HUNTER
Christmas Morning
“Good morning, Hunter. Merry Christmas,” Mom says from the front room as I trudge down the stairs. I need coffee and possibly a good whack to the head to get me through all of this family togetherness. I’m only twenty-four hours into a two-day sentence in this house, all because my stupid ass promised Theron I’d be here on Christmas morning. That was before I went and promised Dad I’d stay until after dinner. At least Chase and Kayla will be here by then, and I’ll have a little bit of a buffer.
“Morning,” I mumble, shuffling across the tiled floor to the kitchen.
She walks over from the couch, leaving the island between us. “There’s coffee in the pot.”
I set my phone on the counter and pour myself a cup, hoping the caffeine will do something for my sour mood. One big swig, and I promptly spit it out in the sink. The coffee coats my mouth with a bitter film. “What the hell is this?” I ask.
“Hunter, language, please. It’s coffee…”
“Naw, something’s wrong with it then.” I scrape my teeth against my tongue and spit into the sink, repeatedly rinsing my mouth out under the faucet. Something’s not right. The more I scrape, the itchier it feels.
“You always were so dramatic. It’s mushroom coffee. It’s good for you?—”
“Mushrooms?” I screech, staring with the intense hope that she’s joking. “Shit!”
“Hunter,language. And yes. It helps with focus and boosts your immune?—”
“It boosts my death date, is what it does. I’m allergic to mushrooms!” I yell, marching back toward the entryway. “Dad!” I call up the stairs.
“Oh, please, you’re not allergic. You’ve had mushrooms before.”
I whip around, keeping my hand on the banister so I don’t stomp back over and get in her face. “That’s how allergies work,Charlotte. One day you’re fine, and the next, you’re gasping for air on the kitchen floor…” My words garble as my tongue swells in my mouth. “Dad!”
“Hunter, why are you yell—” Dad’s eyes widen when I turn to him, and he beelines it back up the stairs. “Stay!” he booms over his shoulder, somehow knowing I was about to follow him.
I sit on the bottom step, staring at my hands to avoid looking at the Black Widow in the form of my mother. My lips feel puffy, and I want to claw at the itchiness in my eyes as they swell. A high-pitched stridor wheezes from my throat with each breath I take. Kneeling over the stairs, I try to heave in air. Dad rushes back down with an allergy pen in hand, and the diamond pattern tile swirls in a dizzying haze as I collapse on the entryway floor. I watch Dad jab the epinephrine through my plaid pajama pants, so worried about the lack of air I can barely feel the pinch.
“What happened?” he asks Mom.
“She…tried to…kill…me…” I rasp, each word harder to squeak out than the last. My heart pounds while looking at Mom’s wide-eyed expression, my T-shirt clinging to my sweat-soaked torso. Overwhelming panic surges over my rage as the edges of my vision fade.
“Hunter, just focus on breathing,” Dad says, laying me flat on the cool tiles. He slides my body around, using the stairs to elevate my legs, and sits next to me while checking my pulse. “Charlotte, call 9–1–1, and stay in the kitchen. We need him to be as calm as possible. That won’t happen as long as he’s looking at you. Now!Go now!”
After an eight-hour observation period,another anaphylactic attack, more epinephrine, and another eight hours of observation, I’m almost cleared to be discharged. I called it when I said Charlotte would ruin Christmas.What fucking audacity flows through her that she can confidently stand in front of my hospital bed right now?
“How are you feeling?” Mom asks softly, putting a hand on my blanketed foot.
“Half dead.” My throat is rough and scratchy, my voice gruff.
She winces, shaking her head as she moves around the bed to stand at my side. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking…”
“Hunter, if I would have known, I would have never?—”
“You shoulda known.”
“How? I haven’t seen you in years, Hunter, and you won’t speak to me otherwise.”
“And whose fault is that, Mom? Huh? If you wouldn’t have left me here to clean up your fucking mess, you would have known.” The monitor’s beeps increase with each word, a harsh, steady beat, only adding to the rage coursing through me. I set it free, my scowl deepening as I stare her down.
A tear slips from the corner of her eye. “Hunter, I didn’t want to leave you.”
“Bullshit.”
