Free Bury This by Andrea Portes

you could use it.”
    No, no, this peppermint schnapps is not a good idea. It cheapens it. Cheapens the vase with the tiny scratch roses and red roses, too. That’s enough. That’ll do. It’s a classy gift. Thought out.
    Better just leave the schnapps out of it. Better just keep that to myself. Can’t bring it back anyway, no way, not to missus cunty cunt back there. The look she’d give me. Little bitch.
    No, best to keep the schnapps out of it. Best to drink it. Maybe just a sip. Dutch courage.

THREE
    T he kitchen is a place you take someone when you’re not sure you want them to stay. And so it was that Shauna Boggs found herself standing in the middle of the holiday-scent kitchen, surrounded by Danek, Lars, Brad, Katy, and, of course, Dorothy Krause, too. The Lt. Colonel, in the other room, had said a perfunctory salutation, a nod of acknowledgment, but it was fourth quarter, what could he do? Danek was treating this like a scene from a TV drama, he had seen this setup before, he would have to learn these skills, one day, as a senator. The unwelcome guest. The unhappy constituent. It was all practice, everything was practice for those years on the Hill.
    â€œShauna, please, would you like something? Some water, maybe some coffee?”
    But Shauna doesn’t hear him, or see him, or acknowledge him. Shauna is too busy proffering her big silver-and-gold present, something in a festive shiny paper bag, with sparkles and fleur-de-lis tissue paper. Something heavy, she hands it to Dotsy, solemn, “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Krause.”
    And now, still in her parka, no one has asked her to take it off, Dorothy takes the silver-and-gold regency bag. “Oh, Shauna. That was so sweet of you. How kind. You didn’t have to.”
    And Shauna, wondering now, why haven’t they asked me to sit down? Why haven’t they asked me to take off my coat? Why are we not all sat down around the fire sipping cocoa? Why am I not welcome here?
    Why are these kids here? These four dumb, smug, Gap catalog kids? Why are they looking at me like a problem to be solved? Something to be dealt with? Why the formality? Oh, yes, Shauna. Shauna, would you like some coffee? What’s with all the coffee? Is there a fucking exam in the morning? Geesh.
    Well, no matter. Dots will open the present and all will be forgiven. Good old Dots will preen and primp over the vase and then these little fuckers will part like the Red Sea and, next thing you know, we’ll all be singing carols together, exchanging stories, laughing by the fire.
    And Dorothy Krause does open the gift, taking the box out of the royal gilded festive bag and placing it square on the countertop.
    There it is now, the crystal vase, with roses etched on the side and, now for the kicker, the roses themselves, in the gift bag, waiting in the corner. Bright red roses for the glass rose vase. See. I thought it out.
    The little brats are scurrying to get it all together, make it nice for Dotsy Katy is cutting the flowers and arranging them in the vase, how nice, how pretty, just so.
    â€œWhat a thoughtful gift. How gorgeous, these roses.”
    But somehow, even as they thank me they are shrinking back, pulling away from me, I am out of the circle. Something to be kept on the other side, something to be quarantined.
    Maybe if I show the roses to the Lt. Colonel, maybe then there’ll be the respect. These guys just don’t know the pecking order, see? These guys just don’t get it.
    Reaching for the glass rose vase with new-cut scarlet roses, Shauna Boggs grabs it out of Katy’s hands and holds it up from the kitchen, for the Lt. Colonel to see.
    He’s watching the game, third and goal in the fourth quarter, eyes glued to the screen, the announcer a delirium of hurried excitement. What’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen? This could be the game . . . !
    And from the other room, “Lt. Colonel? Lt. Colonel?! Look what I