This is actually a short story rather than flash fiction, because it’s 2500 words. This takes place the Christmas after The Dr Pepper Prophecies. It’s set around the same time as the book I’m writing now, but doesn’t have any spoilers for that.
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I’m having two Christmas dinners this year. In theory, this is fantastic. In practice, not so much. This is because I have to have the first one with my boyfriend Will’s parents (who are still convinced that Will should have married his evil ex-girlfriend) and the second with mine (who think I should have dragged Will down the aisle in June, despite the fact that we only got together in April).
Admittedly we have been best friends for twenty-six years, so I don’t think we could be accused of rushing into it, but even so.
We approach Will’s parents’ house laden down with gifts and I try to psyche myself up. Every time I come here I destroy something of great value – monetary or sentimental. Thus further proving to them that I Am Not Worthy Of Their Son.
I hate this house. Will’s dad made a fortune selling posh furniture to people with too much money and moved the family from the other half of my parents’ semi into a detached, mock Tudor home in a much posher suburb. I think it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen and not remotely homely. So does Will, but his opinion wasn’t asked either.
‘It won’t be that bad,’ Will says, kissing my cold cheek as we approach the front door. ‘Honestly. Charlie will be there this year. We just skyped this morning and he promised to help keep their minds off you.’
Charlie is Will’s older brother, who lives in Australia so we hardly ever see him.
‘How’s he going to do that?’ I ask morosely, as Will presses the doorbell.
‘Oh, you know Charlie. He’ll find a way.’
I’m perched on a sofa that costs more to buy than my flat costs to rent (and I live in London, so even my matchbox costs half a lottery win), holding a glass of mulled wine (which I can’t stand) and trying not to drop mince pie crumbs on myself. I succeed. I drop the filling instead. Sigh.
Will’s parents (read, his mother) have bought me a book on modern etiquette. Just what I wanted. I wonder if I should try to explain that I’m a lost cause, because – even if I know the rules – put me in a formal situation and something always goes wrong.
And yes, I know it’s the thought that counts. Unfortunately, in this case, the thought is ‘she’s not good enough for my son.’
They got Will a Kindle. I’m going to have to check it when we get home to make sure she hasn’t downloaded something titled How to Get Your Ex Back onto it.
Everything in Will’s parents’ house is immaculate. Will’s mother makes Brittany look like one of those poor sods on How Clean Is Your House? I find it hard to believe she ever had children. When they were small, she used to keep Will and Charlie confined to the playroom and garden to contain the mess. It’s no wonder Will spent so much time round at my house. So really, she has only herself to blame for our relationship.
I see her looking sideways at me, as I attempt to clean myself up with a napkin.
‘By the way, Will,’ she says. ‘I saw Natalie in town while I was Christmas shopping.’
Will’s most recent ex. Who only I ever seemed to realise was an evil bitch.
Will glances at me. ‘Oh.’
‘She’s doing so well – yet another promotion! And she’s looking wonderful. Just come back from the Caribbean apparently. Isn’t that exciting?’
