Her Naughty Holiday

“Do you have anything stronger? Like chloroform?”

“I could light some incense, maybe?” Ruthie suggested. “Or we can go out and find a yew tree.”

“Yew trees are not native to this continent. Also, they’re highly toxic, so exactly what are we supposed to do with a yew tree?” Clover asked, narrowing her eyes behind the lavender towel. “You aren’t poisoning anyone, are you?”

“Trees are ancient sacred beings, and yew trees are symbols of renewal. We should stand in front of one and ask Mother Nature for Her wisdom.”

“I have this lemon tree right here.” Clover pointed at the tree hanging over her head. “Is that not good enough for the Mother?”

“Fruit trees are fertility symbols. If we pray under that one you might get pregnant. Or worse, I might get pregnant.”

“Okay, we’ll skip the lemon tree, then. Although if I got pregnant that would shut my family up.”

“Your family wants you to get pregnant?”

“They want me to be happy. It’s awful.”

“Yeah, sounds absolutely horrible,” Ruthie said in her glorious teenage deadpan. “Screw them.”

“No, it’s not that. Well, it is. My brother will come to Thanksgiving and he will bring his wife, Lisa, and their three kids. My sister will bring her handsome husband and their four kids. Mom and Dad will come to Thanksgiving and cry with joy because all their children and grandchildren are under the same roof. And I will be there. Alone. In the house. Thirty years old. No husband. No boyfriend. No kids. I haven’t even been on a date in years. And they will let me know over and over again, and in no uncertain terms, that I’m not getting any younger, and if I’m ever going to be happy that magical way they are happy with their beautiful spouses and their perfect children, I have to get a move on it. And I will sit there and I will listen to all of this. And...”

“And?”

“And I will smile and nod while I mentally stab them all with the carving knife.”

“Why only mentally?”

Clover looked up from the nest she’d made with her hoodie on the desk.

“You’re a creepy kid, Ruthie. Just a little creepy.” She held up her fingers an inch apart.

“Thank you.” Ruthie curtsied.

“I knew you’d like that. So...that’s what’s wrong. Nothing and everything.”

“Can’t you just tell your family to shut up and mind their own business? It’s your body, your womb.”

“Why don’t you just tell your dad to shut up and mind his own business when he asks you about your homework or your grades or your boyfriend?”

“I do.”

“Does it work?”

“All right, you got me there. Maybe next time your mom tells you to have kids you can say you’ve dedicated your womb to Mother Earth.”

“What does that entail exactly?”

“I don’t know, but I said it at school once and it got me out of PE that day so you should try it.”

“That would not go over very well with my Presbyterian mother.”

“You need a new family,” Ruthie said. “You can join my coven.”

Clover sat up for the last time, abandoning her desk nest for good. She was a grown-up, after all. She needed to be setting a better example for Ruthie. Adults face their problems. They do not hide from them inside hooded sweatshirts.

“I love my family. I just also, sort of, hate them. Listen to this email from my sister.”

Clover pulled it up and read in her best fake sweet voice.

Clo! OMG, thank you for letting us do Thanksgiving at your place. It must be so great not having kids so you have all that free time. It’s a good thing I love these kids because, I swear, they are the biggest handful on earth. It must be nice only having to deal with plants. If they die nobody cares, right? I have to keep these critters alive and that is a full-time job. Speaking of the kids, I posted about fifty new pics in the family photo album. Can’t wait to hear what you think of Gus’s class picture. He’s really the cutest kid in the class but I’m probably biased. Love you! See you Thursday!

Ruthie stared at her, wide-eyed with horror.

“I hate your family. Even Gus,” Ruthie said. “Goddess forgive me.”

“Fifty new pictures of the kids? She just put in two dozen last weekend! And I have to comment on every last one of them or she’ll bug me until I do.”

“Children are parasites,” Ruthie said.

“So I’m guessing you’re not planning on having kids when you’re older?”

“What do you have against parasites?” Ruthie rolled her eyes.

Clover wisely chose to ask no follow-up questions.

“Nobody cares if my plants die?” Clover said with a sigh. “Does she not understand that I sell plants and I can’t sell dead plants?”

“Has she met any of your customers? She should come answer the phone for a week here, and then she can say nobody cares if your plants die,” Ruthie said. “Does she not know if the plants die, your business dies?”

“Kelly means well.”

“You have to let me burn her house down. Please?”

“No burning anything. You’re still on probation.”

“Fine. But if she ever comes in here I’m going to put a Venus flytrap down her pants.”

“That doesn’t sound very Zen.”

“Zen is a teaching of Buddhism. Although I respect Buddhism, I’m technically a neo-pagan. And neo-pagans would totally put a Venus flytrap down your sister’s pants. At least this neo-pagan would.”

“You’re very...sweet? Okay, no, but it’s nice of you to defend me. My family wants the best for me, but it’s always their version of ‘the best,’ not my version. I know exactly what Mom will say when I tell her about the buyout offer. She’ll say, ‘Oh, Clo, honey, that’s wonderful. Now you can quit work and finally focus on your personal life.’ I’d bet money on those exact words.”

“Weird. I’d say, ‘Oh, Clo, that’s wonderful. Five million dollars buys, like, five years of male escort services.’”

“Only five years?”

“Those guys make bank, Clo. You should hire one. He could help you with your little problem...” Ruthie sang, fluttering her eyelashes, the very picture of feigned innocence.