Nope, not jealous. In fact, I pity them, falling for someone they can’t hold on to. I feel that Colin would be different. According to all the info I’ve found on him, he likes long-term relationships, and isn’t into one-night stands.
Dora, wake up. You don’t need any more drama in your life, so forget about Colin and never in a million years think about Drew in this way again … even though he bought presents for your whole family and can be so sweet when he wants to.
“Are you asleep?” Jeff asks, and I open my eyes to see him and Drew looking at me.
“Nope, just enjoying the fact I have this awesome, leathery backseat all to myself. Drew, drive on. God forbid we’re late. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Both guys turn back around, and I hear the engine purr to life before we roll smoothly out of our garage.
“Dora, we’re here.”
Jeff opens my door, startling me. I can’t believe I fell asleep. Did I snore? I feel my face. At least I didn’t drool. Drew is hidden by the trunk as I let Jeff help me out of the car.
“It snowed.” I look around in wonder at the light layer of white stuff covering everything.
“You were out cold. I thought your snoring would shake the car, but thank goodness it has good shocks.”
“I didn’t snore,” I stammer. “Did I?” I smack Jeff’s shoulder as he gives me a wicked grin.
“Ow. You’re so gullible.”
“What did I miss?” Drew chimes in, his hands full of bags. I relieve Drew of a couple of the bags while sending him a smile, but then turn back to glare at Jeff.
“Nothing. Here, Jeff, you get the rest.” I start up the driveway, careful to avoid the black ice, with Drew following closely behind. Before I can knock, the door swings open and my dad’s beaming face greets us.
“Merry Christmas, all. Drew, I love your hat.” My dad points to his own identical Santa hat.
“Seems we have good taste, sir.” Drew attempts to shake hands with my dad, but it’s awkward with his hands full.
“What did I tell you about calling me sir? It’s Alex, and here, let me help you with those.” He grabs some of the bags and moves out of the way so we can move inside. Behind us we hear a “whoa,” and Jeff slides on the slick driveway, somehow managing to stay on his feet.
“Wow, that was smooth, Jeff.” Bridget peeks her head around us and gives him a thumbs up. Is it bad that I’m secretly happy his grin is a little wobbly?
“Hey, Bridget, it’s good to see you again,” Drew says.
She blushes bright red as he leans down to give her a hug. “Yeah, you too. Have to go and help Mom,” she mumbles, and I see her grab her phone from her pocket. I’d bet a million dollars that she’s conference calling her posse as she runs into the house.
“Did I hear my name?” My beautiful mom looks amazing in her red Christmas sweater and long black skirt, and even her fuzzy bunny slippers don’t seem to ruin the outfit.
“Yeah, Bridget said she was coming to help you, but unless that means going upstairs and making a phone call, she forgot,” I say dryly.
“For gosh sakes, Alex, let everyone in. Are you trying to heat the outdoors?” Mom pulls us in and Jeff follows right behind us.
Dad shakes his head, and the white bobble thing on the top of his hat jumps around. “FYI, I was admiring Drew’s car and the snow.”
“Oh my goodness, look at all of these presents.” Mom says. “Let’s get them under the tree. I have to hurry back into the kitchen. Your grandmothers are in there by themselves. Dora, you come with me. I need to have you there just in case we need a referee. Alex, take Jeff and Drew into the living room, and make sure you wake up Dad. He’s had a long enough nap. Dinner is going to be a little late. It seems the turducken needs more time than the roast. Oh, I forgot hugs.”
She motions for Jeff to lean down and gives him a big hug and then motions for Drew and gives him the same. My heart jumps a little at the look on Drew’s face when my mom hugs him. He even closes his eyes.
“Now, off you men go and leave the cooking to us. That doesn’t mean you won’t get out of doing dishes though.” She pivots and I follow her into the oddly quiet kitchen.
Grandma stands at the stove stirring something, and Grandmother is sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. The kitchen smells lovely and my stomach growls, letting me know it didn’t have breakfast this morning.
Grandmother looks at me sternly. “I heard that, young lady. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I was too busy wrapping presents, but I usually do eat breakfast.” A lecture on Christmas Day is just what I need.
“A body is a machine that will not work if not properly maintained,” she continues. Oh brother. How many times have I heard this in my life? A times million at least. “When I was your age, I ate a nutritional meal three times a day. Not like you youngsters who drink those power drinks and eat doughnuts. I swear, our country is in trouble with the shape of the youth today.”
It’s best to not say anything and just let her rant. I hope when I’m her age—okay, if I make it to her age—I will not act anything like the woman peeling potatoes in front of me.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Grandma grabs me in a hug and smacks a kiss on my cheek. Then she turns to her adversary. “Take the stick out. It’s Christmas for Pete’s sake.” And with that, she goes back to the stove with a wide smile on her face. I look at my mom, who’s trying to keep a straight face, but fails to as she opens the refrigerator pretending to look for something.
Yes, it’s a typical start to Christmas. Love, family, and comments about my grandmother’s stick…what more could I ask for?
“So, Dora, only Drew could make it? Where’s his family at this time of year? Are they Jewish? Do they know he’s queer?”
Grandma doesn’t even take a breath, and I’m left wondering if I should answer or let her grill him herself. In light of the holiday I decide to answer her questions. “His parents are divorced and are off with their new families, and his sister is visiting her boyfriend’s family in Spain. Yes, the country Spain. No, they’re not Jewish, and finally, he’s not gay.”
“As usual, your insensitivity is spot on,” Grandmother says. “Wait, what? He’s not gay? I only allowed you to live there under the assumption they were all gay. I think we need to discuss this.”
Allow me to live with them? For all that is holy, I don’t need her permission. But I keep my mouth shut and look to my mom, who has finally come out of the fridge empty-handed but in control of her emotions.
“Beatrice, Dora is an adult, and she has her own little apartment within their loft. I think she’s sensible and levelheaded.” Good ol’ Mom always comes through for me.
“Yeah, Beatrice, butt out. Our Dora is not looking for some eye candy, who may or may not be gay,” Grandma adds.
“If she had gone to finishing school, this wouldn’t have happened. She would have graduated by now, and we’d be planning a society wedding. She would most definitely not be living in sin with three men. I can assure you of that.”
Should I keep my mouth shut, or should I blast away? It’s a family holiday, so I bite my tongue. I’m getting tired of her attitude toward me though. I guess I’ll be a wimp and let it slide like I always do.
“Beatrice,” my mom says in a shocked voice. “She is not living in sin. That would mean she’s sleeping with one of them, and …” My mom’s face is full of anger.