Page 3 of You Keep On Giving

“Oh, dear. No apologies. You’re such a sweetheart.” Bea loops her arm through mine and even though I’m a few inches taller than her, I feel protected and understood. Bea pulls me through the airport, trailing after the employee handling our luggage.

My parents would have scolded me until they were both red in the face. Would their scolding be because there was someone else to help and I didn’t need to push myself?

Nope.

It would be because I wasn’t working fast enough to get all of our things collected. Which would evolve into comments about how if I wasn’t so big, I’d be able to move around quicker, and, maybe, if I could actually get things done with a smaller stomach and thighs that didn’t rub together then I could actually attract the attention of a man who’d look past my job and put a ring on it, like my older sister.

No fucking thank you. A prime, albeit made up, example of why I didn’t go home for the holiday this year or the last handful of years. My family sucks. Plain and simple.

They’ve been extra suck-y since my sister, Christi, announced her pregnancy. I’ve done my best to not let their comments affect me and while it’s gotten easier the last year, it still sucks donkey nards to know that my whole life is seen as a disappointment to the people who are supposed to love and support me unconditionally.

“He sure is a looker, isn’t he?” I’m sure Bea was trying to whisper. However, she’s about as subtle as a firetruck driving down the highway. Her voice carries to the man who’s pushing our cart of luggage towards the exit doors.

“Bea! You shouldn’t comment on people’s looks like that. A stranger, no less. And who says ‘looker’ anymore?” I hiss-whisper. Hissper?

But it seems pointless when the man in question lets out a deep chuckle.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be sure to let my husband know I caught your eye.”

“You’re spoken for? Well, shit. You know, my girl here is getting up in years. Got any good recommendations for this pretty thing?”

Ground, it’s me Sage. For the love of all that is holy, open up a hole for me to sink into. My face burns with embarrassment as the worker, Eddie is his name according to the name tag pinned to his shirt, exaggerates tapping a finger on his chin, like he’s really truly putting thought into all of this.

I’m going to murder Bea when I get the chance.

That’s not true. I love the old spitfire. She does deserve some kind of punishment, though. Maybe I’ll refuse to cook for her for a few days. Crap, that won’t work. It’s literally my job, not to mention the fact Bea’s son hired a freaking caterer for the whole dang week. I’ll think of something…. Maybe.

“Oh, look, our ride’s here,” Bea says, pulling me out of my terrible revenge planning.

I must have zoned out while trying to think of a punishment for Bea, because the airport worker is now nowhere to be found and we are standing in the arrivals area, a black SUV is idling in front of us. The windows have a tint so I can only make out a vague outline of whoever’s in the driver's seat.

The door opens and closes and a carbon copy of Bea rounds the back of the SUV. Well, if a carbon copy can be the opposite sex, at least a foot taller and thirty-ish years younger.

“Mars, my baby. Sybil got sick of you already?” Bea teases her son as he opens up the trunk. I stand awkwardly by the cart, watching. If I remember correctly, Mars is the middle child, and lives in Nevada with his wife and their two kids.

“You know it. As soon as she gets a lungful of the Colorado air, it’s like I stop mattering to her.” Mars chuckles which clues me in that it is, in fact, a joke. I can’t stop the smile as I watch the mother and son interact for a few more moments.

“Hi, I’m Sage. Thank you so much for letting me barge into your family festivities.” I introduce myself while pulling the luggage off the cart and try to get it close enough to the back hatch of the vehicle so I can attempt to start loading our things into the car.

“Mars, and no thanks needed. Boss lady makes all the decisions. We’re happy to have you.” Mars snags the last two bags before I can and gets everything situated in the back. While we loaded the trunk, Bea crawled into the front passenger seat. I’m more than happy to take the middle row and get the opportunity to sight-see as we make our way to her eldest son’s home.

The drive passes quickly, I take in as much as I can of this new state while soft voices in the front seat provide an easy conversation to listen to, so much so that by the time we pull in front of our destination my stomach is aching from laughing so hard. Bea’s regular sass is equally matched by Mars’, the pair of them trading barbs like they planned it.

“You two go on in, I’ll get your luggage brought in and put up in your rooms.” Mars tells us as he pulls into the driveway of a modest home. I want to protest but Bea shoots me a look that stops the words in my throat. “That’s very kind of you,” I finally manage to force out as I hop out of the car.

“Please, she’d kill me if I ever thought of letting a guest, let alone one she refers to as her favorite person, struggle with all of her overpacked ridiculousness."

Bea ignores her middle child and his mention of child murder, instead pulling me along to the front door.

Of course, Bea walks in like she owns the place. “We’re here! The first one to give me a hug gets fifty bucks!” Squeals of excitement echoes and the sounds of bare feet smacking against hardwood, rushing towards us makes me giggle.

A tall woman rounds the corner, wrapping her arms around the both of us, squeezing the life out of me.

“Come on! You cheater, you pushed me.” A small boy exclaims as he crashes into our trio.

“You snooze, you lose, baby.” The woman chuckles.

“Mom!”