F*CKING AWKWARD HOLIDAYS: 25 Short Stories of Awkward Holiday Encounters

by Plendl, Taryn

  For now, I can only hope their seeming positive impression of me will translate into support for my “I love Rosie” campaign.

  Aunt Ellie squeezes next to me on the single-person overstuffed chair. Ellie’s a much younger version of Rosie’s mom and could pass for Rosie’s older sister.

  Based on the initial ass-grabbing and sexual innuendos she’s made all night I think she might be interested in me.

  “So Rand, you’re quite the hottie.” She rubs my bicep. “I have a weakness for men with dark skin and green eyes. Are you single?”

  Nope. I was wrong. She’s not just interested, she wants me.

  And now she’s squeezing my thigh. Who said she could touch me at all?

  Warning! Pervy cougar-lady coming in from the right.

  I try to pull away, but we’re wedged in the seat so tight there’s nowhere to go.

  Mr. Steinberg watches with amusement, while Bruce squints at his aunt’s hand harassing me. “Umm, Aunt Ellie? You may want to give Rand some space.”

  I like this guy. Thanks for helping a dude out.

  “Why’s that?” she asks, rubbing her breasts against my arm now.

  “Rand, do you want to tell her?”

  Tell her? Did Rosie tell Bruce about the three of us? Even so, there’s no way I’m going to spill the secret to the rest of Rosie’s family without her being a part of the discussion. Better play it safe.

  “Huh?”

  Bruce rolls his eyes at my lackluster response. “Ellie, he’s with someone.”

  Ellie jumps like she’s been shocked, then tries to wiggle out of the chair. Somehow she ends up on her knees in front of me. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you and Rosie were a—“

  “Not Rosie,” Bruce says and steals a quick glance at his father before turning back to his aunt. “He’s with Mike.”

  Mike. Did he just say, Mike? As in, Bruce thinks Mike and me are a couple? As in, sure saw our awkward hug-dance outside by the garage earlier, but that doesn’t mean we’re in a relationship. Well, we are in a relationship. Kind of. We don’t have sex. Sort of. This is way too hard to explain to myself, let alone someone else.

  Before I even attempt to correct Bruce’s assumption, Gram Linda puts a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Rand, would you help me bring the gifts from the garage into the living room?”

  Gram Linda is tiny, but her presence is huge. This four-and-a-half foot woman is the alpha-queen matriarch of the family. When she speaks, everyone listens.

  I stand to obey and so do Mr. Steinberg and Bruce.

  “Sit down,” she orders them. “Rand’s a big, strong boy.” Then she leaves the room, apparently expecting me to follow.

  As I follow Gram through the house, it occurs to me that I haven’t seen Mike or Rosie in a while.

  “Here’s the garage.” Gram Linda nods at me to open the door.

  I step in first and holy shit.

  Mike’s on his knees with his head between Rosie’s legs as she lies back on the hood of a black sports car. Judging from the sound of her soft moans, she’s pretty close to coming.

  I try to body-block Rosie’s grandmother from entering the garage. It’s the only thing I can think to do to protect them, but the small woman evades me by ducking under my arm.

  Gram Linda points to the large pile of gifts. “There they are.”

  Umm, yeah.

  There. They. Are.

  A surprised squeal from Rosie gets Gram’s attention.

  “What are you two doing in here?” Linda eyes narrow as she assesses her granddaughter’s compromised position.

  Rosie sits up fast and in doing so, kicks Mike in the chest, propelling him back toward the mountain of Chanukah gifts. Time slows as he teeters and tries to catch himself before crashing onto the pile. The sound of crunching boxes and breaking glass echoes in the cold room.

  Rosie slides off the car too fast and trips over Mike’s leg. She lands on top of him, exposing her panty-less ass.

  I need to get to them so I can help, but Gram Linda blocks my way with her hands on her hips. How can this woman take up so much room?

  “Excuse me, Gram, can I please get through?” I ask.

  She doesn’t move.

  I’m unprepared for Gram Linda’s delighted smile. She shows no sign that she’s offended by Rosie’s naked-ass predicament. “Beverly was right. You do have a boy!”

  No. Beverly was wrong. Rosie has two boys.

  Mike and Rosie climb to their feet on their own. Rosie steals a nervous glance at me.

  Now, Rosie. Tell her.

  “Yes, Gram. Mike’s my boyfriend.” And she wraps her arms around his middle in a side hug.

  That’s it. That’s all she says.

  She doesn’t acknowledge that I’m her boyfriend, too.

  What the fuck am I—the chopped liver her mom served as an appetizer?

  I push past the three of them and grab an armful of crushed gifts, not noticing or caring what I pick up. “Where do you want these, Gram Linda?” I can’t hide the gruff disappointment in my voice and I don’t miss the sad, shamed look in Rosie’s eyes.

  There’s a prick of pain in my hand, but I’m too jacked up to care.

  When I’m done depositing the gifts in the living room, I head back to the garage to get another load. On the way, I pass Mike and Rosie who carry their own loads of wrapped boxes.

  Mike mouths, “Sorry,” as he goes by.

  Rosie has tears in her eyes. She knows she screwed up big-time.

  I set my jaw and keep walking.

  Man, I’m so pissed. And we can’t even talk this out because her family’s all around. Instead of going into the garage, I find the first empty room and stare out of the window into the black night. It does nothing to ease my frustration.

  “Rand?” Rosie places her hands and forehead on my back. Each touchpoint is a reminder that there are three of us in our goddamn relationship. It’s a reminder that her omission caused me more pain than I’m willing to admit.

  “Rand, honey, you’re bleeding.”

  * * *

  “I didn’t know what to tell her, Rand. I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t respond to her apology. I can’t. At least not yet. I’m afraid if I say anything, my words will be harsh and I won’t be able to take them back.

  Rosie has me seated on the closed toilet in her private bathroom with my hand now shoved under running water while she searches under the sink for a bandage. It took her five minutes to tweeze the particles of glass out of my palm. I feel worse for whomever what supposed to receive that gift than I do for myself.

  I study Rosie’s bedroom through the open door. The bubblegum pink walls and bedspread are so different from Rosie’s style now. I don’t think she even owns any pink clothing. Who is this girl? Or rather, who was she before we met her Freshman year?

  “Here. Give me your hand.” Rosie balances on her knees in front of me.

  Under other circumstances, I’d imagine this scenario ending differently. She’d unzip my jeans, then take my dick out and give me a blowjob equally torturous as the one she gave Mike in our hotel room. She’d do it right here in her childhood bathroom. Because who the fuck cares where you are when you get quality head from the woman you love?

  Sweet Jesus. Circumstances or not. Pissed off or—yeah, definitely still pissed off. The idea of Rosie sucking me off makes my dick grow. Which fucking hurts while sitting in this position with my jeans tight against my crotch.

  “Stop.” My voice cracks from emotion, frustration and wanting her so badly.

  “Are you okay, Rand? Do you feel faint?” Rosie’s sweet concern makes me throb harder.

  Somehow, I lean forward and kiss her, even though I’m sure my tight jeans are killing the sperm holding our future babies’ DNA. It’s an angry kiss, not intended for making up, and based on the way she’s responding, I’m sure she knows it.

  I break our connection and stand, aligning my crotch with her
face. Rosie knows what I want and wastes no time getting my pants down to take my dick in her mouth.

  Fantasy fulfilled. And it feels so fucking good.

  I lean my forearms on the wall to keep my balance while I increase the pace. Just a few more thrusts and I’m going to explode down Rosie’s throat.

  Maybe it will help me forget all the bullshi—Oh, yeah. Oh oh, yeah. Oh—

  “Darling, when you’re done with your friend, come downstairs. Your mother wants to open the gifts.”

  The voice is too close and the accent is too familiar. Holy fuck.

  Pump. Pump. Slow pump. Shrivel shrivel shrink.

  “OhmyGod, Rand, it’s Bubbie. Do you think she saw us?” Rosie motions for me to get myself back together.

  I look over at the wrinkled hand closing the bathroom door.

  “Yeah, she saw.”

  Once I’m decent, we rush out of the bathroom only to find her grandmother looking at the pictures on Rosie’s bedroom wall. It’s obvious she decided to wait for us, but she doesn’t turn around.

  “He’s your boyfriend? You picked the big one, no?”

  At five feet eleven inches, I tower over the entire Steinberg family but I’m not tall by any means. Maybe Bubbie’s talking about my dick, I mean, penis size. I mean, shit, she just saw it in her granddaughter’s—Jesus. I cannot even go there.

  Rosie grabs my hand and tugs me toward her grandmother who finally turns around. “Yes. Rand is my boyfriend.”

  This is an improvement over her ignoring me when she confessed to being with Mike in the garage, but Rosie’s still not getting it. There are three of us in this relationship. And pretending to her family that she’s dating only one of us—no matter which one of us it is—does not work.

  “Well, he’s quite the package.” Bubbie delivers her statement with a straight face and quite the naughty expression for someone her age.

  If I can find a silver lining in this ever-awkward and most embarrassing evening, maybe, just maybe, I’ve clinched the vote of at least one of the Steinberg women.

  * * *

  “Mr. and Mrs. Steinberg, thank you for including Rand and me in your holiday celebration,” Mike says, expressing our thanks over the last bites of dessert.

  Rosie still hasn’t mentioned our relationship to her parents and I decided to accept the fact that this conversation isn’t going to happen tonight. I’m done pushing her toward something she’s not ready to do. It wasn’t fair of me in the first place and I owe her an apology.

  “Ahem.”

  The entire family turns to look at Gram Linda, who uses my shoulder to stand up from her chair. Shoulder touching must be her thing.

  “I have some news about our girl Rosie.” She blows her granddaughter a kiss. “It’s not really my news to tell, but we all know how shy she can be.”

  The family waits. I wait, and so does Mike. I look at Rosie on the other side of the table, and she’s waiting, too, her face pale and eyes wide.

  Oh no. No. This is definitely not Gram Linda’s news to tell. And since when is Rosie shy?

  Rosie stands up. “Gram, please.”

  “Hush. It’s something to celebrate. A miracle. Just like tonight is the miracle of lights. Now sit.”

  Rosie obeys her force-of-nature grandmother and sits down.

  “Our girl has a boyfriend.” Gram blows three kisses at Rosie. “Mazel Tov!”

  Bubbie Beverly pops out of her seat. “Yes, she does! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  No. No. Nooooo.

  Rosie’s mom raises an eyebrow at the lovely old gossips. “Who is it?”

  And they point. Gram Linda IDs Mike across the table and Bubbie Beverly pokes me in the chest.

  Gram Linda blurts, “I caught Mike and Rosie doing the kissy-kissy in the garage.”

  Well, that’s one way to put it.

  “I caught Rosie, umm…” Bubbie Beverly takes a moment, “She was kissing big Rand upstairs.”

  And that’s another way to put it. I’m suddenly thankful for the miracle of tactful grandmothers, especially when they’re meddling in business where they don’t belong.

  Rosie chokes like she’s going to be sick.

  Bruce smirks and adds, “This is interesting. I almost caught Rand kissing Mike.”

  What a fucking disaster.

  Rosie’s mother turns to her with red-faced confusion. “Rosalie Ellen Steinberg. I don’t understand what’s going on. Which one of these boys is your boyfriend? You kissed both of them tonight? Are you a cheater?”

  “Rand.” Mike keeps his voice low. He nods at Rosie whose lower lip is quivering and her eyes are filling with tears. I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now, but she was right, this is as bad as she thought it would be.

  Mike and I round the table to stand next to Rosie. I smooth her hair and tilt her chin up. “It’s okay.” I don’t exactly know what’s okay, but I want her to know whatever happens, it will be okay.

  Rosie turns to her parents. “Mom, Dad, I do have a boyfriend. I—” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, there’s a new determination on her face. “I have two boyfriends, actually.”

  Her hand snakes into mine and she does the same with Mike. She tugs, and we pull her to her feet like we do at home to get her up from the couch or a chair.

  “We’ve been together almost a year,” Rosie tells her entire family.

  Their faces register varying levels of shock and maybe even some admiration at her revelation.

  Mrs. Steinberg’s New York whine cuts through the room. “You mean you’re a gang-banger, Rosie?” She turns to Rosie’s father. “What do they do, Samuel? Take turns with her? Do they take turns with each other?”

  “Mom, STOP!”

  Everyone’s eyes are on the spectacle that is angry-Rosie. They must have witnessed her in action before because the air in the room shifts and it seems everyone’s sitting on the edge of their seats to see what she will say.

  “What happens in our bedroom is none of your business, Mom. But if you must know, I am not a gang-banger or anything close to what you think that is. And Mike and Rand don’t.…” Rosie runs her thumb up my palm in her thinking move. She scratches my cut but I don’t react. “They don’t sleep with each other or kiss each other. They sleep with me and kiss me. We’re a ‘triple,’ Mom, just like you and Daddy are a couple. We love each other. I’m sure it seems weird to you, but how we are is right for us.”

  Rosie looks fierce as she glares around the table and dares her family to argue. “It’s what we came up here to tell you. And I was scared because I didn’t know how you’d react, and…and maybe I was right or maybe I was wrong.” Rosie pulls Mike and me closer. “But I don’t care because it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks as long as we’re together.”

  I’m so fucking proud of Rosie. The love and confidence and commitment she’s portrayed has made tonight’s pain and confusion worthwhile.

  “She’s right, Mr. and Mrs. Steinberg. We love Rosie and we’ll do anything to keep your daughter happy.” I want them to know what she means to us, too.

  Mrs. Steinberg stares at a dish of jelly donuts for a long time before she says, “Fine, then. What are you all waiting for? Finish your coffee before it gets cold.”

  * * *

  After what might be the strangest introduction to Chanukah in history, Rosie’s finally where she belongs, wedged between Mike and me on the basement couch. We’re watching videos of her as a child on the ancient TV. The overhead lights are off and the room glows from the screen. Most of Rosie’s family has gone to bed, but we need this time together. We need to reconnect before we’re forced to sleep apart.

  So much about tonight sucked, but through it all I never questioned Rosie’s commitment to me, or Mike or our relationship. Even when she told each of her grandmothers about the other of us being her boyfriend, I understood her motivation. I just didn’t deal with it very well.

  Her family was more acc
epting and supportive than any of us could have hoped. After dessert, we talked privately with her parents. We told them our story and answered their questions, which were mostly to confirm that no one bothered us for being different.

  Each of her grandmothers pulled us aside and asked Mike and me embarrassing questions about our own families and backgrounds. Gram Linda also wanted to know if we planned on having kids one day and how would we know who the father was. Rosie deflected that one by reminding her we were still in school and she should bother Bruce about future great-grandchildren. Bubbie Beverly wanted to know which one of us was “the bigger boy.” Uh, no comment.

  We did it, though. She did it. Our Rosie.

  Rosie’s fingers swirl patterns in my hair. I glance toward Mike and see her other hand tracing a button on his shirt. She’s thinking again.

  “I love you guys. Thank you”—she kisses each of us on the cheek—“for understanding. I really screwed up tonight.”

  She climbs into my lap and delivers a soft kiss full of apologies and silent promises. I respond in kind, adding my own apologies for not understanding her the way I should have.

  Rosie reaches for Mike and kisses him, too.

  He responds with a kiss more desperate than the usual laid-back approach he takes to all-things-Rosie. He hasn’t said much tonight, but I’m sure the events affected him as much as they did us.

  One thing’s for sure, Mike is the only one of our three that didn’t screw up tonight. He’s the freaking golden-boy. And he deserves the title.

  We spend the next several minutes making out and dry humping until someone says, “Look Sandy. I think I need to find myself two boyfriends. That right there is better than watching porn.”

  Aunt Ellie. Of course, it’s Aunt Ellie. But who’s Sandy? I don’t remember meeting anyone by that name tonight.

  When I look across the room, my heart nearly stops when I see Mrs. Steinberg staring at our three bodies entwined. It’s too dark to read her reaction, but she doesn’t say anything to us.

  “I forgot something in the kitchen, Ellie.” She pushes her sister back up the stairs and the only other thing I hear her say is a quiet, “Oy vey,” before the basement door shuts.