Iloved Christmas almost as much as Halloween. So, I found myself completelyheartbroken, as I realized I wouldn't be able to make it to my parents' housefor Christmas Eve dinner. And there was no one to blame for it except mynauseous gut.
Nothinghad gone right from the moment I woke up and found Brendan at the foot of thebed, packing his things.
“Whatare you doing?” I had asked, already acutely aware of the uncomfortable gurglein my stomach.
He’dlooked up, startled to find me awake. “Oh, I didn’t tell you?”
“Tellme what?”
“Oh,I guess I forgot to tell you,” he muttered, turning to open the closet door.“I’m going upstate to see my family.”
Furrowingmy brow, I sat up, as anger coalesced with the nausea to force a rolling achethrough my gut. “And you didn’t think to invite me?”
Keepinghis back turned, he sighed. “Come on, Kendo. You and I both know you’d neverwannacome see my family for Christmas. You’regonnago out to see your folks, like always, and that’sfine, but don’t pretend like you’d actually want to come with me.”
“What…” I thrust a hand into my hair, genuinely confused and startled by exhaustionand bitterness in his tone. “But … you didn’t evenask. You, you have noidea what I would’ve said, or, um, we could’ve split—”
“Kendall.”He turned on his heel,exasperationand annoyance inhis narrowed eyes. “Don’t do this, okay? You’regonnago see your parents and I’mgonnasee mine. Now, dropit.”
Then,hoisting his bag over his shoulder and without waiting for my reply, he hurriedthrough a hug and a muttered Merry Christmas, before hurrying for the door.
Ithad left me feeling unsettled and upset. Shouldn't he have wanted to spend theholiday with me? Why wouldn't he have invited me along? Sure, in past years, wehad never taken holidays too seriously before and we rarely faced them togetheras a couple, but shouldn’t this year have been different? We were going to be afamily soon, so why wouldn’t we spend the holidays as one? I tried convincingmyself that it was just his way out of habit, but my mind couldn’t be fooledthat easily.
Shortlyafter Brendan left, I’d taken a quick shower before starting to pack for thetrip home with Mrs. Potter. I had successfully gotten my clothes and Mrs.Potter's things together, but it was when I started to stuff the gifts for myparents into a bag, that the sick feeling in my stomach was kicked into highgear.
Thenow familiar sensation of lightheadedness came on so strong out of nowhere. Myheart rate quicklyescalatedand nausea continued tognaw away at my gut. I begged my body to behave itself, to let me see myparents and not get in the way of Christmas, but no amount of pleading wouldmake it listen.
Withsweat dotting my brow, I rushed to the bathroom and violently emptied my stomachin the sink. I stared at my ghostly pale reflection in the mirror and wasstartled by how terrible I suddenly looked. I had looked fine just after myshower, healthy, with pink cheeks and bright eyes, but now, I appeared sallowand sickly. I remembered the Chinese takeout Brendan and I had for dinner thenight before and wondered if that could've been the culprit. It seemed likely,and after deciding that must be what was going on, I trudged my way to bed andflopped onto the mattress. I called my parents and told them I wouldn't be ableto make it. Of course, they were disappointed and offered to pick me up. But Ireluctantly declined, because as much as I hated to admit it, my bed seemed farmore appealingat the momentthan spending a nightwith family and friends. So, they reluctantly made me promise I'd take care ofmyself and call if anything got worse. Then, with a Merry Christmas and an Ilove you, I hung up before crying myself to sleep.
***
Thenext day, Christmas afternoon, I woke up feeling a little better. Even after somany hours of sleep, the vertigo remained but the nausea had thankfullysubsided, so I got up to get some water and crackers with Mrs. Potter followingat my heels, in search of the breakfast I hadn't yet given her. But when Ipassed the couch and saw the presents for my parents, the good feeling I hadwashed away to be replaced by a deep, lonely sadness.
Thiswas my first Christmas away from them, and it felt wrong. I wanted to be home.I wanted to be sitting around the tree with them, opening gifts and eatingcandy from our stockings. I wasn't supposed to be here, alone, in thisapartment that was way too small.
Andthen, I was angry again.
Iwas mad at my situation. Mad at how sick I felt, mad at Brendan for abandoningme, at my parents, too. for being so far away, and at myself for ever thinkingthat leaving home was a good idea. But most of all, I was mad at the littlebean in my belly for existing and doing this to me, and then, with thathorrible thought, I was mad for being mad.
Mrs.Potter meowed at my feet and nuzzled her face against my ankle.
“Atleast I have you,” I said to her, wallowing in my pity party.
Igot up and slogged into the kitchen to pour her some food and get my breakfastof water and crackers. And just as Mrs. Potter was crunching away and I wastaking a bottle of water from the fridge, my phone rang.
Ihad assumed it would be my parents, calling to see how I was doing, but itwasn't and with that now familiar warmth in my chest, I answered.
“MerryChristmas, Kenny.”
Ifound my smile with the sound of his voice. “Merry Christmas, Goose.”
“Whatchadoin’?”
“Just,you know,” I swallowed at the emotion building in my throat, “hanging out athome.”
“What?I thought you were going to your parents' place?”
Andwith his question, I spilled my guts. Through a torrential downpour of tears, Itold him what had happened and why I was now home alone. After a few minutes ofchatty blubbering, I stopped and realized that,oh God, it was ChristmasDayand I was bogarting this guy's time away from hisown family. Who the hell was I to ruin his day, just because mine had turnedout horribly?
