Chapter 9 - The Unraveling
The dining room descended into absolute, chaotic madness.
Marilyn dropped to her knees on the edge of the ruined rug, her cream-colored silk slacks immediately soaking up grease as she tried in vain to blot a five-foot pool of turkey fat with paper napkins. "My rug! My three-thousand-dollar rug! You did this on purpose! You psychotic bitch!"
Derek grabbed my shoulder violently, pulling me around. His face was red, his nostrils flaring with a rage I had never seen before. "Look at what you did to my mother's house! What is wrong with you?! You ruined Christmas!"
I looked down at his hand on my shoulder, then looked up into his eyes.
"Take your hand off me, Derek," I said, my voice so flat and cold that his grip instinctively loosened. "Or the next thing that drops on this floor will be your teeth."
He stepped back, stunned.
At that exact moment, the front doorbell chimed. Then it chimed again.
Derek’s older brother, his wife, their three kids, and Marilyn’s sister walked straight into the foyer, wearing their heavy winter coats and carrying wrapped presents. They froze at the entrance of the dining room.
The sight before them was unforgettable: Marilyn on her hands and knees, weeping hysterically in a puddle of gravy, her $1,800 diamond bracelet coated in cranberry sauce; the house filled with smoke from the dry oven; and me, standing on crutches in my ruined apron, bleeding from a small scrape on my elbow.
"Merry Christmas, everyone," I said loudly, addressing the stunned relatives. "Dinner is canceled. Derek will be serving mixed nuts and cold water in the living room."
"Hannah, shut up!" Derek hissed, his voice cracking with desperation as he looked at his family. "She's having a mental breakdown! She dropped the dinner on purpose!"
"I have a broken leg, legal documentation ordering strict bed rest, and your son forced me to cook for twelve people while he drank bourbon," I told Derek's brother directly. "He hid my crutches so I wouldn't 'trip anyone,' and his mother took my footstool away because she wanted the chair for her table."
Derek's sister-in-law looked at Marilyn, then at Derek, her mouth agape in utter disgust. "Derek... is she serious? She has a fiberglass cast!"
Outside, a sharp horn honked twice.
Through the front windows, I saw Sarah’s black SUV idling in the driveway, hazard lights blinking against the falling snow.
I tossed my apron onto the floor, right on top of the ruined turkey.
"Where do you think you're going?!" Derek yelled, stepping in front of the hallway. "You can't leave! Look at this mess! You need to help clean this up!"
"I am clean, Derek," I said, swinging my crutches forward and brushing right past his shoulder. "In fact, I’ve never felt cleaner in my entire life."
I opened the front door, feeling the freezing winter air wash over my burning face. I hopped down the stone steps, loaded my crutches into the back of Sarah’s SUV, and slid into the heated passenger seat.
May you like
As Sarah pulled out of the driveway, I looked back through the side mirror.
Derek was standing on the porch in his green cashmere sweater, shivering in the snow, shouting my name into the empty street. I rolled up the window, turned the seat heater to maximum, and closed my eyes.
