and I still feel like hell. It sucks. And the pin in my shoulder... I hope you never have to go through anything like that,” she said, her eyes misting over with tears as she rubbed her shoulder.

This was more like it.

“I’ll bring you a little something to help with the pain,” Mickey said, winking. “Hey, have you talked to Dad lately?” He played with the fringe on the blanket tucked around Kenna’s legs, his expression distracted, almost pensive.

“No, why would I? He’s too busy with his w***e to talk to me,” Kenna said.

She still referred to her ex-husband’s wife as the ‘w***e’ even though Gina and Tony had been married for a decade. It wasn’t that she wanted Tony back in her life. It was that his betrayal still stung.

“Auntie Rita invited him for Boxing Day, but I didn’t see his response. Did you?” Mickey asked.

“Nope. He was copied on the email invite just like everyone else. You know Rita. Family is family,” she said, mocking her sister’s position on exes. “She texted earlier and she hasn’t heard from him. I bet Gina won’t let him come. I’ll give him a call next week because I’m not petty, like him,” Kenna said.

“Riiiight.”

“Whatever, maybe he’ll no-show again like last year,” she said, gulping the remainder of her drink.

“I don’t think Dad and Gina are going away for the holidays this year,” Mickey said. “Dad says he can’t afford a Hawaiian Christmas every year.”

“Oh, cry me a river. Mick, be a dear and bring me another, please.” Kenna held her glass out, wagging it at him.

While Mickey mixed her drink, Kenna nibbled the edge of an OxyContin tablet and shoved the remainder in her pocket. They weren’t as effective as they used to be. And she didn’t want to get into this conversation about Tony and the annual Boxing Day dinner. She just wanted some Christmas cheer with her baby boy and was grateful—glad in fact—that Suyin and Sashay were at home. Otherwise, the whole evening would be all diapers and tantrums. Mickey returned with her drink and popped the cap on a beer for himself.

“So, how’s work? I bet real estate’s slow at Christmas, huh?” Kenna asked.

“Mum, you have no idea how hard it is. I mean, for sure it’s hard all the time, but at the holidays, people don’t want to move, they don’t want to show their house, and the money just stalls out,” he said, putting his foot tentatively into the door Kenna had opened. He chugged half the beer in one gulp.

“Yeah, who wants people tramping through the house when you’re trying to get ready for the holidays? That doesn’t help you make a living, though, does it?” she asked.

“You know I don’t like to talk about it with Gram or Suyin around, but Mum, I’m having a hard time. Dad cut me off and won’t even give me a loan because, you know, the w***e and all,” Mickey said.

“What a d**k. He’s rolling in f*****g dough. He should at least take care of his only son,” Kenna replied. “Don’t worry. Your dear old Mum is here as usual, eh?” She couldn’t let Mickey down, not like Tony.

“No, Mum, you can’t be giving me money. You need it to live on, and I’ll be fine in a few months when spring sales start up again,” he said.

“Well, Mick, here’s a little secret for you. Don’t tell the c***k—sorry, I know, I know—Chinese wife,” Kenna said, in response to Mickey’s sharp exhale.

“Her name is Suyin and that’s all you need to call her. This racist bullshit...” Mickey’s lips pressed into a thin s***h of disapproval.

God, he looks like Tony when he does that. Ungrateful brat.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Anyway, as I was about to say before you got all huffy, I can loan you as much as you need. Keep your mouth shut, but I’m on Mum’s bank account, and she’ll never know the difference,” Kenna said.

“Oh wow, that’s good, I guess. I mean, Gram is getting pretty old. And you’ve always been good with money,” he said.

The oxy and rye were tag teaming through her nervous system, and Kenna was enjoying the fuzzy glow of her boozy high.

“Yeah, I have full access to her account, but for god’s sake don’t tell anyone. I mean it. I don’t want it coming back to me from Tony or Suyin or anyone, you got it?”

“Of course, Mum, who are you talking to here? I’m like a fiduciary in my job, right? I’m used to keeping all kinds of financial secrets,” he said, grinding Kenna’s resistance to dust with his words.

It sounded so noble when he said it like that. Kenna sighed in satisfaction. Now she had his full attention.

“Just grab the checkbook off the kitchen desk,” she said.

“Wait, Mum, do you really want to write paper checks on Gram’s account? Wouldn’t it be better to do a transfer? I don’t want her to worry, you know, because this is totally a loan,” Mickey said.

“That’s my smart boy,” Kenna said. It pleased her to be in cahoots with him, happy they were allied against Freda. “Hand me my iPad, and I can take care of it right now. Whoo!” Kenna giggled. “That drink is hitting the spot! How much, Mickey? Whaddya need to get you through?”

“Oh, I don’t know Mum, whatever you think is right,” Mickey said. “You know how expensive things are with a baby, a house, and a pretty wife who loves to shop.” He rolled his eyes.

Kenna giggled. “Oh yeah, the Princess must be kept in designer shoes and bags at all times,” she snorted. Suyin was not one to do without.

“Right? It’s like you’ve met her or something!” Mickey laughed along with her, and Kenna wallowed in his approval.

“Okay, I’m sending you an e-transfer for twenty thou, and you keep your trap shut, got it?” she said, her words melting together like slush. She stage-whispered, “Remember, I got the keys to the castle and the password to the treasure chest, and when the old bird croaks, we’ll split it all,” she said, giggle-snorting.

“Mum, this is why I love you so much! Because you’re the best! And speaking of the princess, I have to head out. Suyin’s gonna be pissed if I’m not home soon. How about I mix you one for the road, but then I have to go, ’kay?”

Kenna pushed out her lower lip in a fake pout and said, in a childish voice, “No fairsies. She sees you all the time, and I only get one or two visits a week!”

“I know but geez, Mum, she’s my frickin’ wife. I have to go home now and then,” he said, laughing. “Now, let me pour you a little refresher, and I’ll be on my way.”

After Mickey left, Kenna downed her drink. She turned off the lamp and nestled into the sofa, drifting in a haze of oxycodone and alcohol. Warmed by the fire and rye whisky, unwilling to make the long trek upstairs to bed, she pushed her head into the pillows.

Sashay’s brightly wrapped gifts sparkled under the Christmas tree lights. On the mantle, family photos framed in silver reflected the soft red and green glow.

Kenna pressed her body into the sofa, moldering in her resentment, dreaming of life beyond her mother and her childhood home. An idea was forming in the mist of sleep.