I shake my head slowly, in disbelief of what she’s telling me. At the same time, I knew it had something to do with Jordan not being around. “Isn’t he in Cali on business?” I’m praying to God that’s where he is, because if he’s not where he told my sister he was going to be, he’s got a serious death wish. I still don’t understand why people want to test the UFC heavyweight champion.
“Is he? I have no idea. He hasn’t called me in days.” She places her cup on the coffee table in front of her and refills it with the bottle of wine once more.
“Days?” I’m gonna kill this motherfucker.
She chuckles, but she’s not finding this at all funny. I can tell by the murderous expression on her face because, just like me, my sister also has a bit of a temper. Of course, it’s nowhere near the same as mine, but it’s enough. She’s just waiting for the perfect moment. “I lost count of how many.” She throws the drink back and swallows as soon as it hits her throat.
I take a good look at my sister. I don’t know why this piece of shit is treating her this way. She’s been nothing but a great wife to him since before they even got married.
“Mari, what are you going to do?” She should leave his ass. She shouldn’t take any more of his shit. This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this to her. The last time he cheated on her was before they got married, and she forgave him. I’d held him up by his collar against the wall, and she begged me not to hurt him.
Because she knew I was two seconds away from rearranging his face.
Asshole.
Anyway, she forgave him, they moved on from it, and they got married. Two years later and he’s at it again. It makes me wonder if he’s been untruthful and unfaithful for longer than we’ve known.
Marianna shrugs and once again downs the rest of her drink. “What can I do?”
“You know exactly what you need to do. He’s not treating you right.”
She stares at me without saying a word, but I know she knows exactly what she needs to do this time.
Minutes later, she takes a deep breath, nodding. “Look, don’t say anything to Mom, Dad, or Max, okay? I haven’t said anything yet. I don’t want them to worry, but I’ll tell them. I just need some time and the holidays to pass.”
I nod in agreement. “I won’t say anything, but hasn’t anyone else asked about him?”
She shrugs. “Of course they have, but like always, I’ve been making excuses for him. I just know he’s cheating on me again.” Marianna looks away just as Max walks in.
Guess it’s time to change the direction of the conversation.
My eyes dart toward him. “Hey, man.” I wave two fingers in the air.
“Yo, I’m stuffed,” Max announces, taking a seat on one of the couches.
“You finally finished shoving pie down your throat?” I ask. Max is known for eating a few pieces of pie every year on Christmas Eve. It’s like his own personal holiday tradition.
“Hey, Mom makes the best pies around. You can’t say no when she brings them out,” he says.
“That’s true.” My mother does make the best apple, blueberry, chocolate mousse, and key lime pies in the world.
“She fell asleep?” he asks, pointing at Gianna.
I nod, picking her up and rising to my feet. “I’m about to put her to bed.”
Marianna finally looks toward us, her eyes obviously red. “I think I’m going to bed too. Night, fellas.” She gets to her feet and darts out of the room before either of us have a chance to answer.
“Damn, I can’t take it anymore,” Max says.
I adjust Gianna in my arms. “Can’t take what anymore?”
He scoffs. “She hasn’t said anything to me, but I’m not blind. I know what’s going on, and I personally have an ill taste for Jordan. He’s messing with the wrong family.”
Of course he knows. My sister tries her hardest to not worry the family, but being that we are so closely knit, there’s no way any of us wouldn’t notice when something like this is going on. I’m pretty sure my parents know too.
“Man, she promised me not to say anything, but I had a horrible feeling about it.”
He shrugs. “I just want to know why she hasn’t told me, like does she think I’m not trustworthy enough or what?”
I chuckle. “No one tells you anything because you’re quick to snap… a family trait, I guess. But when you snap, it’s always trouble. Plus, you’re quick to tell Mom and Dad everything.”
“Man, that was so long ago! And not for nothing, but you’re the one with the temper, Mr. UFC Heavyweight Champion.” He laughs.
I laugh along with him. “Well, bro. I have something to tell you too, but it’s going to have to wait. I’ve got to get this little one into bed. Have a good night.” I walk toward the door with Gianna in my arms.
“Wait! What’s up? Tell me now,” he says.
I spin around to face him with a smirk. “I’ll tell you soon. Night-night, li’l bro.”
He grimaces playfully. “Night, Enz.” Moments later, he calls out to me again. “Hey, Enz?”
“Yeah?”
He shrugs. “Guess I’m playing Santa Max again,” he says, pointing at the milk and cookies set on the coffee table. The colorful, sparkling lights of the Christmas tree reflect off the glass.
I chuckle. “Yup. Make sure you finish them all and place the gifts under the tree and in the stockings. She’ll be up by five tomorrow morning, so get to it.”
Max rubs his belly. “I’m so going to get a stomachache.”
“Better you than me, li’l bro,” I say jokingly.
“Hey, Enz?”
“Yeah?”
He puts up his middle finger. “Merry Christmas.”
I laugh. “Merry Christmas, fucker.”
I snap my eyes open to the sunlight coming in through the small cracks in the blinds. The New York Yankees posters and decals still line the walls. I find it hilarious how my mom has yet to change my room around, even though I’ve been out of the house for years. She’s got all my old trophies and books sitting on the shelves. My gaming chair is set off to the side in front of the television set from my teenage years. I don’t think I’ve played a video game since I left home.
I’m surprised Gianna is not up yet and running full speed toward me, begging me to open all the gifts from Santa. I look toward my left at the nightstand and find my cell phone. I pick it up; it’s just after six in the morning.
Is it too early to text someone and wish them Merry Christmas? Because I have this itching sensation to text Carissa already.
I freaking miss talking to her.
It’s Christmas. She’s probably up with her family opening gifts, isn’t she?
I take a shot and compose a text to her. Hopefully she’s not still asleep and won’t curse me out for waking her up.
Me: Merry Christmas, beautiful.
I wallow in self-pity after five minutes go by and she still hasn’t responded. She’s totally going to curse me out when she gets this.
Another ten minutes go by, and finally, she responds back.