The poor guy has been through a lot.
“Hopefully, the rest of the night is uneventful.” He turns and leads me up the stairs.
I follow close behind him. Who knows what might jump out at us next? “It’s just a work party, right? How bad can it be?”
He swings open the door to the house, and the image that meets us is on par for how the night is going.
There’s a half-dozen shirtless, hairy chests, and a giant fake palm tree decorated with Christmas lights. But the strangest part is the tiny pig in the Santa suit running straight at us.
I don’t know why I assume it will stop, but it doesn’t. Not until it rams into Michael’s shin.
Michael folds in half and lets out a mild string of expletives.
***
I grip Michael’s arm, hiding behind him as we enter the house. If there’s another pig around here, I want to be prepared. “What’s happening?” I can barely find my voice over the ukulele music.
This is not the same house I was in on Sunday. The original decor is still up, but it’s been added to. It’s now a very confusing mix of Hawaii and the North Pole.
“Is this… a luau?” I ask.
Michael scratches his head. “I sure hope so. If not, the pig is completely confusing.”
Out of the windows leading to the backyard, I catch sight of a bonfire.
That looks safe.
“My dad goes a bit overboard for the holiday party,” Michael says, avoiding my eyes.
“A bit?” There are people drunkenly hula dancing around the fire, and the guy handing out drinks looks like Santa on a beach vacation. But that’s not all. There are plastic flamingos everywhere. I’ve knocked over two already.
People keep coming up to us, and Michael introduces them as his coworkers and their spouses. But my brain is spinning and unable to retain any of this new information.
I was supposed to be at a movie, gawking at Ryan Reynolds and elbow-deep in a bucket of popcorn right now. But then Karli justhappenedto drive by the most adorable little gazebo and insisted on a selfie. I will so get her back for this.
A man bumps into me, and a sheen of sweat transfers from his back to my arm.
I love how giving people are around the holidays.
I’ve never been to a holiday work party, but I was expecting a little more… sophistication? And a lot less… skin.
Michael finishes his conversation with sweat-man, then tucks me under his arm and pulls us into a pigless and skin-free corner. “Sorry. My mom used to let my dad run the holidays, but then she realized what he was capable of, and now he only gets this one night a year to do his thing.”
Speaking of the man. Mark Bentley walks up to us in a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. At least he’s properly covered.
“Hey, Juliet.” He sticks out a hand, and I shake it. “So good to see you again.”
“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t get the memo.” I motion to my jeans and sweater.
He waves away my comment. “Welcome to the luau.” He surfs his hands through the air like they are riding a wave. “Everything is laid backtonight.”
Clearly.I really hope that woman by the tree is wearing something beneath her hula skirt.
“Dinner will begin shortly. We’ve got the grill going outside, and Kabobs is running around here somewhere,” Mark says.
My forehead scrunches.
“Kabobs is the pig,” he explains.
