Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Roxie, being expert in all the varied retail experiences, took him on this quest weeks before Thanksgiving, because, she shared, she went nowhere near any store on the weekend after Thanksgiving.
“Black Friday and the ensuing weekend are my version of the seventh circle of hell,” she’d proclaimed, something Hank thought was damned good to know.
It was a great memory. Drinking hot cocoa and listening to Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, and the Carpenters’ Christmas albums, and setting up the house with his woman had been something he’d never forget. Making love to her under the tree with the smell of pine in his nose and the crooning of Cole in his ears, and Roxie filling all the rest of his senses when they got it all done being the best part.
She hadn’t hidden she enjoyed all of that too. There could be no mistake, Trish had handed down her holiday joy to her daughter.
Therefore, as he suspected, and he didn’t even need her to shoot the aggravated look she shot to him to suspect it, Roxie waded in at this point. “As I said when you arrived, Mom, we already have our tree. And it’s in the family room.”
“We’ll move that one into the living room,” Trish returned.
Oh shit…again.
Roxie shot Hank another aggravated look, but the level of aggravation in this one was reaching the red zone.
He tried to be supportive in the one he returned, but he worried he failed, mostly because he thought this was all funny as fuck, including the fact she didn’t.
The Roxie and Trish show was almost as good as the Trish and Herb show.
She turned back to her mother. “No, we won’t, Mom. Hank and I bought our tree together. We went out and got our decorations together. We also decorated it together. It’s our first Christmas together and that tree is not moving. We’re having Christmas around that…exact…tree. No discussion.”
The Logan women squared off.
Regrettably, or fortunately, depending on who you were in the scenario, Herb decided to chime in. “No problem, even though this tree cost me more than I’d accept for payment for a donated gonad, I’ll take it out back and chop it up. Hank can use it as firewood.”
Trish whirled on Herb, horrorstruck. “First, Herbert Logan, do not talk about your gonads in mixed company! Or, say, at all. Does your daughter need to hear about your gonads?” Her hand shot up when Herb’s mouth opened. “I’ll answer that. No! She doesn’t. And second, you are not chopping up that tree! We’ll set it up outside in the front. Put lights on it. It’ll be perfect. It’ll be the talk of the neighborhood.”
“I just hauled it in, now you want me to haul it out?” Herb asked incredulously.
“You were gonna haul it out back to chop it up,” Trish pointed out.
“Yeah, but I do that, I get to use an axe. I take it out front, I gotta deal with lights. I already dealt with my quota of Christmas lights this season, woman,” Herb warned. Then he continued, doing it quickly so Trish couldn’t get a word in, “And you know that since I told you five damn-gummed times after you kept wanting me to staple lights on shit.”
Herb looked to Hank and carried on ranting.
“We got lights on the house. The detached garage. The garden shed. The fence around the property. In all the trees. Around the banister out front and the one on the stairs in the goldarned house. And I know I’m forgettin’ some, mostly because, eventually I had to block it out so I wouldn’t commit a felonious act, seein’ as we got a cop in the family now, and you don’t need your girl’s father facin’ twenty to life for wife-icide.”
Definitely sprained something trying not to laugh.
Herb concluded, “And she made me do all this knowin’ the whole time we weren’t even gonna be there for Christmas.”
Hank moved into the fray, setting off toward the tree. “I’ll set it up. Head to Lowe’s, get some more lights. It won’t be a problem.”
“The Lord sure heard my prayers, giving my daughter a good and decent man who doesn’t bellyache at Christmas,” Trish decreed. This statement was part snotty, that part directed at Herb, and part heartfelt, that part directed at Hank. She then said while opening the refrigerator, “Don’t go to Lowe’s just yet, Hank. I might have a grocery list for you.”
“Mom,” Roxie cut in. “This house is groaning with food. You sprung it on us, but we did have some notice you were coming.” The stress on the word “some,” Hank didn’t miss, was pretty heavy. “I got everything we could possibly need yesterday.”
“Nothing wrong with me checking,” Trish retorted.
Roxie let out a loud sigh.
“Nip this shit in the bud, son,” Herb advised as Hank took control of the tree. “She’ll have you runnin’ all over hell’s half acre for her if you don’t.”