“Well, doesn’t that suck donkey balls?”
Over the next twenty agonizing minutes, I downloaded Uber, set up my payment details, and called for a ride. After that harrowing ordeal, I had no energy left to get dressed. The car arrived, and I greeted the driver in my pajamas and robe. He gave me a look, then shrugged.
Three minutes of wandering a gourmet grocery store with a basket dangling from my hand, I realized the error of my ways.
“Miller and Ronan don’t want jars of artichoke hearts and artisanal cheese,” I muttered, garnering a look from a woman who took in my robe and messy hair that, under normal circumstances, would be styled and gelled to perfection.
Last night wasn’t normal circumstances.
River’s hand found my hair, gripping me hard and sending delicious shivers of pain down my spine while I sucked his huge, beautiful cock…
I blinked and gave my head a shake. Jesus, I was going to give myself a hard-on right there in aisle 4. I stared at the woman until she scurried away, then strode for the exit, dropping the basket somewhere on the way out.
I called another Uber, which took nine centuries to arrive while I huddled out of the pouring rain. This time, I went to a regular grocery store, grabbed a cart, and filled it with dude food.
The man at the checkout gave me a once-over as I gnawed a piece of beef jerky and flipped through aNational Enquirerin my bathrobe.
“How are we doing today, sir?” he asked, scanning six-packs of soda, orange juice, bags of chips, pretzels, packages of Twinkies, sandwiches from the deli, hot dogs, a whole carrot cake, and a cheese platter.
“Did you see this?” I flapped the paper. “Bigfoot kept a lumberjack as his sex slave. Crazy world, am I right?”
“Uh, yeah,” the guy said. “Crazy.”
***
That night in the guesthouse, I listened to the storm gather power. Twice, the lights flickered, and thunder shook the house as if a giant were stomping around Santa Cruz. I spent the evening in bed with a bottle of Reg’s hundred-year-old scotch tucked under my arm watchingLove Actuallyand adding my own running commentary.
“Don’t buy that damn necklace, Alan Rickman. You’re going to break Emma’s heart, you villain.”
I checked my phone. Nothing. Not even a text.
I wondered if they were gathered around Mom’s giant dining room table—the one they only used for formal events. Maybe a bunch of family—cousins, my grandparents, aunts and uncles like Reg and Mags, talking and laughing and bragging about who was better at hiding their money in offshore tax havens.
“Leeches,” I muttered, then shot up. “Goddammit, you can’t hit on a married woman like that, ya bastard.”
I swigged the scotch. Checked my phone. Yelled at the TV.
Not the worst Christmas I’d ever spent, all things considered. Not when you factored in Alaska.
I stared at my silent phone. “Fuck ’em.”
***
The following morning, I woke to rain coming down in biblical proportions and a hangover that felt like the wrath of God itself. A hangover in body and soul. My goddamn heart ached for my parents. For Reg and Mags.
For River.
My phone was just where I’d left it on the nightstand, quiet and message-free.
I dressed in jeans, shirt, sweater, coat, and boots, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and bagged up the food to take to the shack. The Uber took eight lifetimes to arrive, and the bastard didn’t even help me load the groceries into the trunk. I was soaked by the time I dove into the back seat.
“The Lighthouse Cliffs?” he said, reading his phone. “You sure you want to be out in this shit?”
A hundred cutting remarks came to mind. I rested my aching head against the window instead.
We arrived at the side street nearest the path that led to the beach, and I climbed out. The rain was relentless, and I, too, questioned the wisdom of such an undertaking. But keeping my promise was literally the only thing I had going for me.
My arms laden with four full grocery bags and rain drenching me to the bone, I took the path down to the beach. The goddamn cold soaked into my sodden clothes and wrapped itself around me, squeezing. I trudged slowly on the rocky path, my shoulders screaming and the plastic bag handles digging into my hands. I stumbled more than once; water lapped at my boots. Lightning crackled in a gray sky over the ocean.
