“Stay out of this, Kate.” I order, feeling a bit lightheaded from the mere mention of Penny. My fists clutch and my body begins to heat up, sweat crawling around the edges of my forehead. Moving to Dad, I stand before him, fearing for my life that there’s a small part of him that lives within me. “I never asked for your help.”
“You don’t deserve my help, kid. Grow up already!”
“Boys!” Mom hisses, and sighs, her eyebrows frowning in displeasure. She’s shaking, her small frame almost in hysterics, and immediately I feel guilty, hearing her trembling voice. “Stop, okay? Stop. Please? It’s almost Christmas.”
She’s right. It’s Christmastime, and yet another reason for the success stories of my siblings and the struggle stories of me to be brought up. Opening the piece of paper for my secret Santa I cuss under my breath, reading my brother’s name on it. Karma’s a bitch, and she’s after me. Crumbling up my paper, I toss it into the garbage can and head toward the backyard, desperately in need of some air. I haven’t even taken off my winter coat, and I’m already in need of air. How messed up is that?
“Mmm, that smells so good.” Aunt Sally peeks her head outside the screen door to find me sitting on the back patio step smoking a cig, and staring out into nothingness. “Mind if I join you?”
I’ve been sitting here for a few minutes, running my fingers across the engagement ring my late grandmother gave to me six years ago. I take it everywhere I go, looking at it each day, wondering what it truly stands for, wondering if it’s always going to be in my possession. Sliding the ring back into my pocket, I wipe off some of the snow on the step, and pat a spot for my aunt to join me. “Course not.”
She moves outside with her winter coat wrapped around her and shivers as she sits next to me. Closing her eyes, she breathes in deeply, taking in the toxic smells of tobacco. I would offer her a hit, but I know how much she wants another baby, even if she denies it. People don’t put on the patch because their husbands say so. People don’t put on the patch because the family hates the smells. People put on the patch because they believe there’s something out there more worthwhile than a few minutes of solitude. People put on the patch because in their hearts, they want to feel more with each breath they take, every pump of their lungs.
Sometimes I wish I had a reason to wear the patch; but, as long as I’m a screw up, I’ll find a reason to light up.
“What’s the deal with you and Landon anyway?” Sally asks. It’s a question filled with too many explanations. I shrug it off, blow a cloud smoke into the chilled air, and laugh when I see Sally try to catch the smoke in her mouth.
“Your mom’s so happy you’re here,” she smiles and stares out into the backyard, noticing the absurd Christmas lights, yet she doesn’t mention it. “She worries you know, about how you’re doing. She wonders if you’re all right.”
“I know.”
“Are you, though? Are you all right, kiddo?”
Another shrug. I’m not sure if I know what being ‘all right’ means. I turned twenty-seven a few months ago and drive a car my dad paid for, live in an apartment he pays half the rent for, and bartend to pay the other half. No matter how much I’ve tried to get myself out there in the world of acting, I haven’t caught a break here in Chicago. How do you even start building a résumé if the only way to get a part is based on your nonexistent résumé?
“I’m good.”
She smiles and lays her head on my shoulder. “For an actor you’re a shitty liar. Oh P.S., guess who picked you for secret Santa.” Sally reaches into her coat pocket and hands me a piece of paper. “I know it’s early and way less than five dollars, but fuck it. You know how I feel about rules and shit.”
Narrowing my eyes, I open up the folded paper, and am taken back. My eyes shoot back to my aunt and she’s still smiling. “You kidding me?”
“Merry Christmas, buddy.”
The paper holds the name of a lady I’m supposed to meet tomorrow at one in the afternoon for a chance to sign with their acting agency. Not just any agency, but Walter and Jack’s Talent Agency, one of the top agencies in the city. I look at Sally, no words coming to mind. My body reacts to the letter though; my hands become shaky and my feet begin tapping against the step. Running my hand across my face, trying to bite back the tears, I release a deep-gutted sigh.
“How? What…? Sally, you don’t know what this means to me.”
She leans in and smiles. “I do. But don’t thank me. It was actually your mom who got in touch with Stacey, who goes to the same church as we do. She’s the one you’re meeting with. Your mom fed her your sob story and she fell for it. Stacey’s also all kinds of pregnant and hormonal, so I’m sure that helped the cause.”