Chapter Eight

Randy

M y sister-in-law, Zelda, is stretched out on the living room recliner with both of her grandbabies, one in each arm, when I show up that afternoon with my laundry bags.

As usual, Zelda has every single inch of the house decorated for the holidays. It’s a regular fucking winter wonderland, full of tinsel and lights and so much fake snow. She has a decorated tree in every room, including tiny ones for the bathroom counters, plus one for her cat, Cinnamon, who hates everyone but her. I have to carefully scoot past an arrangement of red and white nutcrackers by the main tree in the living room that looks like they’re about to go to war instead of herald in the holiday season.

“There you are!” she says, as if I’m the feral tomcat who’s been missing for days.

“Do you mind if I use your washing machine?”

Her arms full of babies, she motions with her head toward the laundry room. “No, go ahead. We’re having meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight. There’s more than enough to go around, if you want to join us.”

“Let me think about it,” I tell her, opening the door that hides the washer and dryer. Temporary stickers of snowmen and gingerbread men decorate the plain white surface of the machines. I dump a load of sheets into the washer and start the cycle.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. The boys would love it if you stopped by.” Zelda’s never had an indoor voice. Her words carry across the room into the kitchen where her washer and dryer sit.

I come back into the living room and sit down at the end of the couch closest to her. The babies don’t move a muscle despite our conversation.

“The youngest of those boys is a father, and it’s Zach’s first Christmas as Alpha. He really needs to–”

“Randy Lamar,” she says, cutting me off, “don’t start all that bullshit with me. Just because you’re not Alpha anymore, it doesn’t mean they don’t need you around.”

I sigh. “I never said that, but Zach needs time to be the Alpha. If I’m here all the time, people are going to keep coming to me. They need to learn to come to him.”

“They will come to him, but it’s okay if they come to you too. Besides, it’s Christmas.”

“Mama, leave Randy alone. You know he hates Christmas,” Zander says, coming in to take his baby from her.

She clucks her tongue. “You think you’re the only one?” She readjusts the other baby in her arms and sighs. “Don’t think you’re the only one who’s spent the past eighteen years pretending to love this fucking holiday. I hate it just as much as you, Randy Lamar. But it’s not about me, it’s about the kids.”

Guilt gnaws away at me just as strong as it did eighteen years ago. “I can come by for Christmas dinner, I guess,” I say, relenting, like I always do.

Zelda nods. “Good, then I don’t have to be the only Scrooge around here.”

Nolig, Zander’s mate, comes in at the end of the conversation and looks between us both. “You know, neither one of you has to celebrate Christmas anymore if you don’t want to. I could talk to Red and Zach about picking it up.”

Zelda shakes her head. “We don’t celebrate holidays because we want to. We do it because it’s a time for the entire pack to be together. We do it to keep things moving forward, to have something to anchor us, to–”

“But maybe blindly moving forward isn’t always the best idea,” Zander interrupts, softly.

Zander’s phone begins to ring, thankfully, saving me from having to talk about any of this. He looks at the screen, then answers it. “What’s up?”

There’s a long pause as someone speaks on the other end. “You’re fucking kidding me. No. Yeah. He’s right here.”

Zander holds the phone out toward me. “It’s Zach.”

Reluctantly, I take it from him. “Let me guess, there’s a problem with the alarm?”

“How’d you know?”

I take the phone from him with a sigh. “Hey, Randy–” Zach starts. I don’t let him say anything else.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” I say, cutting him off and handing the phone back to Zander. “Can someone please switch my laundry over when the cycle ends?” I call out as I head toward the door.

“We’ll get it taken care of!” Zelda hollers out behind me as the screen door slams shut.