Page 119 of Such Sharp Teeth

She’s in her wheelchair at the head of the table. She wears a plaid nightgown, a red terry cloth robe, and orange lipstick.

“There she is!” Candy says. “Thank God. These people are so boring, and they won’t let me have any liquor!”

“She’s on heart medication,” Joann says.

“My heart’s broken because they ain’t lettin’ me drink! I’ve only got a few years left and I gotta spend ’em dry? Christ Almighty!”

She beckons me closer with a wrinkly finger. “Enjoy being young and beautiful. When you get old, nobody cares. They forget you’re human. I’ve lived more life than everyone in this room, and they talk to me like I’m nothin’. Like I’m a dog. Except you.”

Every year on Christmas, Candy and I hole up in a corner and talk about our exploits. She tells me about all the soldiers she’s been with, the letters they would write her, and I show her pictures of recent hookups.

“He’s a looker!” she’ll say. Or she’ll cough and say, “Why botha?”

This year is no different.

Joann’s house is cozy, crowded with family. Aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins and girlfriends and boyfriends and an assortment of children. We all loaf around and eat and laugh and drink.

“What happened to you?” Candy asks Scarlett.

“I’m pregnant,” Scarlett says.

“No one told me,” she says. “No one tells me anything.”

“I told you, Ma,” Joann says.

“Is it one or two?” Candy asks.

“Just the one,” Scarlett says through clenched teeth.

“That’ll be a beautiful baby,” Candy says. “If I live to see it.”

After dinner there’s a gift exchange that I’m not quite a part of. I watch Scarlett receive baby clothes and diapers and bibs. She gets badgered on baby names and a whole bunch of unsolicited advice, including some tips on how to drop the weight post-birth. It’s exhausting just to observe.

At seven o’clock, Scarlett pretends to be tired so Matty can take us to Ash’s for dessert.

I haven’t spoken to Ash or Seth since my unceremonious exit the other morning. I should probably apologize.

“Holy shit,” Matty says when we pull up to their house, which is even more ridiculous at night. There are so many lights. So many.

“Merry Christmas!” Ash says, opening the door for us, Luca wrapped around her left leg like a koala. He wears a pair of red trousers, suspenders, and no shirt.

He gets serious when he spots Matty. He steps out and takes his hand in a very you-come-with-me manner.

“He’s going to show him his toys,” Ash says. “Come in. I made rhubarb pie.”

She lets Scarlett walk ahead.

“I’m sorry about the other morning,” she says to me.

“No, I’m sorry. I was a grouch.”

She leans in close and whispers, “Have you talked to him?”

“Nope,” I say, pulling all my hair in front of my face.

She understands the topic is a no-go. “If you want a drink, Seth set up a bar in the dining room. He’s a mixologist. That’s what he’s been calling himself. He gives me these crazy cocktails to try. Can’t complain!”

I say a quick hello to Ash’s parents before slipping into the dining room, where Mia sits chatting with Seth, eating olives off a toothpick.