Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club)

by Denise Grover Swank

Suddenly this is all too much—no, it was too much several minutes ago—and I realize we’ve stood out here for too long, talking about and holding my vibrator.

  Goodness. I should move. I should contact the landlord and tell them we’re cutting our lease short. But first I open the door and usher them in, acting with as much dignity as I can muster.

  “Mistakes happen all the time,” I insist, then make myself glance at Jace. “Case in point. I’ll have to send it back. No harm done.”

  “You should keep it,” he says in a whisper so soft I’m not even sure I heard it.

  After showing Jace into the living room, doing my best to avoid apologizing for our naked and very crappy tree—I manage it, but just barely—I hurry into the kitchen, still holding the purse containing the offending item. A horrified sound escapes me when I see the packaging—Magik wand! Make yourself moan! Satisfaction guaranteed! There’s a photograph of a woman on the front, totally clothed, thank goodness, but her mouth is stretched open as if in the throes of pleasure. Aidan saw that. He saw it! He didn’t know what it meant, but it was irresponsible of me to have something like this delivered to the house, even if I’d thought it would show up after he left for Charlotte.

  Somehow, the box is worse than the actual vibrator. Glancing around wildly, I open the bottom drawer in the cabinet by the stove and stow the vibrator inside, along with the candy thermometer and other special utensils I rarely use. Though I shove the other things in front of it, the bright pink of the vibrator can still be seen through them, so I wrap it up in a Toy Story dish cloth. I may have a literal mind, but the irony of cloaking a vibrator with a Sheriff Woody cloth isn’t lost on me.

  I’ll have to come back for it later. Package it back up. Except…can I actually send it back now that Aidan has removed it from the packaging? Surely they don’t accept returns on used vibrators. That would be unethical.

  Still, I’ll have to clean mine off thoroughly before I use it, just in case.

  The thought catches me off guard, and I feel the searing in my cheeks even though Aidan and Jace are now safely tucked in the living room, playing Race to the Treasure.

  Goodness, I’m so worked up that even the name of Aidan’s favorite board game sounds like a sexual euphemism. Still, I can’t actually use the vibrator after all this, can I?

  Except, if I don’t, I just might explode. This feeling welling between my legs…all that pressure needs to go somewhere, doesn’t it? I might not actually believe in spontaneous combustion, but I don’t want to be the first woman to make it a reality.

  Feeling wild and, worse, wildly out of control, I grab a pair of scissors and start chopping the vibrator box up into tiny pieces. Normally, I would recycle it—it’s a perfectly fine, if horribly embarrassing, cardboard box—but I’m seized by a fear of the garbage collectors seeing it.

  When I’m finished, the tiny cardboard pieces dumped into the trash, I get out the fixings for the cocoa, feeling slightly better. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world. Maybe Jace actually believed my weak explanation for why it was delivered to me.

  You should keep it, I hear him say, the words sending more molten heat to my core.

  No, he’s not the kind of man who misses the obvious. He knew exactly what was happening.

  I start the hot chocolate, my hands shaking a little, and when it’s on the stove, I text Nicole: I hate you. Aidan’s buddy saw the freaking vibrator.

  She instantly texts back: Oh, this is fantastic! Better than I could have planned it myself. Next challenge: You speak like a nineteenth-century schoolmarm. Time to stop.

  I’m pretty sure nineteenth-century schoolmarms didn’t say things like freaking, but I suppose that isn’t her point. Besides, she’s not done. Of course she’s not.

  Nicole: If you can’t say fucking, how are you going to fuck your buddy?

  Actually, scratch that. I’ve given myself a brilliant idea. You need a fuck buddy, and he knows you’re horny. Get on that!

  I feel a wave of something I don’t recognize, except that it feels a bit like backbone, and I find myself typing: Fuck you, how’s that for starters?

  Excellent! she answers. A+ student!

  Chapter Ten

  Jace

  Aidan is explaining the rules to Race to the Treasure, but I’m only half listening. It’s not that I’m disinterested. I just can’t stop thinking about Mary holding that vibrator. Or imagining her using it.

  I squirm in my seat on the sofa as I tug at the front waistband of my jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure against my dick. To cover my hard-on, I grab a throw pillow. The last thing I need is Aidan asking me about the long lump in my jeans.

  Still, I mustn’t be doing a good job of hiding my discomfort, because he narrows his eyes at me from his spot on the floor next to the coffee table. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

  My brow shoots up. “What? No.”

  “I move around like that when I have to pee.”

  “I don’t have to pee.”

  “Then why are you moving around like that?”

  Because thinking about the things your mother could do with her adult toy is making me rock hard doesn’t seem like an appropriate response, and it’s sure to get me tossed back out of Mary’s good graces. For good. Not that I’d tell him that anyway. I’m not a pervert, contrary to what Mary thought of me yesterday. So what can I tell him? Because I can tell he’s not going to let this go until I give him an acceptable answer. I almost say I do have to go to the bathroom, but then he might accuse me of lying, and the truth is very important to Aidan.

  “I got new underwear, and they’re a size too small,” I say. “They’re making me uncomfortable.”

  His face scrunches as he evaluates my answer. “I have dinosaur underwear,” he says as he places some cardboard tiles face down on the board. “Only they don’t have ankylosauruses on them. Mom says they don’t make underwear with them on it. She’s looked. She says you can find anything on Amazon, and if they don’t have it, it probably doesn’t exist.”

  “Your mom is a very wise woman,” I say as he picks up the two wooden dice, one with letters and the other with numbers, and rolls them onto the board. Based on what little I picked up from his explanation, we’re still in the setting-up phase of the game. This part is cooperative, apparently, but it’s clearly his turn. Which means I can let my mind wander.

  Mary ordered a vibrator right around the time she met me. Coincidence? My ego would like to think not. Part of me wants to go into the kitchen, take Mary into my arms, and tell her she doesn’t need a vibrator. That I’d be happy to take care of her needs. There’s no way I can do that, of course, but the idea won’t leave me, and it’s only making me harder. I readjust the pillow, trying hard not to look like I’m squirming.

  “But she’s a liar,” he says matter-of-factly as he picks up a card with a skeleton key picture and places it atop a square on the board. “Your turn.” He pushes the dice toward me.

  My chest tightens at his casual indictment of his mom. I’m not sure I have any words of wisdom to help him get over the Santa betrayal, but I hate that he keeps calling Mary a liar. It has to hurt her.

  I roll the dice and get a letter and a number. I set a skeleton key card in the corresponding square. “Your mom loves you very much.”

  “She’s still a liar.” He scoops up the dice and rolls them in his hands carefully, like he has to get it just right or he’ll mess up the game.

  I want to help him understand that some lies aren’t meant to hurt people, but I’m not sure it’s my place.

  We continue with the setup until we’ve set out four keys and a tile for something called an ogre snack, all in spaces determined by the dice.

  “I’ll go first,” Aidan says as he picks up a tile and turns it over. A straight line runs through it, and I remember enough from his instructions to figure out it’s a path.

  Ah. We’re building a path to the place marked “end.” He sets his card on the square n
ext to “start.”

  I pick up a tile and start to build on the path. Race to the Treasure is a cooperative game—we both win, or the ogre wins by blocking us from reaching the end.

  “I like your house,” I say, glancing around the living room. The furniture has a modern, contemporary vibe, but throw pillows and curtains make it feel softer, as well as a neatly folded stack of small, knitted throws on the floor next to the sofa. There are photos displayed of Aidan and Mary, Maisie, and another woman who must be their third sister.

  There’s a bare-looking pine tree in the corner, totally undecorated, and I realize it must be the tree that Mary bought after the tree lot salesman broke the ugly truth about Santa.

  I have an uncharacteristic urge to find the guy and punch him in the jaw.

  Aidan picks up a tile—a picture of an ogre—and sets it on the side of the board. Four more, and we’re toast. “It’s smaller than our house in Charlotte. Mom says it can be smaller since it’s just the two of us, but I told her we need room for Dad for when he comes back from his business trip. Even if they’re not going to be married anymore, he’ll want to see me.”

  Another stab to my heart, this time for him. It’s definitely not my place to tell him his father isn’t coming back, but it’s hard to hear him talk about it.

  His face scrunches as he stares at the board with a faraway look. “Maybe Mom should get Dad an adult present. Like her magic wand.”

  Midway through turning over an ogre tile, I sputter out laughter and then cover it up with a cough. I don’t want him to misunderstand and think I’m laughing at him. Besides, the thought of Mary buying that asshole Glenn a vibrator isn’t all that funny on second thought. I don’t want to imagine her using a vibrator with, or while thinking about, another man. Especially him.

  I have no right to such thoughts, but the way she looks at me when she lets her guard down…

  I want her, more than I’ve wanted a woman in I don’t know how long, but I can’t act on it.

  Can I?

  I’m not sure how to respond to Aidan’s idea, but he seems oblivious to my internal strife. He looks up at me with an earnestness that trips my heart, until he asks, “What kind of magic do you think it does?”

  All sorts of answers come to mind—none appropriate—so I say, “I think it’s one of the mysteries you get the answers to when you’re an adult. Like tax law.”

  He considers my answer for a moment before nodding, then promptly changes the topic to his displeasure that his art class was cancelled for the assembly.

  “Change is hard,” I say, “but life is full of change.”

  “Like moving here,” he says, staring down at the game board.

  “Exactly. Some changes are good. You got to move closer to your aunts.”

  “And Uncle Cal and Uncle Jack,” he says. “And Baby Mabel, but she cries a lot.”

  “Babies do that,” I say as we continue playing. “They don’t have words, so that’s how they tell us they’re hungry or thirsty or don’t feel good.” I give him a grin. “Or that they have poopy diapers.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “Poop is not funny. It stinks and has germs that can make you sick. You have to sing the alphabet song while you wash your hands after you poop.”

  I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  We keep playing until we win. Aidan is pleased and wants to play again, but Mary walks out from the kitchen just then, still looking sheepish, and says, “Your hot chocolate is ready.”

  Aidan hops up and announces he has to go to the bathroom. “Not poopy,” he says matter-of-factly, “but I still need to sing the song while I wash my hands.”

  “Then you’ll be ready for hot chocolate,” I say.

  He heads down the hall, and I hear a door close.

  My attention is completely focused on Mary—on her burning cheeks, and the short hair that refuses to stay perfectly tucked behind her ears no matter how many times she tries, and her hazel eyes gleaming with embarrassment but also lust. I take a step closer. I keep seeing that vibrator in her hand and imagining all the things I would like to do to her with it.

  “Uh…” she stammers.

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed,” I say in a low voice. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mary O’Shea, and you have needs.”

  Her cheeks instantly turn redder, and her gaze averts to the bare tree as if she can’t bring herself to look at me anymore. God help me, but I can’t stop thinking about helping her with those needs.

  “Thank you again for coming,” she says, then sucks in a horrified breath. “For coming over. To my house.”

  I nearly respond with as opposed to coming in your house, but I bite my tongue, because while I love to see Mary flustered and breathless, I’d prefer to see her breathless beneath me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jace

  That’s my cue to get the fuck out before I do something I’ll regret. I need to find a way to excuse myself, only Aidan wants me to stay for hot cocoa.

  I drop my gaze to the stack of throws, telling myself to think about something else. Like cleaning out Bingo’s litter box.

  “I can’t figure out what to do with those,” Mary says, noticing where my gaze has shifted. She walks over and squats next to the pile, straightening up a nonexistent mess. “Aidan likes having them here, but I don’t like leaving them draped over the back of the sofa.” She stands and shrugs, looking embarrassed again. “I know. First-world problems.”

  So, she’s a neat freak, not that I’m surprised.

  I hear the bathroom door open, and Aidan walks into the room. “Can we have our hot chocolate out here, Mom?”

  Mary glances from her son to me, then back to her son. “Why don’t we sit at the table in the kitchen? It will be more comfortable there.”

  “But I want Jace to see our tree,” he says.

  “I saw it while we were playing our game,” I say. “And I think drinking our hot chocolate in the kitchen is a great idea. Then I can see a different part of your house.”

  “You can see my room too,” he says, then turns and walks back down the hall. “Come on, Jace.”

  “You don’t have to follow him,” Mary says, apologetically.

  “I don’t mind.” I smile to reassure her, then trail after him. Mary tags along after me.

  But we don’t find Aidan in his room. He’s standing inside the bathroom. “This is the bathroom. It doesn’t stink, because I didn’t poop.”

  The room has pale cream walls, a dinosaur shower curtain, and a beige tile floor. Crisp white towels hang from the towel rod. I give the air a good sniff. “You’re right. No stink.”

  Aidan gives me a look that suggests he thinks I’m crazy for trying to sniff poop. Then he reaches behind the shower curtain and pulls out a bottle. “This is my new shampoo. Mom got it after we moved to Asheville.”

  He peers at the bottle as though he’s offended, although I suspect his grudge has more to do with the move than the hair product.

  “I heard it’s good to change your shampoo every year or so,” I volunteer. “It’s better for your hair.”

  His sour expression softens.

  “I bet you could find something good to say about it,” I say. “Actually, let’s go big. Tell me three good things about your new shampoo.”

  He hesitates. “It’s the kind that doesn’t hurt your eyes.”

  “That’s important. Tell me two more.”

  “It smells good.” He pauses, twisting up his mouth in thought. “And it makes lots of bubbles.”

  “There you go,” I say. “The change wasn’t so bad.”

  He puts the bottle back without comment, then walks past me, heading down the hall a few feet and into a bedroom.

  I follow, not surprised to see the beige walls are covered with posters of dinosaurs.

  “This wall is just for dinosaurs with armored bodies,” he says, pointing to the wall featuring posters of a variety of dinosaurs with scales and plates. Of course, the
majority are devoted to ankylosauruses.

  “The ankylosaurus had a beak. See?” he says, pointing to one of the posters. “Did you know that dinosaurs are related to birds?”

  “I’d actually heard that,” I say with a smile as I turn to take in his room. He has a full-sized bed covered with a navy quilt. His pillowcases are covered in dinosaurs, and an enormous stuffed ankylosaurus has pride of placement next to his pillows. “Your dinosaur display is very impressive.”

  He walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer, pulling out several pairs of underwear. “These are my underwear with dinosaurs. I have more, but Mom does laundry on Sundays, so a lot of them are dirty.”

  “I do laundry on Sundays too.”

  “I want more dinosaur underwear, but Mom says I’m getting ready to grow soon, so I have to wait until I grow a size.”

  “That sounds very practical.” Very Mary.

  “I have some dinosaur shirts, but most of them are dirty too.” He puts the underwear back, then opens another drawer and pulls out a shirt with a cartoon T. rex looking up. It says, Look out for asteroids. “I have this one from Aunt Maisie, but it’s a cartoon. Mikey says cartoons are for babies.”

  Mikey again, huh? That kid’s definitely on the naughty list.

  “Aidan,” Mary says sternly behind me.

  “I think cartoons are pretty cool,” I say. “You know, plenty of adults watch cartoons.”

  “And so do you,” Mary reminds him. “Dinosaur Train is a cartoon.”

  He shrugs and stuffs the shirt into the drawer.

  “I guess it’s okay,” he says. “I do have a lot of dinosaur stuff, but I don’t have any models. The boxes say they’re for ages eight and up.”

  “That’s only two more years,” I say.

  “But I heard Mikey say he makes dinosaur models with his dad.” His forehead wrinkles with a frown. “He puts them on his dresser.” His gaze slides to the top of his dresser, which is bare except for an ankylosaurus-shaped piggy bank and a matching lamp. “Do you think my dad will help me make a dinosaur model when he comes to see me?”