Dear Future Husband

December 25, 2018

Dear Future Wife,

Merry Christmas my hoe hoe hoe, I'm about to throw a fruit cake at someone.

Welcome to yet another holiday I despise, you know what, scratch that. I hate every holiday except maybe New Years, it's the only holiday that everyone observes. You don't have to belong in a specific religion, or a certain age, and most of all you don't have to dress up. Maybe the occasional party hat but definitely no Danny Zuko's there.

Honestly, if my brother was still here I would probably enjoy holidays a lot more, he always made the dull festivities a little more festive.

Every year my family has gone for less and less decorations. This year, we don't even have a wreath. It doesn't feel like Christmas at all, just another day in the Black household.

I'm on the couch blasting music to try and drown out my parents yelling in the kitchen while my older sister, April, is involved in a deep makeout session with her boyfriend at the other end of the sectional. My little sister Jules is probably playing with her dolls in her room, setting five of them at a big dinner table with all of their plastic, perfect faces, desperately wishing that it was her family that could sit through a dinner being perfect and happy.

April starts to moan and I glare at her, even though all I get is an eye roll back and she furthers her tongue down her boyfriend's throat. I tear out one of my earbuds. "Buddy," I slap the her boyfriend's shoulder with the back of my hand. "Don't you have a family dinner or something to get to?" Last I checked, we were the only family in Seattle that was a few hugs short of a real family.

April scoffs. "Go away, Grant, there are plenty of other rooms in this house for you to take up space in."

God, if I could go somewhere else I would, but if I wasn't here, they would most definitely fuck, and there were a few reasons why I didn't want that to happen. Personally, I don't think a grandchild would lessen the cracks in my parents' already deteriorating relationship.

I shake my head and stick my earbud back in, the moans of my sister still penetrating my music, louder and more obnoxious than ever.

I stare up at my brother's urn on the mantle, my heart feeling heavy and soaked with water. If he was here right now, we would probably be outside nailing each other with ice balls until one of us drew blood. Then we would come inside and make hot chocolate, only for him to slip some hot sauce in my drink. After that we would probably bury ourselves in the den and watch a scary Christmas movie or something. Untraditional for others, but ritualistic for us. With him around, I could care less that my parents hated each other, or that my girlfriend cheated on me, or that April despised me.

I just want someone who can make me feel that way. I want someone who can make me not care.

-Grant