Trace

Chapter 11

~~~Jude~~~

Why am I here. Mrs. Hemscott from across the street is already ripped out of her mind in the kitchen, blubbering on my mother's shoulder in a hot mess. Apparently, she caught her husband in bed with their dog masseuse.

I hang around the banister of the stairs watching people pass by. They all laugh over cheese on tiny toothpicks with tiny napkins and tiny plates. Mariah Carey cries in the background but she's definitely not what I want for Christmas.

So as soon as I see Mr. Rusan set out the giant punch bowl, I make a b-line his way with a cup at the ready. He sets down two, giant jugs of egg- nog and beside the crystal cut glass bowl, a handle of rum stares back at me.

I lean against the wall as he pours the heavenly mixtures together and then pops a ladle to swim around. He leaves and I quickly spoon my cup to the brim, leaving just enough room to top off with extra rum.

I take a gulp, smiling to myself as the cream glides over my tongue and a familiar burning gather at the back of my throat. I wrinkle my nose at the riendeer that scamper across the table cloth. Since when did Christmas become so unbearable?

"Pour me one too?"

I swing my head to Ellie who stands before me with a hopeful smile. Her hair is curled as usual, perfectly laid but adorned with a Christmas tree headband. She wears a plaid mini skirt, rather racy for Ellie, with red stockings and a signature, ugly Christmas sweater.

But I have to grin because it's not just ugly, it's beautifully horrendous. It's none other than St. Nick with his reindeer, except he's nude and only a mistletoe lies in place to hide the scandal.

"Where'd you get that?" I point with a cup to the horror show on her torso.

Ellie glances down, "Can't tell. I'm hoping to win the competition this year."

"All for a stupid chocolate snowman?" I roll my eyes.

"Hey, it's three pounds of solid chocolate, in the form of a snowman, you used to dream about eating it."

"I was like...fourteen."

"That's only four years ago," Ellie frowns. I shrug and finish my cup only to turn around and fill up once more.

Ellie comes to my side and grabs a cup as well, looking over her shoulder quickly before she ladles a little egg nog for herself.

"Seriously, they won't care," I lick my lower lip.

"My mom does, she would never let me hear the last of it."

"What a fucking daredevil you are," I tip back my cup.

Ellie doesn't reply, but downs what little liquid she has and grimaces, "I hate rum."

"You don't hate it, you just don't get it."

"Don't get it?"

I peer down at her, bored, "You don't drink so you wouldn't know."

"I drink," she quips.

"Like hell you do. Those two beers you had at that one party, which you actually got into, doesn't count. You wouldn't know your ass from your elbow if someone gave you rum."

"What the hell makes you such an expert?" She glares at me and sets her cup down.

I finish mine, slam it and grab the ladle of the bowl, "I actually have people to see and places to go."

She gapes at me but as I drink my third, my head starts to swim and I forget she's even there.

"Jude, why are you talking to me like this? I haven't seen you in three months and-"