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“That’s what I’m saying. Now the question is, what kind of bulbs go on the tree? A theme? Or just go balls-to-the-wall with nostalgia and make it mismatched and full of joy?”
“Don’t rope her into your insanity,” Junior said as he came in. “And there’s not going to be a tree.”
“Sure, sure,” Barry agreed in a tone I knew was just to placate Junior. There would be a tree, alright. Hell, if I were the betting sort, I would bet on the fact that Junior would be wearing that stupid hat and trudging through the woods to chop it down with Barry right on his heels.
“Food,” Junior said as he dropped down the boxes and the liter of ginger ale the local pizza place usually gave out for free with orders. “And I need another drink. You want one?” he asked, looking at me.
“I sure would. An Old Fashioned, please,” Barry said.
“No.”
“A Grasshopper, then,” Barry went on, and the pain in Junior’s expression was enough that the stress of my life melted away for a second in the face of the absurdity of his.
“Fuck no.”
“A margarita will work then,” Barry said as he slid two pieces of greasy pepperoni pizza onto his plate, then piled on three garlic knots.
“I don’t have fucking mixer shit,” Junior said.
“How about gin and ginger?” I asked, gesturing toward the bottle of ginger ale. “You won’t even taste the gin in it. It’s one of my favorites,” I told him.
“Why are you humoring him?” Junior asked as I sidled up beside him with two cups mostly full of ginger ale.
“Isn’t it easier to play along than to fight him every step of the way?” I shot back.
“No. If you’re nice to a stray dog, they won’t go away,” he said.
“I’m sorry to break this to you, Junior, but Barry has already scent-marked your entire house. He’s not going anywhere.”
To that, Junior sighed as he passed me the gin.
“I’ll get rid of him once he eats, then we can talk,” he offered.
I wasn’t exactly in a rush, so I just shrugged at that. Then went ahead and enjoyed some pizza that I didn’t need to pay for, and the company of other people for a change.
That was one thing I hadn’t realized would become so much of my life once I opened a business. Just how often I would be alone. I worked impossibly long hours in a mostly empty coffee shop. I went home to my shoebox apartment. Alone. To bed alone. I woke up alone, ran errands alone, and ate alone.
I didn’t remember the last time I’d shared pizza with others.
And the company wasn’t too bad.
When he wasn’t infiltrating every aspect of your life, Barry was actually kind of interesting and funny. Mostly unintentionally, but still, it counted.
We talked a lot about Christmas traditions.
Of which he had many, and I had few.
His parents had really been present. They put up the tree, watched movies, baked, got up early Christmas morning to open gifts. The whole shebang.
“What about you?” Barry asked.
“Well, one year, my mom painted a tree on the wall,” I told him. “Which got us kicked out a week later. We lived in the car for a while after that.”
“I, ah, I don’t know what to say about that,” Barry admitted. “Boss, you got anything to say to that?”
“Sounds rough,” Junior said.
“It was what it was. My mom had mental health issues that led to addiction issues and dating bad guy issues.”
