Free Mistletoe & Bastards by Lindy Dale

served.
    “Of course.
We’d love to have you at our little gathering.”
    “I’m not
putting you out?”
    “No, no. Mum,
like, always prepares way too much anyway in case we have to like
adopt a sailor or something.”
    I decided not
to ask Kirby what she was on about; I knew the explanation would be
beyond my realm of comprehension. “What time should I come?”
    “We start
around eleven with champagne cocktails and gift opening. Wear a
party dress.”
    The party dress
and cocktails I could definitely do, the gifts might be something
of a challenge at this late stage.
    “And don’t
worry about presents, hon,” Kirby continued as if psychic. “The
pleasure of your company will, totally, be all we need.”
    Possibly not in
my current mood but I was willing to give it a go.
    “Okay. Great.
I’ll see you soon. And thanks Kirbs.”
    “Any time. I’ll
like totally be expecting you to dish the dirt when you get here
though. It’s a condition of being served lunch.”
    “To your whole
family?”
    “Sure. They’re,
like, excellent at advice. Where do you think I get all my tricks
from?” She gave a giggle.
    *****
    Half an hour,
one shower and two Beroccas for my headache later, I was standing
in front of the open wardrobe trying to decide between a little
black dress and little red one when the doorbell rang. Given what
had happened the last time I’d opened the door without knowing who
was on the other side — ie: I’d had sex with Johnny — I was
understandably hesitant. If it was Johnny, I wasn’t going to let
him in. In fact, I wasn’t sure I could even talk to him given that
I’d only just stopped crying and hour before and my nerves were
still fairly raw.
    “Who’s there?”
I asked the back of the door.
    “Bertram’s
florist.”
    Shit. There was
only one person in the world that would send me flowers and it
wasn’t my mother. I’d be lucky to get a phone call from her. I
opened the door.
    The boy
standing on the other side was peering between the petals on a
massive bunch of white Christmas lilies. The only bigger display
I’d seen had been on a coffin, which if the flowers were from
Johnny was where I’d like them to be.
    On his
coffin.
    “Melanie
Samson?”
    “Yes.”
    He handed me
the bunch of flowers.
    “You need to
sign.”
    I put the
flowers on the hall table and went back to the door where I
scrawled my name on the electronic clipboard.
    After the front
door was closed, I stood looking at the flowers for a minute. I had
no idea where I was going to put them. If I sat them on the table I
wouldn’t be able to fit to eat and if I put them on the coffee
table I’d never see the TV, not that I watched it that much but,
still. At last I decided on the end of the kitchen bench and then,
as I was arranging them in a vase the doorbell rang again.
    What the
hell?
    Putting down
the card I’d been about to read, I went to the door for the second
time, not bothering to check who was there this time. A different
delivery guy stood in front of me with a massive teddy bear in his
arms. It was chocolate brown and had a huge Christmas bow in green
and gold tied around its neck.
    “Melanie
Samson?” the delivery guy asked.
    “Yes.”
    He handed me
the bear — god knows where I was going to put it — and I
stuffed it under one arm, signing with the other. “Thanks.”
    “Someone likes
you a lot.”
    “Either that or
he’s feeling extremely guilty.” I gave a titter that sounded
slightly maniacal and shut the door dragging the bear down the hall
and into the lounge. It was enormous. And rather heavy. I plonked
it in the armchair and took the second card to the kitchen.
    I had the first
card out of its envelope when the doorbell chimed for a third
time.
    For fuck’s
sake, I thought, beginning to lose my patience. What was with these
people? Didn’t they have better things to do on Christmas Day? What
courier company even worked on Christmas Day? I put the
cards on the bench and stomped up