Page 30 of Not Home Alone

It is shockingly unfortunate how pleased I am to receive a text from him. Not because he’s texting me, but because I have clearly made him uneasy again. I don’t reply. It will take me ten minutes to walk to the Home Alone House. I’m gonna make him sweat.

But I also need to get back there before he takes down all the decorations again.

ELEVEN

GRANT

It is now 6:15 and my new fake girlfriend is officially late for our meeting. This is unacceptable. She probably thinks she’s making me sweat. I’m going to take down one decoration for every minute she’s late. Starting with the creepy white reindeer statue.

Just as I’m crossing the foyer to the living room, the doorbell rings. She’s probably carrying boxes and bags full of yet more Christmas decorations, and she needs help carrying them in. Or god forbid, another tree.

Well, I’m not allowing one more tree or Christmas decoration in this house, so she’s on her own out there.

The doorbell rings again. I will open the door for her, but that’s it. I’m not carrying anything Christmasy into this house.

“It’s six-sixteen,” I say, as I open the front door.

A woman’s voice says, “It certainly is, my dear!”

It is decidedly not Merrily.

There are three smiling elderly women standing on my front porch, wearing Victorian-era bonnets. Dressed from head to toe in what I can only describe as the kind of costume Miss Piggy wore in The Muppet Christmas Carol. Capes and long skirts and hand muffs.

Fuck me, they’re carolers.

“Hello there!” the one dressed in red says in a saccharine-sweet voice.

A second woman says, “We’re here to deliver a very special musical gift from your secret ab-mirer!”

“Are you ready for your carol-gram from The Carolin’ Grammies?” the third one asks.

No. I will literally never be ready for that. “No, thank you, ladies!” I reach for my wallet to give them some money to leave.

But they’ve already started singing “Deck the Halls.” Also one of my top five least favorite Christmas songs. At least it’s not a parody. And this is one of the short ones, I think. So I’ll just stand here being trolled by the ancient yuletide carolers until they’re done singing and then I’m never opening this door again.

I have to say it’s impressive how little they care about my obvious displeasure.

When they’re halfway through the third verse of what is now my number one least favorite Christmas song, out of the corner of my eye, I see the streetlight gleaming off shiny blonde hair. That blonde hair is hiding a brain that is truly evil. And also, kind of impressive. But seriously horrible.

She’s carrying a bin as she approaches the path, grinning mischievously, until she sees me narrowing my eyes at her. I watch as she attempts to school her expression to one of surprise. As if she wasn’t the one who hired these joyous singers to harass me. She stands in front of the house, making a big show of admiring the Christmas lights, which—yes—I not only didn’t take down, I turned them on when I got home.

The carolers finally stop singing.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my wallet again.

But Merrily has put her storage bin down so she can clap for them. She’s wearing gloves and it’s awkward. I refuse to applaud this.

But they’ll probably leave sooner if I do, so I also clap and say, “Thanks, that was really special. You all have lovely voices.”

“Would you ladies like to come in for some hot chocolate?” the evil destroyer of my peace asks them. “We would absolutely love to have you join us by the fire, so we can sing more songs next to the Christmas tree. Wouldn’t we, babe?” She picks up the box and says, “Grant was just saying he wants to spend more quality time with the people of the town. Didn’t you, Sugar Butt?”

“That is such a fantastic idea, my queen, but we don’t have any hot chocolate in the house.”

“Oh, but we do! I brought some from my dad’s house.”

“We would love to, you angels,” says the grandma in red. “But we have to get on our way to the next victim—I mean lucky receiver of a carol-gram!”

“Aw, another time then.” They don’t seem to expect a tip, so I wave as they descend the porch stairs. “Thanks again.”