I made up an answer—I was moving back to Oregon, my career was there, blah blah blah.
There were more hugs and sympathy and invitations to, “Stay in Kalulell!”
“You should come sledding with us,” Jaxi said. “I think you’ll feel better.”
My mother stepped forward. She was gorgeous and smiling, white hair up in a messy bun, turquoise earrings, necklace, and bracelet only adding to her fashionable blue-green sweater and jeans.
“Hi, Aunt Whiskey,” they said. “Will you be okay if we take Bellini sledding?”
“As you can see, even without my uterus, I am still a healthy, non-feral woman. I’m not wearing a diaper. I’m not moaning. I have not had an enema. Therefore, I need no help. Bellini’s going. She needs fresh air and a sled. She needs a drink, though I know she won’t drink it. She needs to feel the wind whipping through the air as she crashes down the slip-and-slide hill.”
“Exactly,” Helena said. “Get dressed in your ski bum outfit, and let’s go. The aunts and my mom are already on their way.”
“I’m going to stay home and get caught up onMarry Me,” I said.
“You can do that later,” Helena said. “Aunt Whiskey, your application is in, right?”
“Sure is, and I think I’ll be chosen to be on the show.” Mom wriggled her eyebrows, threw her hands in the air, and did amock dance, hips swinging while she sang, “Oh yeah, I’m gonna be on TV! I’m gonna find myself a husband!”
Helena and Jaxi raised their hands in victory.
“I can’t wait!” Helena said, clapping.
“This will be something we’ll never forget!” Jaxi said. “Our very own Aunt Whiskey onMarry Me! I loved Ruthie Deschutes O’Hara, and she found a hot husband, but old, and I think you’ll find a hot husband, too! Hopefully not old.”
“I’ll find a hot young husband. I’ll bust his balls, and then we’ll get married. Now get out of here, Bellini. Right now. Go slip and slide…” She raised her hand as if to say,Now stop, when I opened my mouth to argue.
I was in no shape to socialize or see anyone, and my puffy ghost face was a fright.
“Bellini, you need this, honey,” my mom said. “Go. Give me a hug. I will be fine here on my own with my invisible uterus. Find the spirit-fighter within you! Hang out with your aunts and uncles and cousins and recover your lady equilibrium, your inner power, your wild spirit. I made those phrases up! What do you think?”
Helena and Jaxi clapped for her. “We love it!” they said.
Mom bowed.
I wasn’t given a choice. My cousins pushed me up the stairs and tore through my closet to find my old ski clothes. I was soon in too-tight red ski pants, a purple jacket with a butterfly on it, a yellow and green hat, and wool socks that didn’t match. I also had one red glove and one pink glove because we couldn’t find a matching set.
In the end, I was glad I went. We drove out to a hill on my aunt Emmie’s property. It was mobbed with O’Donnell family members and friends. I half expected to see Logan. He was friends with so many O’Donnells, and I knew he would havebeen invited, as confirmed by my cousins Jaxi, Helena, Track, Gallatin, Nick, Ruby, and Brock. Plus, two uncles.
Many of them asked me where he was, and I said I didn’t know. They got it. Instantly.
“Oh dear,” my aunts said, clucking at my frightful face.
“Not again,” my uncles muttered.
“Are you okay?” my cousins asked. “You don’t look okay.”
The sledding, however, did give me a lift. We flew down that hill on sleds and inner tubes. We screamed and laughed. We shared inner tubes and sat in one another’s laps. We crashed and flipped over and flew through the air off a ramp two of the uncles had made years ago.
It was fast and furious, and I got a break from my torn-up heart. My uncle Walt had bought everyone a Santa Hat, so we wore those as we sped down the hill. Later, we had hot chocolate and Christmas sugar cookies and candy canes. We sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs.
I did okay until I was home, in bed with Mom, like I was a kid. I cried again during my favorite cooking show hosted by a woman named Olivia Martindale. She was making a Christmas wedding cake.
I continued to work on Lady Whiskey’s T and A Christmas Burlesque Show.
Two high schoolers, who had more knowledge about lighting and tech in one teeny tiny finger than I willeverhave, made sure all was ready. A man named Nico had volunteered to handle all the music. There were more questions about the lineup of acts and the potluck and where the punchbowls would go, and which bartenders would be at the event and how to get everything over to Logan’s. I had emailed everyone that information, but they wanted to call me and chat and gossip instead. So, they did.
Our tickets had sold out weeks ago, and people who’d procrastinated were pretty upset. One man, Bobby Shellendahl said, “I was in the Army, in special ops, Bellini, and trust me, Hailey and I are coming in, even if we have to use parachutes. I’ll leave money on the table for our tickets. We can’t miss Lady Whiskey’s Tits and Ass show.”
