Sure, the rest of the night went fairly well, and, to be honest, I think it could have been bearable, until Gran came back home with a limping John, and declared that we would all be staying at least one more night. She claimed—her words, not mine—that, “this family will be put together, whether we’re missing a few puzzle pieces or not.”
Yeah, I think we’re missing just a few pieces, like one important one: sanity.
By the time midnight came along, everyone was drinking champagne in the lounge, but I managed to escape to the backyard. Gran’s house looks over this huge ski resort, so, as I sat there, contemplating nothing at all, little dots raced along the snowy hills, black and blue and pink and yellow.
Speaking of black and blue: my sister came outside.
In her tight red dress, I could still see her arms, hanging loosely by her sides. Along her right wrist were blue prints, while, on the skin around her collarbones, there were black lines—handprints. The porch bulbs lit them, only briefly, because then she joined me in the shadows—hidden.
“What happened?” I asked as she took her seat on the snowy ground beside me, not caring as her skinny legs hit the cold water.
“Holt happened,” she responded. To my surprise, a smile tipped her lips. “But it was totally worth it. Now, if my job was done well, John will never procreate. Earth: one, fuck-ups: nil.”
I didn’t bother mentioning I was one of those fuck-ups.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked, wrapping my arms in my coat a little tighter.
“Well, I got something to warm us up.”
In the darkness, I could barely see the bottle she pulled from her side, twisting off the cap and taking one long, deep chug, before handing it to me. Though it was simply beer, alcohol, I still took a long sip, setting it back on the ground between us.
The resort let off fireworks.
Naomi chuckled. “Happy new year, brother.”
