Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

With hands shaking and knees like bread pudding, I somehow managed to make it halfway through the auction without fumbling or disclosing to the world I was in the midst of a teeny tiny holiday psychosis.

From my spot on the little stage in the corner next to our pyramid of stockings, I couldn’t see Beau, but I definitely felt his presence. Or presents?

No, stop it. He is not the next Santa.

Either way, there was a joyous electricity buzzing in the air, and it had my hair frizzing out. The sleek shine of my brown mane was gone, replaced by a straggly mop made of dark ramen noodles.

At least no one seemed to notice. The guests were all smiling and laughing and overbidding on everything.

“Okay. Whoever’s under eighteen, look away,” I said with a big smile. “Stocking number fifteen is for adults only, donated by our own Buddy’s Boudoir.” I looked at the card with the description. “Opening bid starts at twenty dollars. Buddy says, and I quote, ‘Put the tingle in your jingle this Christmas with our signature peppermint pleasure massage oils.’ Gift pack includes a private couple’s class on the art of frosting your…” I looked at Buddy to the left of the stage. “I can’t say that.” I snickered. “But I’m sure everyone can come up with their own ideas.”

“I’d like you to frost my snowballs!” some man called from the back.

I squinted through the lights. It was that stupid Kevin, and he sounded drunk.

“Sir,” I said into the mic with a straight face, “I doubt you have any. But I bet your baby carrot is impressive to all the elves.” The room exploded in laughter. “Now, moving on. Can we start the bidding at—”

“Come on now, Slutty Tumbleweed!” Kevin yelled. “Don’t be shy! We all know you like to ho, ho, ho.”

With my mouth closed, I swept my tongue over the top row of my teeth and sucked my incisor for a moment. Why people did that, I didn’t know, but I guessed it was left over from caveman days when your enemy was about to get a bite taken out of his ass.

“You know what, Kevin? You’re an acehole.” Asshole! Asshole! I held up my palm. “I mean butthole! Sorry, parents. I know butthole is still a word you don’t want to hear at an event like this. But, kids, let this be my gift to you . Bullies can’t be stopped by turning the other cheek, by reasoning with them, or even tattling. The only thing that stops them is speaking the truth. The cold, hard, mean truth. Yes, sometimes, they even need a butt whooping—not that I advocate violence—but darn—some people really deserve it. So, Kevin, here’s my truth, which also happens to be the truth. You’re an insecure little dickins of a man, and you haven’t changed since middle school. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, this awesome, oh-so-articulate man ruined five years of my life because I wouldn’t let him touch my ti-ti…” I sighed. “My fluffy lady jugs. But, Kevin, I am here to tell you that you have failed at life. You have failed to grow into a man. Because a real man doesn’t put people down to make himself feel better.”

I drew a long breath, feeling years of nasty, hurtful memories lifting away. That felt incredible! I should’ve done it in middle school.

“You’re still a fucking ho, Meri!” Kevin called out. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Bitch.”

“Wow.” I raised a brow, shaking my head. Some people never learned.

Just then, I spotted my dad pushing through the crowd toward Kevin, my mom hot on his trail. Oh no. My dad’s going to kick the cookies out of Kevin.

“Oh, guys. No. He’s not worth it,” I said into the microphone.

There was a tussle and commotion, followed by the back doors flying open. I could see people pouring outside.

Oh shit.

I pushed my way through the guests who were trying to get outside to watch Kevin learn what kind of hardy stock us Winterses came from. My dad wasn’t a violent man, but he was no pussy either. He didn’t take crap from people, especially when it came to his wife and kids.

“Dad. Hey! You don’t need to do that. He’s an idio…” My voice faded as I broke through the crowd, who were all frozen in place, mouths gaped open. My parents were to my side, both with wide eyes.

Kevin was on the ground, cowering in the icy slush, a look of terror on his face. “No. Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered.

The creature standing over him had shaggy white fur and long fangs. Its eyes were bright red, and its long, sharp claws were raised, ready to strike.

I stepped back. “What the fork is that?”

“Kevin Foster,” said the creature, “you think I don’t know what you are? How you treat women? How you fantasize about hurting them? You were a mean little boy, and now you’ve grown into a sick and evil man.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll be good from now on. I promise,” Kevin cried and covered his face.

In that moment, I realized that this thing was his Santa. A monster.

But why?

The only explanation I could come up with was that he’d grown up without any magical holiday memories, like I had. No singing and fresh cookies. No hot cocoa and a father who dressed as Santa and delivered gifts. No delicious eggnog and games. No rom-com marathons and sledding in the backyard. His home must have been a nightmare, his Christmases empty and sad if this was his Santa.

“You were given chance after chance, but they meant nothing to you,” said the creature. “You are hereby put on the naughty list.”

Kevin kept on crying, and oddly enough, I just felt sorry for the guy. He was truly a miserable man because he’d been a miserable little boy.

I walked over and helped Kevin to his feet.

I flashed a dirty look at Beau. “He’s probably like this because no one ever showed him kindness or believed in him, Beau. Maybe you’d know something about that.”

I blinked, and Beau looked like himself again. No fur. No white beard. Just a guy standing there looking like a big bully.

I walked Kevin to my truck and gave him a ride home.