“Huh,” Oliver said, cutting off a piece of turkey. “I didn’t think reindeer were carnivorous.”
“He’s an emotional eater,” Merrie said, patting the animal.
“I have a cookie.” She waved a treat at Prancer. The reindeer licked his chops and turned his huge body toward her, the small silver bells on the garland wrapped in his antlers twinkling.
“Your reindeer ate my food,” I snapped at Merrie.
She raised an eyebrow.
“It was on a Christmas plate.” She pointed. “I would have thought you’d be happy with Prancer, considering how much you hate this holiday.”
“He doesn’t hate it,” Oliver piped up. “He was supposed to get married on Christmas.”
Merrie’s mouth made a littleO.
I was furious.
“Shut up,” I snarled at my brother, icy cold flooding through my veins.
This fucking holiday. My fucking family. Fucking Hensley.
“It’s true,” Oliver said, needling me. “You were all happy about that wedding, even though everyone told you that Hensley was a bitch.”
“We’re just gonna leave…” Merrie said as she and Prancer backed away awkwardly.
“We did tell you not to propose to that girl,” Belle reminded me gently.
“You all never liked her and treated her like shit. That’s probably why she cheated.”
I grabbed the plate and stalked off back to the stall to get another dinner.
I knew it wasn’t true. In hindsight, there were red flags brighter than Merrie’s red hair waving around Hensley. I had been too blind to see them.
I had wanted the family, the marriage, the happily ever after—the redo from my own messed-up family. And in the end, I had just found a woman as screwed up as my mom.
“Looks like you enjoyed your meal,” the woman at the counter said when I handed her the plate. “Licked it all clean, you did!”
Fuck Christmas. I was going to starve.
The microphone on the stage at the front of the seating area screeched as the man in the nutcracker costume tapped it.
“Good evening! I’m Dave, the chairman of the raffle committee. Thanks to everyone for your contributions to charity. Without further ado, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Drumroll!” He rapped his knuckles on the giant snow globe on the cart next to him.
“Oh, I hope I win tonight,” the stall owner said, handing me back the change deposit for the plate. I tossed the five-dollar bill in her tip jar.
“The winner is…” Dave tossed the tickets in his hat and pulled out a red scrap of paper. “Number 8923, Matt Frost.”
“Seriously?”
“You won!” the people in line congratulated me.
“I don’t want—”
“We have the winner right here!” the stall owner yelled, her voice carrying over the crowd. “Go get your prize.”
“You can have it.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Now I need you to turn that frown upside down. It’s Christmas, and you won the raffle.”
