Page 43 of Frosty Felicity
“I told you not to mess with my laundry!” Aunt Miranda screamed as she came into the living room with Uncle Randy. The two of them made Mom and Stepdad’s arguments sound like two lovebirds adoring one another.
“You had it sittin’ in the washer too long, Miranda! It was going to be mildewed.”
“You always put my shit on high in the dryer, Randy! You don’t know how to do no laundry. I don’t want my clothes all shrunk up, tight, and funny looking like yours!”
“Hey, hey now, y’all. Join us!” Mom clapped her hands, her complexion reddening due to the verbal altercation in front of so many family members, and a few of her friends. “Have a seat, Miranda and Randy,” she said in her super chipper tone. “We’re going to play Monopoly.”
Felicity got to her feet, slipped on her coat, and grabbed her purse. She debated just leaving, and then hearing an earful about it later, just like she’d done on Thanksgiving. But tonight, she was feeling different. Something about that didn’t sit right with her, regardless of how convenient it would be. She stood there for a spell and studied her mother. The pretty woman’s eyes were practically glowing as she fell head first, or, perhaps heart first, into being the host of her annual Christmas dinner. Mom always cooked part of the food, and had the desserts catered by a professional. She’d set up a nice area for the children to play, all of them receiving new toys, and a big television broadcasting cartoons on it non-stop. The home was professionally cleaned, and she was sitting there looking like royalty in a gold dress, her dark hair pulled back and clamped with a butterfly clasp, and beautiful dark red lipstick on her lips.
Felicity walked to her, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. Mom paused from setting up the game, and as their eyes hooked, the energy was palpable. Mom then kissed her back.
“You leaving to visit your boyfriend, baby?”
Felicity nodded. “Yes. I can come back over later if you want though. He and I have changed plans and the schedule a million times, and we—”
“No.” Mom shook her head, beaming. “You told me that he recently lost his mother, and so I understand he needs to be around family probably more than ever right now. I want you to go and have a good time, and only if you really want to, bring him by soon so I can meet him.”
“Okay. I will. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.” Mama kissed her cheek once more, then Felicity said her goodbyes to everyone, and raced over to her niece, to hug her tight.
“Bye, Auntie!” The girl bopped about, with a Black Barbie doll dressed to the nines in one hand, and a pair of Disney princess slippers in the other.
“Bye, Sahara. I love you.”
She headed out the door, the cool air hitting her face, and rushed to her car to get out of the brutal weather. Getting into the driver’s seat, she turned on the heat and radio. Mariah Carey’s, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You,’ was playing. The drive was long and slow, the traffic a mess, but she let Brett know while at a red light via text, that she was only a few minutes away. When she arrived at his aunt’s gorgeous house, she parked, ran a paddle brush through her hair, then made her way to the grand front door.
From the outside, she could see in the house.
It was like a festive scene stolen from a postcard. A towering Christmas tree dressed in ruby, silver, and gold bells sat in the parlor, and people were standing around smiling and laughing, some holding drinks, others donning Santa hats.
I see not one other Black person in here… Welp. As long as no one asks me any racially charged questions, things will be just fine.
After ringing the doorbell a couple of times, a middle-aged short man with thinning hair answered the door. He was stout and naturally red about the face and had bright hazel eyes.
“Hi there! Come on in!” He took her by the hand as if he, too, knew her from way back when.
“I’m here to see Brett,” she announced, since the man didn’t bother to ask.
“Oh, Brett? Yeah! That’s my nephew!”
I could’ve been some damn serial killer, and he just let me in the house!
“Who ya got there, Kyle? I know it’s not your date! She’s too hot to want to date a warty toad like you!” someone teased, triggering a burst of laughter.
“Oh, shut up, Tony!” the man escorting her yelled, then laughed. “Hey, Donnie! Where’s Brett?!”
“I don’t know. Does Sarah and Ron have a donut shop on the premises? He’s probably there!” More laughter ensued.
“Try the kitchen,” someone else yelled.
As they maneuvered through the large crowd of people, she couldn’t help but look at the trappings. Expensive statues, artwork, a couple of Persian cats walking about. High class and high falutin’. Soon she was in a massive kitchen, with double ovens and high ceilings from where pots and pans hung. It looked like it belonged in a fancy restaurant. Impressive.
“Hmm, I don’t see him. Maybe he’s in the—”
“Are you looking for Brett?”
She and the uncle spun around to face a statuesque woman. She had long, flowing dark brown hair, and a red dress that hugged her curves. Felicity stared straight into her steely, cold eyes.
