The Holidays Series

by Tara Sivec

  “What should I do?!” Noel asks again, taking a step back from me when Turd Ferguson aims his unnerving eye in her direction.

  “FUCK YOU, RICK AND DARYL!” I shout, ignoring Noel’s question as I squeeze my eyes closed and grab onto a clump of matted fur on Turd Ferguson’s back.

  I can’t believe I’ve been a dedicated fan to that show for years and they didn’t even have the decency to teach me what the fuck to do when cats turn into zombies. Now that I think about it, it’s pretty strange there was never an episode with someone fighting off a crazy poodle or a brain-eating hamster. All those people infected by the zombie virus and not ONE fucking house pet came back to life to wreak havoc on their owners? BULLSHIT!

  With a growl louder than Turd fucking Ferguson’s, I clutch tightly to the fur on his back and yank him as hard as I can off my arms and toss him away from me.

  Noel and Bev gasp, Aunt Bobbie cries, and Reggie continues butchering quotes from The Holy Grail, his accent getting worse and worse each time he speaks.

  “It’s got fangs! It’s a killer kitty!” Reggie says with a laugh, holding his fingers up by his mouth to look like fangs and wiggling them around.

  “Why isn’t he leaving? What is he doing?” Noel whispers, moving behind me to grab onto the back of my shirt and peer around my shoulder at the cat.

  Turd Ferguson stands next to the grave, right where I tossed him. He turns his furry neck slowly and looks down into the hole, then aims his freaky-ass eye right back at me to foam at the mouth, spit and yowl at the top of his zombie cat lungs.

  “Holy shit, did he just threaten me?” I ask in fear, wrapping my arms behind me to pull Noel closer as I start stepping us both backward to get as far away from Turd Ferguson as I can.

  Aunt Bobbie huffs and marches around all of us, squatting down to the cat’s level a few feet away from him.

  “Don’t you worry, Turd Ferguson, Mommy’s right here. I’m sorry I tried to let that evil man bury you alive,” she tells the cat in a soft, baby voice. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and I promise I’ll never make you go anywhere near the cat murderer again.”

  I open my mouth to protest and remind her it was an accident, when Turd Ferguson spreads his rage to Aunt Bobbie as well. With two back legs that are most likely broken, the cat uses his front paws to drag the back end of his body across the grass, hissing and spitting and just all-around not having any fucks left to give as he tries to attack the only person in this yard who loves him.

  She falls back on her ass when he gets right in her personal space and scrambles away from him when he suddenly stops hissing to just stand there and glare at her.

  “Can I hit him over the head with a shovel now?” Reggie asks in a bored voice.

  Bev smacks him in the arm and, surprisingly, Aunt Bobbie doesn’t say a word as Turd Ferguson slowly turns and begins dragging himself up to the house. We all watch in silence as he makes his way around the side of the yard and disappears from sight, yowling angrily the entire way.

  “Well, that was fun,” Reggie announces, breaking the silence when the cat noises fade in the distance. “Sam, get your shit together. You’re going with me to The Walmarts to see a guy about his trunk fireworks. You should probably bring your gun, those parking lot salesmen are a squirrely bunch. Time to serve and protect me.”

  Reggie marches past us and up to the house, not even caring that Turd Ferguson might be lurking in the bushes, just waiting to attack. We all wait in the backyard, holding our breaths until we see him open the side door to the house and go inside without any issues.

  “I need a drink,” Aunt Bobbie states as Bev helps her up from the ground and the two of them creep toward the house, jumping and jerking their heads around every time they hear a noise.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside and wash these scratches,” Noel tells me, coming out from behind me and gently wrapping her hand around my elbow to avoid the cuts and dripping blood.

  “So much for a nice, quiet evening at home so we can talk,” I tell her with a nervous laugh, wishing I would have at least been smart enough to get myself a crossbow and keep it on me at all times.

  “Don’t worry about anything right now,” Noel reassures me as she pulls me toward the house and we dodge all the Fourth of July decorations littering the yard. “I’ll talk to my dad and let him know you’re too traumatized to go firework trunk shopping with shady people.”

  Reggie lifts one of the windows at the back of the house and sticks his head out of the opening.

  “Get your pansy-ass moving, bitch nuts! Don’t even think about backing out on me, or I will sell all the ice cream and cheese you’ve ever dreamed about to the highest bidder and you’ll never touch dairy again!” Reggie bellows before pulling his head back inside and slamming closed the window.

  “I’m pretty sure my dad just said he would whore me out if you didn’t go with him,” Noel states in shock as we get to the side door and she holds it open for me.

  “Yep, pretty sure that just happened. It’s fine. I’ll go with him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, and we’ll talk when I get home. I doubt it will take very long,” I tell her as she leads me into the kitchen and starts running warm water.

  Noel takes her time cleaning off my zombie cat wounds, pausing every few minutes to kiss me and tell me she loves me. At least one good thing came from the Turd Ferguson attack. She’s stopped obsessing about making sure I’m calm, she’s calm, and everyone around us is calm. After what just happened, I think she realizes all hope is lost where that shit is concerned. I’ll get this nonsense with Reggie over with as fast as I can, then take Noel home and finally tell her why I’ve been having problems in the bedroom.

  Thankfully, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I know without a doubt that this medication will kick back in at any moment. At least that will be one less thing for her to worry about and we’ll have nothing left to do but look forward to our backyard, all-American, wedding, where hopefully Turd Ferguson doesn’t try to drag anyone back to hell with him.

  9

  Drunk in Love

  Noel

  The last week flew by faster than I thought it would, each day becoming more and more hectic and not allowing any free time for Sam and I to talk. We’ve both been so busy that we barely have more than a few minutes alone together at the end of the day to kiss each other goodnight and pass out from exhaustion.

  Sam’s been working a bunch of overtime so he’ll be able to take two weeks off for our honeymoon, and I’ve been doing my best to let my mother, Aunt Bobbie, and Scheva finish organizing everything for the wedding so Sam doesn’t worry about me freaking out. I’ve also been working a lot of long hours at my greeting card job, making sure I have plenty of new card samples available for when I’m out of the office at the wedding. After being unemployed from Christmas to Valentine’s Day, and that being one of the main reasons why I wouldn’t initially move in with Sam when he asked because I didn’t want to live with him if I couldn’t contribute, being offered a job at a place called Seduction and Snacks was like a dream come true. When the owners of the sex toy store, slash bakery read a few card samples I’d designed that my mother sent to them, they hired me on the spot and I’d never been happier. I got paid to design cards for the seduction side of the store, with insults and sarcastic comments I’ve used my entire life.

  Sadly, the current designs I’ve been working on revolve around everything that’s been happening lately and they all suck. Since Sam won’t be home tonight because the guys decided to take him out for a small bachelor party celebration, I stopped by my parents’ house after I got out of work to help my mother put the wedding invitations together. While she gets everything set up on a picnic table outside, I’ve spent the last hour trying to squeeze in a few more greeting card ideas.

  “Even if your penis is broken, I’ll still love you forever…because you protected me from a zombie cat,” Scheva reads out loud as she looks over my shoulder at my lapto
p screen.

  “I’m sorry you’ll always hate Mister Ed…because Mister Ed actually means your dick is defunct.”

  “Please don’t hate me because my family gave you high blood pressure…you should hate me because my coochie can’t bring you to completion.”

  “I really want to have sex with you, but it always ends with one of us crying, because…elbow fisting.”

  “Everything sucks, nothing is good, blah, blah, blah…fuck you, fuck your mother, and fuck off.”

  I sigh loudly when Scheva finishes.

  “Well, that last one is certainly direct and to the point, but I have to say, the elbow fisting one might be your personal best.”

  Slamming my head down on the dining room table, I thump it against the surface a few times before Scheva grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back up.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she scolds.

  “How am I supposed to do that? Sam and I still haven’t had time to talk, and now I’m probably going to get fired because I can’t come up with a good card idea to save my life,” I complain.

  “First of all, you’ve designed hundreds of cards since you started working there and they’re all amazing. As soon as you get your shit together, you’ll get your mojo back,” she tells me, pulling out the chair next to me and flopping down in it. “And second, you can’t get your shit together until you admit that you and Sam haven’t talked because neither one of you is making an effort, not because you haven’t had time.”

  I open my mouth to argue and she holds up her hand to cut me off.

  “Don’t even try to deny it. If you really wanted to talk to him and get to the bottom of everything, you’d make the time. The good news is, you both seem to be equally dysfunctional and are obviously a perfect match.” She smiles. “Just admit it that you’ve been too afraid to talk to him. You’re scared he’s going to confirm your stupid worries that he doesn’t want you anymore, your family is too insane for him, and that he’s been avoiding talking to you because he wants to call off the wedding.”

  “I’ll admit to all of that if you admit that the reason you broke up with Alex is because you were scared,” I tell her, turning the focus on her so I don’t have to think about how stupid I’ve been acting and say out loud that she’s right.

  “Fine. I admit it,” she replies easily, which makes my mouth drop open in shock.

  “I can’t believe you said that so fast. You didn’t even call me Adolf Titler or Fuckass Shitlord. Should I be worried?”

  Scheva laughs. “See? Look at you with the insults just flying off your tongue. You’ve still got what it takes.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a few minutes before I finally speak.

  “I’m really scared,” I whisper.

  “So am I,” she mutters back. “Everything happened so fast with Alex. He acts like a toddler ninety-percent of the time and it’s so annoying.”

  “But?” I prompt her.

  She lets out a huge sigh. “But, the other ten percent? He’s hot, and sweet, and funny, and he really loves me even though I’m a raging bitch.”

  “Everything happened with me and Sam so fast too, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, aside from the whole my family might kill him and now he needs to be heavily medicated because of them, thing.

  “So, are you going to talk to Alex, tell him you still love him and that you’re sorry you freaked out?” I ask.

  “Aunt Bobbie sent me a text photo of him dressed up in drag that said ‘Please, for the love of God, take him back. This is what you’ve done to him. I can never un-see this.’,” she tells me, in her best Aunt Bobbie voice.

  “That bad, huh?” I laugh.

  “It was hideous. He’s a very, very ugly woman. If I don’t take him back, the drag queens of the world will burn me at the stake. It’s the least I can do for your aunt and her people,” she shrugs, making light of a situation that I know is anything but easy for her to talk about. Scheva doesn’t do very well admitting she made a mistake. Which is probably why she’s my best friend.

  “So, I guess that means I have to make time to talk to Sam as soon as possible. Tell him I found his pills and completely freaked out and acted like a lunatic because I’ve been afraid he won’t want to marry me. Apologize for going overboard on the whole Keep Calm and Don’t Die thing, while also making sure he knows I still want to marry him even if his penis never works again, and promise that my vagina will never hate him,” I ramble.

  “That’s true love right there,” Scheva nods. “You might want to also warn him that if this problem persists for the rest of your lives, you’ll turn your vagina into a mood ring so he can be properly warned ahead of time. It will be pink when it’s happy, and black as death when it’s hangry for cock.”

  “Did we just have a moment, Fuck Knuckle?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Pretty sure we did, Dick Cheese. Can we stop now? All of these feelings and shit are starting to give me hives,” she complains, scratching her arms.

  We both get up from the table to head outside and see if my mom is ready for us to start putting together the wedding invitations, when Scheva suddenly grabs my arm before we get to the side door in the kitchen.

  “Wait! I almost forgot something. Don’t move.”

  She leaves me standing in the kitchen and runs out of the room. Coming back a few seconds later with two tank tops in her hand, she tosses one at me and smiles.

  “I know you’ve been a complete pain in the ass and don’t want to do any of the normal wedding bullshit, but since Sam is having a mini bachelor party tonight, I figured we could do the same while we’re here. I brought enough vodka to kill an elephant,” she informs me.

  It’s been driving my mother insane that I’ve vetoed all of the traditional wedding things, like a bachelorette party and a bridal shower. Bar hopping and making asses of ourselves where I would inevitably be forced to wear a tiara and a sash held no appeal whatsoever, and I didn’t see the need for a bridal shower since Sam and I live together and already have everything we need for our home and life together. Even though I didn’t necessarily want to have a typical bachelorette party, I still love that Scheva totally gets me and decided we should just get drunk and make bad choices in the comfort of my parents’ home.

  Unfolding the white tank top, I smile when I see what’s printed on the front of it in sparkly, gold lettering.

  “Awwwww, ‘Drunk in love,’” I read.

  Scheva turns her own black tank top with the same sparkly gold lettering around and I laugh when I see what it says.

  “Just drunk,” I recite. “These are perfect.”

  We both quickly change out of the shirts we’re wearing into the tank tops, in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, not giving a fuck if anyone sees us. Scheva goes to my parents’ freezer and grabs a bottle of vodka, and we link our arms together as we head outside into the backyard to help my mother.

  “You’re so pretty, I think I’m gonna cry,” Scheva tells me with a sniffle, taking a swig from the almost-empty vodka bottle as I twirl in the middle of my parents’ living room.

  “I’m going to cry too. But mostly because you’re a horrible, ungrateful child who bought her wedding dress without me,” my mother says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “You’re so pretty, but you’re still horrible. And did I mention ungrateful?”

  I stop twirling to look down at my wedding dress. I also stop twirling because my twirling, and the room twirling, is a bit too much twirling for one person, and I don’t want to throw up on my pretty dress.

  “I already told you, mom, I saw it in the window of the vintage dress shop by our house and I had to get it before someone else did,” I explain for probably the tenth time since I bought it a month ago, showed it to my mother, and she flopped her body on the floor, throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which I’d never seen before.

  It’s an off-white, floor length lace dress, with one-inch lace straps, a sweet
heart neckline and a red silk sash that ties around the waist. The material is thin and drapes straight down my body, without any poufy, heavy layers that will make me melt into a puddle of sweat at an outdoor wedding in July.

  “Fine, I guess I can forgive you for denying me the experience of watching my only daughter try on a hundred wedding dresses, realizing when she gets to the last one that the first one she tried on is the one she wanted, wasting hours, days and weeks of my life that I will never get back,” she complains.

  Scheva leans forward on the couch and hands me the bottle of vodka. I bring it up to my lips and take a huge swallow to block out mom-guilt, wondering if I should be concerned the alcohol no longer burns going down my throat.

  “However, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for lighting a hundred wedding invitations on fire. Do you know how long it took me to hot glue gun those little red bows on all of them? You’re a horrible child, and Nicholas is now my favorite,” she informs me.

  “I HAVE MADE FIRE!” Scheva shouts, pumping her fists in the air, yelling the line again from Cast Away that she kept screaming out in the back yard when we scooped up those invitations, outran my mother and tossed them into the fire pit.

  I stumble over to the couch, clumsily handing the bottle of vodka back to Scheva as I flop down on the cushions in between the two of them, throwing my arm over my mom’s shoulder.

  “Let me ‘splain somefin to you,” I slur. “Sam, I really really love him.”

  I pause, trying to remember what else I was going to say. It takes me a minute and then I snap my fingers.

  “Sam has nobody,” I continue, my body swaying back and forth. “NO-BODY. Zilch, zero, zip, cinco.”

  “I think cinco means five in Spanish,” Scheva informs me. “Or it means rooster. My Spanish is a little rusty.”