Riiiiinnnng. Riinnngggg. Riiinnnnn-"Hello?" I choked out as I picked up the shitty piece of plastic I use for cell phone.
"Justin, I'm expecting you for dinner on Thursday at seven o' clock sharp. None of your excuses will work, we are going to have a nice holiday dinner together," said Bill West, my "father," in his cruel and oppressive speaking voice.
"Hmmm. I think I'll pass on that one. That's my cat's birthday."
"Justin, you don't have a cat and Thursday is Christmas Eve anyway. If I have to hire the German army to drag you to the dinner table, then that's what I'll do. But you're coming and that's the end of it."
Before I could even think of a response, the call was disconnected. Well damn, dinner with Bill. That should be interesting. He sounded sober on the phone, but that was impossible. There must have been something wrong with the phone lines.
Christmas Eve dinner Thursday? What day is it today anyway? I looked down at the clock on my phone which read "Tuesday December 22nd." Christmas is in three days? Where have I been?
Well how the fuck did Bill expect me to go all the way over to Sherwood Park when there's fucking six inches of snow on the ground and we're in the middle of a goddamn blizzard. Good ol' Dad, always thinking of others before himself.
----
Three days of spiked eggnog, nonstop caroling in the apartment building from punk ass little kids, and spiked apple cider later, it was the day. "I have to see him today," I admitted to myself. Okay, well if I'm gonna do this, there's no way I'm gonna be sober. Isabella's it is. And I suited up in my battle clothes: rabbit fur hat, leather snow boots, wool gloves, two pairs of paints, and my lucky jacket. This snow was a friggin trip.
The street was filled with holiday spirit, which I desperately tried to ignore. I pulled my hood up and kept my head down, in hopes of going unnoticed. But all the snow armor in the world couldn't protect me from the reality that was straight ahead of me, wearing a ridiculous Santa outfit, ringing a bell, and collecting money. The man from the clinic. I froze, where I stood, right in the middle of the street. God, he was everywhere, reminding me of that day at the clinic. And the test results. And then another thought struck me, my head was killing me. I opened my eyes to see the sky, and about half a dozen people surrounding me, waiting for some sort of reaction. "Are you okay?!" a random man with an Elvis costume asked. "Whaat happ-?" I was so out of it, the fact that the blind clinic man was yelling out calling people "Cotton headed ninni muggins" didn't even bother me.
"You were standing in the middle of the road, and a car slipped on the ice and hit you. You seem to be fine though, you might have a concussion or something, but nothing serious," Elvis answered. Well, there's my excuse not to go to dinner. It's time to get wasted and hit on some strippers. I smiled as the men around me helped me stand up, and I headed straight into Isabella's.
