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“Just for a second, Kels. I’m just grabbing my suitcase.”
“Okay, well, drive safely, and remember, it’s okay to feel when you are back there,” she said, big blue eyes keen.
“Geez, Kelsey, I have feelings,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, sweetie, but you’ve been walking around like a robot ever since Dale,” she paused, wincing when I turned to face her.
“We said we would not mention his name. We made a vow!” I growled.
Dale was my latest failed relationship. He worked in the same office we did for an advertising firm in Manhattan. I hated my job. I felt slimy when I worked on campaigns that were clearly misleading the populace.
Maybe I needed a whole life makeover, I wondered as I found my suitcase and toiletries bag on my bed. Hmm. I didn’t remember putting it there, but whatever.
“I know, I know, but he was a weasel. With a super small penis. Like this small,” Kelsey said.
She waved her hand in front of my face, pinching her thumb and pointer together to demonstrate the size of Dale’s member. I snorted. The space she left between fingers was no bigger than a cocktail wiener, which was sadly accurate.
And that was not his worst trait. He was always complaining about how someone wronged him. He was overly critical of my body, the way I dressed, and how much I ate. You see, unlike Kelsey, my body was round and jiggly, and I was perfectly happy with it.
Plus sized is the correct term, but I prefer curvy or fluffy. I never lacked for attention or had to beg for a man to date me. For some reason, that motherfucker thought he needed to save me from myself. Lots of snide little comments like ‘you have such a pretty face Rena, if only you could lose some weight’ not to mention the public body shaming, like when we would go out to eat and he would order me a salad.
I mean, I liked salad as much as the next person, but I was old enough to order for myself, fuck you very much. So yeah. That relationship ended fairly quickly. I mean, Dale was a dick with a mediocre dick.
Go figure.
But I had bigger things to worry about than that jerk. This was it. The last weekend I would ever have living in the house where my grandparents raised me. They were both gone now, and I was officially on my own. The last member of my family.
I. Me. Morena Grimaldi.
Fuck, that was depressing. I was single-handedly responsible for the obliteration of my line. A little dramatic? Maybe. But I was already thirty-two with no prospects and my biological clock was not just ticking, it was TICKING, with all the subtlety of a bomb detonator in a Die Hard movie.
Yippee-ki-yay. What can I say? It was the holidays, and I was still a huge fan of that franchise.
Best. Christmas. Movie. Ever.
“Call me when you get there!” Kelsey shouted as I walked down the hall with my rolling suitcase and other bags.
I threw her a wave, having ignored her ten-minute tirade about how I needed a little nooky to get over this latest emotional upset. She had it all wrong. I was not upset about Dale. I was more upset that I hated my job, had no family left to speak of, and was going to spend the holidays alone.
Alone. Fuck. I really was alone. That word stuck in my head, and I frowned the entire way to Kent Township. Three hours of driving listening to Christmas carols had done nothing to improve my mood, either.
Turning into the familiar driveway, I spent ten minutes sitting there, looking at the house, lovingly cared for by Gramps. The sprawling old farmhouse had two levels, and a finished basement. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, kitchen, and all the usual accommodations. It was lovely and big, if a little worse for wear. I wished I could keep it, but I couldn’t afford to fix what needed fixing or to maintain the five acres of farmland that came with it. Selling was my only option, and I hated that.
I sighed heavily. This was going to be my last Christmas at home. Bolstering my courage, I got out of the car and grabbed my bags, walking up the brick path Gramps laid with his bare hands till I reached the double doors. I ran my hand along the heavy wood door and pressed my forehead against it.
It was time to say goodbye…
Chapter Two- Morena
I knew coming back would be difficult. Memories filled me the moment I pulled into the driveway. I pictured my grandmother baking fresh muffins on Christmas morning while she prepped a roast for dinner. Gramps was in charge of the pasta and sauce.
Though the kitchen was big enough for two, Gramps always found a way to bump her with his hip or get tangled in her apron strings. My favorite memories were of the two of them in the kitchen. Granny loved to keep a radio on while she cooked, and when Gramps was there, he’d always take her hand and pull her to him before waltzing her around the room.
Then, after she stopped giggling and told him to let go before the muffins burned, he’d kiss her nose and tell her to be stingy with the frosting. I made a mental note to make a batch of muffins on Christmas morning in their honor. It was the least I could do.
Walking through the place, I made several more notes. Things to pack. Things to give away. Things that broke my heart to think of parting with. That was probably why I wound up opening a bottle of wine to keep me company while I unpacked.
Of course, I had no idea when I started on this sad little adventure that I would wind up staring down the wrong end of a cell phone, which I honestly couldn’t be sure was not currently recording me and my frosty jingle bells in the middle of the night after I had imbibed a little too much of Gramps’ homemade wine. If I had and prescience about any of that, I would have thought twice before I took Gramps’ keys from Mr. O’Malley.
