Page 2 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
And this is my family. Not a single one of them takes me seriously.
Expression flat—and somewhat annoyed—I say, “This is not a joking matter. They were talking about the property behind ours. You know the empty lot.”
Grandpa M coughs, his whole body convulsing until he rolls to his back and snores into the air.
Dad rubs his forehead. “Atlas, you can’t come charging into the house like that, startling us all just to say there are people talking on the other end of the property.”
“Really, dear,” Mom says. “We love you, but ever since you won the Christmas Kringle competition last year, it seems like your dramatic ways have kicked up a notch.”
I beg your pardon, Mother?
Standing taller, I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gently, Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “You seem to have a flair for... embellishing. And this started when you entered the competition last year, addressing everyone in town assirandmadam, wearing a top hat and tipping it to everypasserby... strutting up on stage as a dog again, panting in shorts far too short for you.” Whispering, she says, “Sherry and Tanya are still talking about your jiggly bits.”
Narrator: Just to step in for a moment, our matriarch of the story is talking about the town’s Christmas competition to see who is the most Christmassy of all. It’s an annual competition between five competitors who are put through several mini-contests to earn points. The year before last, Cole, the best friend, battled it out against his now wife, Storee. Last year, Max took on the treasured contest and won. His ego has yet to deflate since winning, especially since Cole didn’t take the crown when he entered.
“There is nothing jiggly on my body,” I say, insulted.
“I have video that proves otherwise,” Ansel says while examining a page in the book, using his finger to trace the edges of the Eiffel Tower.
Letting out a frustrated breath, I say, “Listen, I’m not embellishing, and I’m not being dramatic. There were people talking out in the woods, discussing the development of the land. Development,” I enunciate. “Don’t you care?”
Stepping up, Dad says, “Atlas, I appreciate the concern, but there’s no reason for you to be barging into our peaceful home like you did to let us know that people are talking about the land next to ours. You have no idea if they’re just chatting or if they’re really interested, nor will it have any effect on us.”
“Uh, I think barging is necessary when they could possibly try to copy our idea. You know the acreage on that land? Thirty, Dad. There are thirty acres of prime space ready to just take over what we have created.”
“Jesus, Atlas,” Felix says, his eyes fixated on the TV in front of him. “First of all, that land has been vacant for years. No one even knows who owns it. Second of all, there are strict regulations within Kringle that prevent businesses fromreplicating another business in town, so even if the people who are supposedly talking on the other side of the property are thinking about purchasing the land, they have no ability or right to replicate Evergreen Farm.”
“He’s right,” Ansel adds. “Which in return makes you wrong, Atlas.” He clears his throat and then turns the book toward me. “Atlas, you’re what the French callles imbéciles.”
What a douche.Just say imbecile, you nimrod.
Ignoring my brothers, I raise my voice. “I’m not fucking around. I heard them sayfarm. They’re starting a farm.”
“Atlas—”
“Dad, I’m serious, okay? They’re going to take over Evergreen Farm!”
Grandpa M startles awake and nearly chokes on his own saliva as he sits up and sputters out a cough.
Ansel is quick to the ground, patting on Grandpa M’s back, coddling the old man. “Hand me my beer,” Ansel says to Felix, who hands him the beer. Helping Grandpa M take a sip, Ansel looks over his shoulder at me. “Look what you did, you jerk. Grandpa M is now awake from his slumber.”
I rub my fingers on my temple, feeling like I’ve walked into an alternate universe where what I say has no validity.Uh, hello, it’s me, Atlas.Doesn’t anyone care? Isn’t anyone worried? Evergreen Farm has been passed down from Grandpa M to my parents, soon to be passed down to me. The last thing I want to do is be the one who fucks up the family business by not exposing any potential enemies coming our way.
“Atlas,” Dad says softly. “I think you should go upstairs and just... cool off. It’s been a long day, and the busy holiday season starts tomorrow. Perhaps you should get some rest.”
“Dad,” I say in a pleading tone. “I’m not lying. There were people.”
“I know.” He pats my shoulder passively. “I know. But best you get some sleep.”
“But I’m supposed to take Grandpa M home.”
“The boys will take care of that. You just... you just go upstairs.”
When I glance around at my family, noticing all eyes on me, a mixture of annoyed and humored, I take that as a sign that maybe I really should just disappear... for the night.
Head held high, I move toward the stairs. “Mark my words, when someone starts developing that land and starts their very own tree farm, I’ll sit back and say,You should have listened to me.”
