“Well…” Can you spin this so you sound like a big strong man? Clearly she’s used to Lars and his freakish giant strength. “I haven’t swung an axe in so long, I didn’t realize how hard I was throwing it. I really nailed my back with the axe head.”
“You’re too strong for your own good.” She makes a pouting duckface and leads you up the stairs by your waistband. You’re extremely uncomfortable—there are so many people in this house, and none of them particularly like you—but you don’t run into anyone. The minute you reach her bed, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
• • •
Why is there hair in your mouth?
You slap at your face, trying to brush it away.
“Ow!” Lindsi squeals, sitting up. She’s straddling you, already tugging at the button on your pants.
“What are you doing?” You push at her futilely, but she grabs your wrists and pins you with her entire weight.
“Shhhh.” She releases you just long enough to pull off her shirt. “I want you.”
“Lindsi, this is a bad idea.”
“Don’t worry, I can be quiet. I was all through high school and college.”
“Lindsi, your entire family is, like, twenty feet away.”
“That’s why it’s so hot.” She whips her bra off and leans over, slapping her boob over your mouth and nose, like a fleshy gas mask.
“Linzzeee…” You can’t speak around the boob. But you hear footsteps approaching. They’re getting nearer. They’re right outside the—
“OH!” Mom shrieks, dropping the stack of presents she’d been carrying. Since she’s not sharing with anyone, Lindsi’s room has been designated the wrapping room.
Lindsi pulls a shirt over her front and flips around to face her mother, lips pursed in defiance.
But Mom isn’t looking at Lindsi; she’s looking at you. And she looks even more monumentally disgusted than she usually does when she’s looking at you.
* * *
If you want to apologize profusely, go HERE.
If you’d rather throw Lindsi under the bus, go HERE.
You grimace through the ride back to the house, “mmm”-ing anytime you’re addressed.
Magically, it seems to work on Lindsi’s family. By the time you pull into the driveway, they’re cheery again. Lars is even calling you “Backswing,” which you assume is a mostly affectionate nickname? Success!
Well, at least socially. When you’re forced to get out of the car, you almost scream in pain. Your kidney hurts, you feel achy everywhere, you’re having stomach cramps, and you can’t fully unbend your back.
You stumble to the bathroom, leaving the seat down to pee; you’re in too much pain to lift it.
Pee isn’t supposed to be pink.
You bend to flush, terror rising from your stomach in waves of nausea—unless that’s your kidneys, too—when you hear it.
POP.
It sounds like something out of a cartoon.
But it feels like someone stabbed you with a machete in the left kidney, then just swiped across your entire body, severing every nerve ending along the way.
You’re in searing, almost blinding pain.
* * *
If you really have to go to the hospital, now, go HERE.
If you just want to push through to the end of the day in order to not be entirely emasculated, go HERE.
“Well, if it’s really no trouble…”
Lars smiles broadly and helps you through the door. You lean heavily on his arm so he’ll think you’re still injured. That, and it’s nice to lean on someone so strong.
After another hour, a doctor comes in, staring at a chart.
“You say you damaged your kidney?”
“I think so. I hit it with an axe. Hard. The pain is severe.”
He palpates you briefly, then turns to his clipboard, looking supremely bored.
“Have you urinated yet?”
“Yes.”
“Any blood?”
“Well, no, but the pain…”
“It’s bruised. Go home and rest. You’ll be fine.”
You’re losing all your Lars cred!
“Shouldn’t you do an X-ray, or…”
“Bed rest. If you see blood in your urine, come back. They’ll take your information at the exit for billing.”
He whisks out the door. Apparently that’s it.
You and Lars are about to leave when you hear a knock. Thank god, it must be the doctor back to tell you you’re sicker than he thought.
It’s not, though. It’s a man in a Santa suit. He looks familiar…
“Oh, it’s you.”
You recognize that voice. It’s the man from the gas station. This was where he was heading? To volunteer at a hospital? Suddenly your fears of front-seat axe murder seem a little unfounded.
“You must be mistaken.” You try to push past. You don’t want Lars knowing you were afraid of this Santa. Especially since it’s now clear you have at least fifty pounds on him.
“No, I’m not. It was just last night that I saw you at the gas station. Why were you so rude? At Christmas, no less?”
He’s coming toward you, spluttering. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lars’s questioning look.
You have to end this. Now.
* * *
If you want to call security on the Santa, go HERE.
If you want to just admit to knowing him to make this end sooner, go HERE.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“You need someone there when you’re hurt. Everyone needs someone to lean on.”
You’re stunned by how excited you are that he’s insisting. You really want him there with you. The idea of going in alone is…actually, that’s not even it, you just like being around Lars. He’s so reassuring. So solid. So chiseled.
Wait, chiseled? That’s weird. True, of course. His face is like something a Norse god hewed from purest marble, and you can tell that underneath that flannel, his abs would be rock hard, like something on the cover of…
Jesus, what is going on with you? It’s Lars. Lindsi’s brother. A man. You’re not into men. Are you?
Are you into him?
The thought terrifies you. Could you have spent over thirty years on the planet and been so fundamentally wrong about yourself?
Or maybe he’s the one who’s into you.
“Please, Lars, they’re just going to poke and prod me. They’ll probably make me get naked, and I’m sure you don’t want to see that.” Does he? Do you want him to want to? This is the most confused you have ever felt.
“We’re practically family, and family doesn’t—”
“We are not family.”
You’re not sure if you’re more upset about the idea of committing to Lindsi this soon, or about the idea that he sees you as a brother, nothing more.
“I know, but you and Lindsi—”
“…have barely been dating four months.”
“Well you’re here for Christmas. That has to mean something.”
“It means I missed a flight.”
“Oh, come on.” He elbows you chummily. His touch sends electric shockwaves through your entire body. What is going on?
“It means NOTHING. My Tinder is still up, for fuck’s sake! This probably won’t even last until spring! I mean, Lindsi?”
Lars stares in stunned silence.
Oh…that might have been a little too far.
“I mean, things could work out, it’s just…”
“I only wanted to help,” Lars puts both hands up. “It’s not like I like seeing other dudes naked.”
A nurse yells your name again.
You walk over slowly, looking over your shoulder the entire time. Lars watches, but doesn’t follow.
When you return forty-five minutes later, he’s exactly where you left him, staring at the wall, eyes glazed. Fuck, what have you done?
* * *
If you want to apologize, go HERE.
If you want to j
ust pretend nothing happened, go HERE.
“Oh, uh…” You’ve already told him you’re too poor for underwear, or basic hygiene. What choice do you have? “Thanks. That would be great.”
He nods, obviously relieved. Awesome. You can’t wait to underwear shop with your girlfriend’s dad.
• • •
The next morning you head downstairs to find the entire family already seated around the tree, opening presents.
“Guess I overslept, huh?”
Lindsi frowns at you, obviously confused. It’s her dad who speaks up, though.
“We thought since this was a family event you wouldn’t mind if we started.” He glares, his gaze even icier than his wife’s. That’s strange. Just last night you were laughing over boxer briefs. He even urged you to buy some lumberjack-themed ones. What changed?
You manage to pull Lindsi aside a few minutes later.
“What’s up with your dad?”
“What do you mean?”
You glance at him. He’s staring at you, teeth slightly bared.
“Did he say anything? Maybe about last night?”
“No. I don’t think so. He just asked what you do and whether you were out of work at the moment. But don’t worry, I talked you up. Told him how well you were doing, and how you got that promotion.”
She keeps blathering on, but you’re not listening anymore.
Eventually the family heads to the dining room for a lavish breakfast.
“Yes, it’s just something we do around here,” Lindsi’s dad says, throwing an arm around your shoulder. His eyes look dead. He speaks loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “Provide for the people we care about. Generously. We don’t try to sponge off them. Or take from them. Or take from a house of worship.”
You feel the curious stares of Lindsi’s entire family.
You’d pull him aside to pay him back, but you don’t have any cash. You just have to hope he doesn’t get any more explicit before the day is over.
“Can you believe some people will just take from anyone? No shame whatsoever.”
Not likely.
The End.
“No, no.” You wave a hand in front of you, even though it brings your wrappings perilously close to tearing. “I couldn’t. Like I said, it’s an environmental thing. And…because I hadn’t packed for this trip…”
“Please, I want to help.” He looks at you earnestly. God, he’s probably the one decent person in this family, and you’ve convinced him you’re too poor for underwear.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
He nods and retreats, leaving you to finish your groin-mummying alone.
• • •
The next morning, everyone’s in a great mood. Lindsi’s brother Lars is slapping people on the back like a proud coach, Lindsi is teasing her nieces about stealing their presents, and even her mom smiles tightly and offers you coffee.
Thank god. If Lindsi’s dad had said anything, you wouldn’t be getting off this easily.
You head into the living room to open presents, mostly watching the kids go to it.
“This one’s for you,” Lars says toward the end, tossing a small box your way. The tag says From Santa. It must be from Lindsi; you should have picked up something for her on the way, but you didn’t have the time. Oh well, she’ll get her present once you’re back in the city.
You open it, expecting a gift card to her favorite restaurant.
Your jaw drops.
It’s a stack of hundred-dollar bills.
“What’d you get?” Lindsi asks, scooting nearer. You’re so stunned you don’t have time to tuck it away. “Holy fuck, there has to be…” she rifles through the box, “a thousand dollars in here.”
Now the whole family’s attention is on you.
“Wow, Santa must really like you,” Lindsi’s dad says, winking exaggeratedly.
You should have just taken the fifty dollars. How can you give this back? Without mentioning the whole toilet paper underwear thing again?
It’s clear Lindsi’s family knows where the money came from. You can’t meet their eyes; the discomfort you’re all sharing is too intense.
“There’s something else in here.” Lindsi reaches into the box again. “It’s a picture of…underwear?” She turns to her dad, horrified.
And you thought it wasn’t possible for things to get more awkward.
The End.
You grab your coat and head back to the Toys for Tots dropoff.
You park and start rummaging in the bin, hoping to find the gift you mistakenly donated.
You’re about to concede defeat when you see it. Only Lauren could have that paper with German lyrics to “O Tannenbaum” on it.
You pull it out, doing a little fist pump of triumph.
“Khughhh.”
You turn, surprised by the strange wheezing sound behind you. You didn’t think anyone else was around.
It’s an obviously ill child and her mother. The girl’s barely able to hold up her present, which looks like a rubber ball. Oh, Jesus.
“Why are you taking presents…khughhh…that are meant for the…khughhh…kids in need?”
A single tear runs down her thin, pale cheek.
“You’ve got it all wrong.”
The girl’s mother stares at you with burning intensity.
“The only thing she wanted to do this Christmas was give back to others. She didn’t even ask Santa to get better. This was the one thing she was still holding onto: her belief that people are fundamentally decent. And then she has to find you here, stealing from needy children. You should be ashamed.”
“No. It’s not like that. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
“Really? Are you or are you not taking presents from the donation bin?”
“Welll…yes, but—”
“You’re a monster,” she hisses.
The mom hands a tissue to her daughter. The little girl cries harder. “If people are this bad even on Christmas, is there any good in the world?”
“There, there,” says the mom. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
* * *
If you want to go home empty-handed, go HERE.
If you might as well make the swap now that those two are gone, go HERE.
You’ll just have to claim one of Lauren’s presents and explain it to her later.
You grab a box and open it, tossing the wrapping paper to the floor. You at least need to know what “you’re” giving, right?
A French mime costume? That’s literally the worst present you’ve ever seen. Giving Harrison that would be like gifting him perpetual social outcastdom.
Now what?
* * *
If you want to suck it up and slap your name on the mime costume, go HERE.
If you want to try another present, go HERE.
You head up to your room, lie down, and stare at the ceiling.
God, you’re bored. How does any adult go to bed at dinnertime?
Eventually, though, the depth of your boredom allows you to doze off.
• • •
You wake up raring to go.
You check your phone. It’s 4 A.M.
Incapable of falling back asleep, you head outside to shovel the snow. When you’re done with that, you brew a pot of coffee for the family. Man, you’re the best brother around! Probably in the running for best uncle, too.
You manage to slide a tray of chestnuts into the oven just before the kids begin to open their gifts. Nailing it.
“A SUPER SOAKER!” Harrison screams when he gets to yours.
Wait. That’s not right.
Your sister looks like she just bit into a lemon. Apparently she and Gregory aren’t on the same endocrine-disrupting page.
Harrison immediately starts pretending it’s a submachine gun.
“BANG, BANG, BANG. DIE!”
“It was an honest mistake,” you say, not sure what, exactly, went wrong.
“Then fix it,” she says.
You consider standing up to her, but things are going so well. Plus, you know it’s futile.
“Harrison, that toy isn’t for you.” You grab it away. “But don’t worry, because I have something even better…which I’ll give you tomorrow.”
Tears start rolling down his cheek.
“I want the Super Soaker!”
“I’m sorry. You can’t have it.”
“I HATE YOU! You’re the worst uncle EVER.”
Harrison’s scream sets off Otto.
“WAHHHHHHH.”
You look at the clock on the wall. Great, it’s not even 9 A.M. That’s a hell of a lot of Christmas to go.
The End.
You think back to when you were a kid. Every year your dad would dress up like Santa, climb on the roof, stomp around, and jingle a bunch of bells.
It’s easily one of your favorite childhood memories. It felt so magical. If you did that for Otto and Harrison, there’s no way Lauren could stay mad.
You rummage around the house in hopes of finding a Santa suit. No luck. Though you did see a doorknob with jingle bells on it. You could just do the reindeer bit, right?
You grab the bells and head outside, giddy with excitement. You know you saw a ladder around the side of the house…
There’s a patch of nasty-looking ice near the roof’s edge. Man, that looks pretty slippery. You carefully pick your way around it.
DING-A-LING! RING-A-LING! You shake the bells as hard as you can right over the boys’ window.
From your perch atop the garage, you see two people approaching the front door. They’re dressed all in black and they’re peering in the darkened windows.
Oh god, now they’re bending down, presumably looking for a key under the mat.
BURGLARS!
Choose Your Own Misery Page 18