Bourbon & Bonfires

by Andrea Johnston

  “Just making sure. I don’t see y’all much these days. Well, except Landon here.”

  “I’m here now, and I appear to be in the goddamn Sahara Desert by how parched I am,” Owen says, holding his throat.

  “Whatever, fucker. Beer?”

  Owen nods and elbows his way in to the bar next to me. His movement annoys the girls sitting there, that is until they look up at him, and then it’s full-on flirtations. Taylor’s right, we haven’t seen much of Owen around here since he’s been with Minnie. It’ll be interesting to see how he handles the flirting ladies.

  “Ladies, I’m sorry to be rude, but I haven’t seen my buddy in weeks, and we have shit to discuss. Would you mind if I bought you each another beer and took this seat?”

  He can’t possibly think that will work. Yet, it does. He orders another round of beers for the ladies and successfully moves into the seat one of them was using. Taking a long draw from his beer, Owen doesn’t say anything. I’m waiting for him to start, since he just told those girls we have shit to discuss, but still nothing. When he signals for Taylor to bring us another round I look at him confused.

  “What?”

  “What? You just told those girls we had shit to discuss. So, what’s up?”

  “Oh, that? Nothing, man. I didn’t want to stand. My fucking back is killing me. Working on my house after working all day is no joke.”

  “Dude, you’re a dick.”

  “Never said I wasn’t.”

  I shake my head at Owen and his antics. I love the guy like a brother, but sometimes I wonder how I even like him. But, he’s my best friend, and I’d walk through fire for him or any of the guys and know they’d do the same for me.

  Christmas has always been a major event in my family. My mom loves nothing more than a house full of chaos. I call it chaos, she calls it love. Regardless, the idea of both my siblings, their significant others, and kids in the house makes my mom euphoric. And then she turns to me with a look of sadness, and I know she’s wondering where my little family is. Where is the grandchild I’m supposed to give her? He or she is still a little swimmer and not ready to make an appearance. At least that’s what I told her last year about ten seconds before she smacked me on the back of the head.

  Today I’m ready for anything she throws my way. I have a prepared response to the “When are you going to settle down, Landon?” question, I’ve wrapped the gifts for everyone, and I went to the extra effort of ironing my shirt. I hope she realizes how big of a deal that is. I had to go buy a damn iron to do that job.

  As I pull up to the house, I see Sarah’s minivan, which means my niece and nephew, aka the tiny terrors, are inside. At five years old, the twins are little demon children. I don’t know how my sister does it, nor do I understand how my mom feels they are in any way enticing me to settle down and have kids of my own. Don’t get me wrong, I love my niece and nephew, but at the end of the day, they are exhausting. And possibly possessed.

  I park my truck on the side of the house behind my dad’s work truck and open the back door to pull out gifts when I’m hit in the back of the head with what I assume is a foam bullet. And so it begins.

  “Demon child, I swear if you hit me again, I’m taking this present back home,” I shout without turning to face the twins.

  “Told you so,” my niece, Stella, shouts at her brother. I glance to my side and find Stella and Steven in a standoff. Her hands are on her little hips, and she is channeling her mother in this moment; it’s a little frightening. Steven seems to be absorbing my warning while side-eyeing his sister. I continue pulling the gifts from the truck when I hear Steven finally relent and agree his sister was right. Like that concession was her Christmas gift, Stella turns on her pink cowgirl-booted heel and walks toward the house.

  “Dude, you can’t shoot people in the head. What are the rules?” I ask as I approach Steven.

  “No peoples. But I was tryin’ to hit your truck, but your big ole head got in the way.”

  “My big head, huh?” I ask, walking toward the front door as my little shadow follows. “How about this? After dinner, you and I will do some target practice, and I bet you’ll be hitting your targets in no time.”

  “Yes,” Steven shouts as he fists pumps the air and takes off running around the side of the house to the backyard.

  As I enter the front door, the amazing and familiar smells of Christmas dinner greet me. Mixed with the smell of roasted turkey is the lingering scent of cinnamon. Pie. That’s all I ever ask for from my mom for any holiday, or special occasion really. Pie. Specifically, apple pie. Or cherry. Pecan is always good too. Fine, I like all pie.

  Setting the presents on the floor under the tree, I spot a few with my name and roll my eyes. I’ve told my brother and sister no adult gifts for years, and they still insist on us exchanging gifts. Being the youngest of three gets me little respect, even if I make complete sense.

  Of course, half the time my brother, Wyatt, puts a bow on a six pack of beer and calls it a day. Today, I see actual gifts and must assume his fiancée, Raquel, is responsible for holiday shopping this year.

  Thankfully, I’m prepared with a handcrafted wine bottle stand, bottle of wine, and a gift card to the local steakhouse. Plus a card that offers one night of free babysitting from Uncle Landon. Each offer to babysit comes with a caveat that they may not redeem said babysitting the same day as the other family. I’m not crazy.

  As I walk toward the kitchen, where I know everyone is congregating, my sister comes out of the hall bathroom and runs smack into me. When she realizes it’s me, she offers me a huge smile and wraps her arms around me. I place my hand to her back and pat her before clearing my throat.

  “Is something wrong? You’re a little clingy there,” I remark.

  “No, I’m just glad you’re here. The kids have been driving me nuts to see you, and I was afraid you’d run off to a deserted island or something to avoid any more setups by Mom.”

  Laughing, I grab my sister into a bear hug and lift her off her feet. Sarah begins squealing before I set her down. “No plans to run off to Tahiti. At least not yet. I’ve reached an agreement with Mom on the setups. Besides, since Dad told us last week he’s planning to semi-retire at the first of the year, I think she’s been too distracted for a setup. It’s been weeks.”

  “Good. It’ll happen when it happens. You never know, maybe you’ll meet someone on New Year’s and share your first kiss at midnight.”

  “Yeah, well this isn’t one of your romance movies. Shit like that doesn’t happen. But, if it does you’ll be the first I tell. Now, can we go get a drink? Your kids have already ambushed me outside, and I’ve promised Steven shooting lessons later.”

  Sarah laughs as we walk into the kitchen, and the family greets me as only they can—loudly and all at once.

  The next few hours are a whirlwind of food, laughter, and teasing. By the time we settle in around the tree for presents, the kids are bouncing in their seats and the adults are yawning. We let the kids open a few gifts so they have all the adult attention before we each open our own presents.

  From my parents I received a gift card to the game store for the new Xbox game I’ve been eyeing. Yes, I’m thirty years old and still play video games. Also from my parents are a few shirts, the token pajama pants, and one thing that takes me by surprise.

  “Dad?” I don’t manage much more because I know I may start crying.

  “You’ve earned it, Landon. I was serious when I said I plan to retire next year. Well, retire as best as I can. I’m not sure I’m cut out for buying an RV and driving around the country or joining one of those clubs for people our age where you learn square dancing or whatever. But, I am stepping back from the business. I’ll be less hands-on, and for that reason, I wanted to make it official. You’re now part owner of Lexington Heating and Air.”

  “Are you guys okay with this? I mean, it’s a family business.” I direct my attention to each of my siblings who simply smile and no
d their heads yes. Wow. Fifty-percent ownership of my dad’s business. I wasn’t expecting that at all.

  “I have no words,” I mumble.

  “You just let it all sink in, son. We’ll talk more after the first of the year, but this can’t come as much of a surprise,” my dad says before turning his attention to my nieces Kyla and Lexie as they open their gifts.

  Dumbfounded, I sit back and watch as my family opens the rest of their gifts. I respond as expected when Wyatt and Sarah each hold up their wine holder and their significant others high five each other over the free babysitting.

  Fifty percent of my dad’s business. Looks like this new year is going to be full of major changes.

  Two hours after my dad handed me the paper gifting me half his company, I’m sitting in my workshop surrounded by the smells of sawdust, and I finally relax. When I graduated from college, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. A degree in business is great if you own your business or have a drive to help run someone else’s. I didn’t have either. So instead, I went back to the job I held each summer as a teenager, HVAC tech.

  A few years ago, I found that messing around with wood and creating small custom pieces of furniture and random accessories was cathartic. Then I found some old barn wood and started creating random art pieces. When people started requesting them, I was blown away. My friends and family have encouraged me to pursue something with the art, but I’m not sure it’s for me. I can’t imagine being expected to produce things on demand or within a certain time frame. For me, it’s the soothing sounds of the saw or the way the sandpaper in my hands feels as I glide it along each piece of wood. It isn’t about the sale or the potential accolades I may get. I do it because I enjoy it. Plain and simple.

  Taking over the family business has always been an unspoken plan, but now that it’s here, I’m not sure it’s what I want. Or maybe it is. Hell, I have no idea. I suppose this is one of those moments being in a relationship would be beneficial. I could sit down with my girlfriend, or wife I suppose, and we could talk it out. A partner. A partner in life to help me figure out what the hell I’m doing with myself.

  Maybe I’ve been wrong this entire time, and I am ready for a relationship. Not a hookup or a means to getting laid, but an honest, true, meaningful partnership with someone who gets me and what I need in life.

  Basically, I need to find the equivalent of a mermaid. Not a siren who calls me to the darkness; been there done that. Yeah, that seems completely doable. I’m royally screwed. On New Year’s Eve, I’ll be wishing for more than good health and happiness. I’ll be wishing for a belated Christmas gift in the form of a beautiful, smart, funny, kind, and independent woman. That seems reasonable.

  A sound I never want to hear again is that of my teenage son crying because his father hasn’t made the time for him. Not only hasn’t made time for him, but hasn’t bothered to acknowledge that Christmas came and went without so much as a text message to him. My own tears I can handle. But my son? I can’t, and I won’t. I’m beyond pissed at my ex-husband and frustrated with myself that I gave such a selfish man so many years of our lives we’ll never get back.

  I’ve contemplated for days how to handle this new level of assholery that Dan has reached. Both Taylor and I tried to make Christmas special and fun for Mason to no avail. I assumed when Taylor offered to take Mason shooting for the first time he’d jump at the chance. I was wrong. Instead of tagging along with his uncle, my son locked himself in his room, new noise-cancelling headphones on his ears, and wallowed.

  That’s why, when his childhood best friend called and invited him for the New Year’s weekend with his family at their cabin, I immediately agreed. Sure, Mason is on almost a permanent grounding, but he needs this. Hell, I need this. I need a few days without worrying and fretting over how badly Dan is screwing up our son.

  “Mason, are you about ready to go? I promised Jordy’s mom we’d be there before noon.”

  “I’m almost ready. I can’t find my snow boots. Do you know where they are?”

  “They should be in the bag with the rest of your winter stuff. Did you find it?”

  “Oh, I didn’t even look there. That makes sense. I’ll be ready in five.”

  I’d act surprised at the fact Mason didn’t bother to look in the most logical place for his gear, yet I’m not. I’ve learned two things in the last year: One, teenage boys have the memory of a gnat. And two, common sense must not occur until late teens.

  Once Mason has managed to locate all of his gear and my travel mug is full of freshly brewed coffee, we hit the road. Thankfully, we’ve been friends with Jordy’s family since the boys were in first grade, and his parents were willing to meet me halfway for this trip. I tap the buttons on the steering wheel to cue up some music as I pull out of our new neighborhood. As I slow to a four-way stop, I watch Mason put his earbuds in and lean back, resting his head on the headrest. Nope, not today.

  “Mason,” I say in a normal tone. No response. I repeat his name a little louder. Again, no response. Instead of trying a third time, I smack my son on the leg, causing him to sit up straight and shout incoherent ramblings.

  “Geez, Mom! What’d you do that for?”

  “We’re going to drive for two hours, and I’m not doing it in silence. Take out your earbuds and let’s be civilized people and talk.”

  Mason sighs dramatically, pulls the earbuds out of his ears, and taps his phone a few times. Turning toward me, Mason folds his arms across his chest. “Is this going to be two hours of lectures? I’m not really in the mood for that.”

  “No, Mason. Can’t we just talk? Hell, I don’t care about what, I just want to spend this time with you. I miss you, buddy.”

  “Mom, we live together, how can you miss me? It’s not like I actually get to go anywhere.”

  “We can talk about that if you like. I’ve been thinking maybe we can talk about lifting some of your restrictions after you get back to school. I’d like to see you make friends and maybe get involved in some clubs at school.”

  “I’m not much of a joiner, you know that. I’d like to get a job, but I don’t think I can work until I’m sixteen.”

  “That can’t be true. Both your Uncle Taylor and I were working long before we were sixteen. I’m sure there’s some way you can work. Or maybe you can volunteer. Tutoring or something?”

  Mason shrugs and turns back to facing forward in his seat, and for the next hour or so, we chat about our new town and eventually he begins to relax. For the first time in the last six months, I see a glimmer of the boy he was before his dad moved, and I’m hopeful. When GPS tells me we are approaching our exit for the designated meeting spot, Mason clears his throat.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah, bud?”

  “I’m sorry I’m kind of a dick sometimes.”

  “You’re not a dick. Also, I’d prefer you didn’t swear.”

  “I know, sorry. I just want you to know I’m serious. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I know Dad didn’t leave because of you. I just get so angry and . . .”

  “Frustrated?” I offer and he nods while taking a deep breath. “Look, I think you’re old enough for a little real talk, and while I don’t want to get into this right now, I will tell you something many people would say isn’t appropriate to share with your child.”

  Looking at me with his eyes scrunched, confusion evident on his face, Mason waits for me to continue.

  “Your dad and I just weren’t meant to be. There’s no dramatic reason, and sometimes that’s okay. I know it’s hard for people to understand. Heck, it was hard for me to understand when it happened. I married your father because I loved him and wanted to spend my life with him. But we were kids, Mason. We changed, and while many people survive such a shift in a relationship, we didn’t, and that’s okay. At the end of the day, being apart is the best for all of us.”

  “But, what about me? Kevin’s parents split, and his dad is at all his games and never misses
a thing. My dad couldn’t even call me on Christmas. I got a text.”

  “You did? I didn’t realize your dad reached out to you.”

  “Yeah, it was late, and it was a generic Merry Christmas with like ten emojis.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh. Dan never ceases to amaze me. Slowing to make my turn into the parking lot, I spot Jordy’s family SUV parked and smile at Mason. “Look, nobody is perfect, and we don’t know what your dad has going on right now. How about we offer him a little grace? Besides, you’re about to spend the next week with your best friend skiing, that’s something to look forward to.”

  “I’ll try. I hope Jordy isn’t mad at me for how I acted before we moved.”

  “Mason, Jordy invited you on this trip, so I doubt he’s upset. But talk to him. It’s okay to acknowledge your wrongdoings and ask for forgiveness. Sometimes asking is the biggest hurdle. Now, enough of this serious talk. And look,” I say, gesturing toward the SUV as Jordy and his family pile out one by one to greet us, “it appears the entire family is excited to have you with them this week.”

  After talking with Jordy’s family and catching up, I hug Mason and remind him of his manners before climbing back into my car and pulling out of the parking lot. Since I took the entire day off from my new job for this exchange, I have a few hours to burn, and I think a trip to the mall is in order.

  I’m pulling into the parking lot of the local mall when my phone signals a text message. Once I’ve parked, I pull my phone from where it rests and tap the icon.

  Taylor: Since the rat is gone for the week, I’ll expect to see you at Country Road for New Year’s.

  Scoffing at the text, I wish my brother was here so I could roll my eyes at him in person.

  Me: I don’t think that’s how you ask your sister what her plans are for New Year’s.

  Taylor: You need to get out and meet people, sis. You can’t sit around the house wallowing and collecting throw pillows.