Page 9 of The Holiday Ex-Files

Ask them what their favorite song is and burp it out for them. Not only is it disgusting and a total turnoff, but you will delight your nieces and nephews to no end.

If you can’t burp on demand like yours truly, start talking to yourself and make sure to answer. Make it sound like you’re murmuring and plotting. I promise you will never see someone leave so fast.

Now go forth and make me proud.

And just remember, if you fall victim to one of your mother’s schemes, I’ll be here winter, spring, summer, and fall to remove them all.

Lots of love,

Cami

I smiled at the post, while sitting in my car outside my parents’ house, before I clicked publish. I had so many good memories of me chasing off the men my sweet mother had tried to throw my way during the monthly Jenkins Sunday dinners. My proudest moment had come when I’d burped out all eight minutes of “Stairway to Heaven.” The guy, I couldn’t even remember his name, only picked that song because of its length. My poor mother was mortified, while all my brothers and their wives stared at me in horrified fascination. My father just shook his head at me the entire time. Some of my older nephews chanted my name, egging me on. I needed ten throat lozenges and a nap afterward, but it was totally worth it. The best part was when—whatever his name was—excused himself to use the bathroom after I was done and never came back. That was the last time my mother ever tried to set me up again.

Admittedly, I felt bad for my mom. She’d wanted a daughter so badly. After every one of my brothers’ births, she would tell my dad, There’s a girl coming to us, I just know it. Then I came and made her the happiest woman alive. She had so many hopes and dreams for me—and for herself. She’d been writing to me in her journal since she was fifteen. Little notes on how to navigate life from my teen years all the way to college, marriage, and having a family. She had tips and tricks for everything, from how to make a dollar stretch to how to deal with stretch marks. The dearest woman ever had even written a special journal for me on how to make breastfeeding work. I rubbed my chest. If she only knew how much I wanted to put that knowledge to use. How I’d thought I was going to get the chance.

I shook the soul-crushing memory out of my mind. It was time for me to face my family once again for the aforementioned Jenkins monthly Sunday dinner. Otherwise known as total chaos. Between all my older brothers and their wives, there were seventeen grandchildren now. My siblings were doing their best to singlehandedly keep OshKosh B’gosh and Huggies in business. Not only that, but they dipped into my savings monthly, because what kind of aunt would I be if I didn’t bring presents for all my minions, as I lovingly called them. This month I had personalized T-shirts made for them that said, I LOVE MY BAE (Best Aunt Ever). My older nephews, twelve- and thirteen-year-old Corey and Ryland, probably wouldn’t appreciate them, but they had to at least wear them once today so I could get a picture of all the minions together in the best shirts ever.

I threw my phone in my purse and grabbed the handle of the paper bag full of T-shirts. I took a deep breath, readying myself for the chaos my mother insisted on thrusting upon us every month. I knew it was a good thing. Family was important. And I loved my family. However, I always showed up a bit late, so that everyone was already there. It made it easier to get lost in the crowd. I still felt like when everyone looked at me, all they saw me as was Ben’s ex-wife, a cheated-on spouse. Don’t get me wrong, I knew they all loved me. Heck, when my brothers got news of what Ben had done, they’d all shown up at our place. Within thirty minutes they had packed all my belongings, then helped me move into the little apartment I’d rented until I knew where I was going to land permanently. Chandler, my oldest brother and lawyer, even represented me in my divorce.

With one last deep breath, I heaved myself out of the car into the nippy fall mountain air. My parents’ secluded mountain estate with gorgeous lake views always made me smile. It was my mom’s dream home. A beautiful four-story with a wall of windows on the side facing the lake. She called it her slice of heaven. She’d dedicated the lower level to her grandchildren and called it the Babe Cave. It was as if an indoor playground collided with a movie theater, complete with a snack bar. What I wouldn’t have given for a place like that as a kid. I would give even more to have some kids of my own to enjoy it. But I was a born-again virgin, and was I ever a believer. It was going to take some divine intervention for me to change my mind about it. Which reminded me, I needed to book my “December” vacation to the Virgin Islands. I’d been going there the last couple of years over C-day, hoping to soak in all the virginity I could get. And you know, run away from the holiday I used to love most. The holiday where I’d lost all the magic in my life.