Resting Scrooge Face

by Meghan Quinn

“Arden, I just suffered through two hours of helping curly-haired grandmas in festive yuletide vests asking me what Christmas lights I thought would look best wrapped around them for some sort of Christmas parade that’s going down at the senior living community this week. Excuse me if I just need a freaking second.”

“What a nice boy,” Grandma Louise says. “We got some earlier.” “We?” I hear Arden ask. Oh, come on, Grandma! “Uh, yes, we.” Her voice shakes ever so slightly. “We, as in me and my trusty cane. This girl loves a good jaunt around town.” I press my hand to my forehead. This ship is sinking.

“Did you like my save back there?” Grandma Louise says, her inability to remain cool completely vanished. “That boy is walking away, thinking I’m having some sort of love affair with my cane.” She lets out a wallop of a laugh before walking right by Arden and into Snow Roast. Thanks a lot, Grandma.

I will tell you when I was ten, I went to my dad’s company party. My dad introduced me to his boss, and when I shook his hand, I said, “Dad, is this the son of a bitch you were telling me about?” I’ve never seen my dad’s face turn so red. I had to apologize with a card the next day saying that I didn’t know where I heard that phrase from, even though my dad said it in the car on the way to the party. Afterward, he brought me to get ice cream, and I was so confused about how to feel that I ended up throwing up ice cream and sprinkles on a little girl in line who was waiting at the counter. I’m still emotionally distraught as I think about it.