“What’s with the chicken nuggets?”
“You know what’s with the chicken nuggets. Instead of saying vulgar words, I sub in something else.”
“That’s childish.”
“It could be funny if you had a sense of humor.”
“My sense of humor is just fine.”
“Your sense of humor is chicken nuggets.”
“That makes no sense. You should swear more when there aren’t little ears around. You sound ridiculous otherwise.”
“If you make it a habit, things slip out. It’s not okay for things to slip when someone looks up to you.”
“It’s still ridiculous.” I feel the jab in there, but I can’t figure out what exactly it is, and it slightly pisses me off. I feel rattled. I don’t like feeling rattled.
“I’m getting the tree tomorrow. Sorry for interrupting your game. Goodnight.”
Then she’s gone in a flash. She just spins on her heel and walks out of the room. She needed the last word, but it wasn’t the kind of evil last word most people need to get in. In fact, I don’t think there’s much evil in Feeney at all. She’s smart, but she doesn’t use it for bad purposes. She probably does have a good sense of humor, and god, it’s been a long time since I had an intelligent conversation with someone. It’s been a long time since I talked to someone at all.
Wait a minute. Did I actually just enjoy that?
And what’s wrong with my steak from dinner? Why is it suddenly sitting so heavy and horrible in my stomach?
Also, what’s wrong with my brain? It’s gone haywire, giving me faulty circuits. I’m just slightly annoyed, that’s all. I don’t feel anything more than annoyance slash slight anger. Maybe. And fuck, my body just doesn’t know what to do with itself when my brain doesn’t know what to do with itself.
Fuck the fucking Christmas tree. Fuck fucking Christmas. I can honestly say I can’t stand it.
No. I didn’t enjoy that. The steak was bad, and it’s giving me lousy brain chemicals. I’m starting to hallucinate. That wasn’t even a conversation, and it certainly wasn’t an argument. It was Feeney poking her nose in to tell me to do better. For some reason, I want to do better. I want to do the fu…chicken nugget Christmas tree. And everything else. For Shade’s sake. Yeah, for Shade.
I need a distraction now more than ever, so I shove my headset back on and pick up the controller. I play a few more rounds before I turn the game off, disgusted with myself. I’m normally pretty good at this, but I think I died within ten seconds of every single round.CHAPTER 10FeeneyI’m nervous as all chicken nuggets when five o’clock rolls around the next day. The nerves turn to nausea when Shade and I hear the front door open. Luke’s footsteps sound like my doom coming down the hall. What’s he going to say when he sees the living room? Is he going to freak out? He didn’t freak out last night. Last night, he was pretty calm to the point of being cold. I can’t believe I basically told him off, and he didn’t really even put up resistance.
I think he’s become so good at being an asshole…err, I mean a chicken nugget, that it’s practically second nature. He relies on it as a shield. I expected some emotion when we talked last night but there was nothing. He’s become seriously good at shutting down.
Not that I can blame him. If I were in his place with a kid to look after, a household to run, a job I couldn’t just quit, bills to pay, and I was doing it all alone after something terrible happened, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I just didn’t deal with it, I can’t imagine I’d be much better.
I know I wouldn’t be much better. Christmas was always a fun time at my house. My mom loves Christmas, and my dad endures it for her sake because he loves her. Even after all these years, my parents are a success story. I can’t remember ever asking them how they met, and they don’t talk about it, but it’s been nearly thirty years, and they’re still together. They don’t hate each other, they sleep in the same bedroom, and sometimes, they even do small loving things in front of me, like hold hands or kiss each other on the cheek.
And Mom always makes a big deal out of Christmas. Every year, she goes full out with the decorations. We usually have three trees, and the house turns into this extravaganza that could outdo most malls or put any Christmas display to shame around the city.
This year, it makes me feel disgustingly homesick to think about it being the first Christmas I’m not going to be spending at home. I’m ashamed to say I literally cried myself to sleep last night thinking about it—the first time ever for that too.