The Holiday Surprise

THE HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A short Christmas story by Harley Brooks

A fire crackled in the stone fireplace and a statuesque spruce tree stretched against a frosted glass backdrop. I nodded at Joe, the security guard slumped in the overstuffed leather chair, sandwiched between the rock hearth and Christmas tree. His eyes were half-shut and appeared far from alert, although I felt certain he missed nothing, including my crusty footprint melting on the slate entry.

When the elevator opened to the third floor, the scent of cinnamon encapsulated the small lobby leading to our private residence. My stomach floated with excitement the same as it had every year since childhood with the approach of Christmas. Mom had arrived her usual week ahead of schedule to decorate and bake our traditional holiday favorites. Being my first year away at college I wasn't able to help, so when Dad texted he was stuck in New York and wouldn't arrive until Christmas Eve, I changed my plans and took the redeye flight to spend three days alone with Mom.

We'd always been close because my father traveled with business, and I sensed something was off from her last email. Hopefully my surprise early arrival would give us the mother-daughter time I'd missed since moving away eight months ago.

Careful not to wake Mom, I slipped my boots off on the mat inside the entry door and tucked my suitcase against the wall until morning. The clackity-clack of wheels rolling over the hardwood floor would frighten her and possibly get me shot by the pistol Dad insisted on keeping in the nightstand. I sauntered into the living room, surprised to see the Christmas tree lit and flames licking fake logs in the gas fireplace. Sultry giggles wafted in the stairwell.

Hmm? Did Dad change his plans? Was his text to throw me off so he could have a romantic interlude with Mom before I arrived? Such a hopeless romantic!

My heart warmed at the idea my parents still acted like lovesick teenagers after twenty-something years of marriage. I secretly wished for the same kind of solid relationship someday.

Tiptoeing up the stairs, I'd barely rounded the corner of the hall to my room when the bathroom door opened. Trapped between the door to my parents' room, where from behind my mother's come hither statement of "Hurry darling, I'm getting impatient" beckoned, and the obvious object of her affection standing stark naked and erect in front of me, I couldn't stop the scream.

 "Oh my god! Mr. Harris! Mom! Holy shit!"

A frenzy of squeals and flashes of at least fifty-year-old skin continued to fill my vision as everyone clamored for someplace to hide. I slammed my bedroom door, flipped the lock, and raced to the window seat at the farthest end of the room. I pressed against the icy glass and squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to erase the images burned behind them. Mom naked. Our next door neighbor for the past fifteen years grossly exposed, holding her in his arms when she tried to gather me into an all too fleshy embrace. If I scrubbed my eyes with steel wool and drenched them in rubbing alcohol, I doubted the mental pictures would ever disappear.

Tears burned hot and bile licked the back of my throat. My mother—the woman I cherished, looked up to—a pillar of salt in our hometown—was sleeping with another man! And not just some random stranger, but the husband of her friend whose backyard meshed with ours.

I tumbled to the floor, barely reaching the wastebasket in time to hurl the in-flight snacks and beverages I'd consumed. The fetal position felt protective, the watery trails over my cheeks and bubbles from my nose, justified. The vibration of footsteps in the hall rumbled across my floorboards and hysterical verbal exchanges sounded muffled in my ears.

Three days until my father arrived. Three days of sorting through lies and excuses. Three days to decide whether to betray my mother, or my father, by where I'd pledge my loyalty. Three days until Merry Fucking Christmas...literally.