Home Alone

Eli awoke at 11:00am on Christmas day with a hangover. He could taste the sleep on his tongue, a groggy dryness misted with last night’s whiskey. His eyes are burning from the pure white snow on the window. A nauseous headache.

He checks his phone with no missed calls. No good morning texts. Only the stale porn he enjoyed last night staring back at him. Clearing his cell’s browser history, he is ashamed. 

He drags himself to the bathroom to piss, shuffling the holey socks he’s worn since Tuesday, pulling up his sweatpants over his butt crack. He moans loudly as he releases himself, resting his head on the wall. The coolness helps.  

He brushes his teeth, though not long enough. Splashing his face with water trying to feel better for no one but himself.  

His kitchen smells like a moldy sponge that was left too long in the sink. The tile floor is caked with dirt that he can’t be bothered to address. He digs a breakfast sandwich out of the freezer, knocking some stray dehydrated peas and carrots onto the floor, which he swiftly kicked under the oven. He plopped the sandwich on a paper plate and threw it into his food-crusted microwave. Beep beep beep, hum. 

He sat his ketchup soaked breakfast down on his coffee table in his living room next to the styrofoam takeout containers from his dinner last night. Or was it his lunch? He slugged onto the sofa perfectly into the buttcheek imprints on the cushions. The armrest to his right, stained with the oils from his elbow. An empty case of Miller High Life in the corner of the room where his Christmas tree should be. 

He turned on his T.V. and flicked through the channels. A blur of red and white, Santa laughs and jingle bells. Joy to the World. He stopped on Home Alone, Hannah’s favorite Christmas movie. Why would he do this to himself? Aren’t the holidays hard enough? 

“I don’t want another family, I don’t want any family. Families suck!” 

Eli chuckles hoarsely to himself. That’s for sure.  

He suddenly remembers Hannah kicking her perfectly polished toes over his legs. Her silk Christmas pajamas brushing against his skin. The lights from the tree shining off of her blonde hair. White wine hugging the leftover pie on the table. Cinnamon and vanilla candles. 

Wonton as a puppy playing with a stray ornament bopping softly on the carpet. Noah babbling in his swing, Millie drooling on his shoulder as she sucks on her fingers. Little giggles looking up at him to see if he is laughing too. He sipped his wine and watched the sun go down early making the snow look blue. His wife’s smile, his childrens’ hiccups. 

He gets out the Christmas folding table and pours the milk for Santa Claus. Tucking Millie into bed petting her head to calm her as her excitement spills out of her covers. “Please, daddy, one more story.” Leaving the nightlight on. The baby in the bassinet by the bed in his fleece wearable blanket. The binky bobbing in and out. 

Helping Hannah tip toe the presents she wrapped tightly under the tree. Stuffing small toys into the stockings. Laughing and joking, muffling moans as they made love. Forgetting about the money they fought about all season. The kids don’t need all of this junk, do they? 

“Buzz, your girlfriend. Woof.” 

He unlocks his phone and dials Hannah’s number.  

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Hannah Dunn…” 

He hangs up quickly. He hates hearing her maiden name. He can’t believe she changed it back. He wonders if the kids still have his last name. 

He redials. The courts and all his child support checks say that she has to let him talk to them today. 

On the third ring, he is greeted with a frustrated “Hello?” 

“Merry Christmas, Hannah.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Eli”, she replies out of breath. Her voice, as cold as winter windows.  

“Can I talk to the kids?” he asks sleepily

“Uh…sure. Let me see who is free. We just got showers, we have an early dinner in a few hours.” she says. 

“Tell Gloria I said Happy Holidays” 

“We aren’t going to my moms." a pause. He knew what was coming next.  "We are going to Michell’s mother’s house”

He winced. Mitchell. That mother fucker. 

He heard fabric up against the microphone. Its soft rubbing couldn’t hide the harsh whispering and his daughter’s whiny refusal. His ex-wife’s unauthentic plea. Millie’s sharp “No”.  The door shuts, the gavel drops. Not this year, again. 

“Sorry, Millie is still getting dressed. If she still has time before we leave, I'll have her call you back.”

A lie.

Hannah walks to Noah’s room. “Your father,” she whispers. He pauses his video game. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, bud. Merry Christmas!” Eli says as cheerfully as he can. 

“Merry Christmas, dad.” Noah replies. He says dad out of obligation. It still feels weird on his tongue.  

They pleasantly talked about their breakfasts. Noah having french toast casserole, scrambled eggs, and bacon. His mom even let him have a few cookies that they decorated. He got to eat one that he made, a green mitten with a bunch of sprinkles.  

“What did Santa bring you?” he wonders if his son can hear how hungover he is over the phone. 

“A buncha games,” he replies, sucking on a candy cane. “I got a PlayStation for my birthday from mom. Mitchell set it up in my room and taught me how to play Fortnite. I am building a lot of cool guns!” 

“Hey, bud, isn’t that game for big kids? Aren’t you a little too young to be playing that? Does no one think of asking me permission?” Eli asks angrily.

“I’m a big kid.” 

Silence. Noah sniffles. He made him cry. On Christmas. Goddamnit.  

Eli hates Mitchell. He hates that he is the one taking Wonton on walks. Putting the star on his Christmas tree. Drinking white wine on his couch, eating his ex-mother-in-law’s leftover pie. Smelling his Christmas candles and pouring his milk for Santa. Reading his daughter a bedtime story and putting his presents under the tree. Mitchell is watching Home Alone with Hannah, rubbing his wife’s polished feet. 

“I know, I’m sorry” Eli said sheepishly.

The awkwardness grew in their silence. He could tell Noah didn’t have anything else nice to say. He could tell he painfully wanted to get off of the phone. 

“Tell you what bud, I have an early dinner I have to get to, too.” he lied, “I have to rush to get a shower so I can get there on time.” 

“Ok. Have fun, dad” he said “Uh, bye”

“Buh-bye”. 

He hung up, and threw the phone across the room, unconcerned with whether or not the screen cracked. His empty house echoed as it smacked the wall.  

“You guys, I’m eating junk and watching rubbish, you better come out and stop me.” 

He put his head in his hands and sobbed. Pulling his hair and smearing tears into his face. Snot running through his fingers, spit choking him as he yelled. He missed his children, he even missed Hannah.  

He remembers their final fight. He was pointing his finger in her face, spitting as he screamed at her. Her tears annoyed him as she packed her suitcase, shoving the nice clothes he bought for her without any regard as they snagged on zippers, unfolded. It was chaos and the end of the line. He had had enough. She had had enough. 

She disappeared into each child’s room emerging with their overnight bags filled with God-knows-what. He grabbed her wrist and agressively faced her towards him. Her back slammed against the wall.

“You aren’t taking my fucking kids anywhere.” he said sharply. 

“Fucking watch me, you piece of shit.” she spat back. 

It was in that moment in her eyes that he felt afraid of her for the first time. His grip loosened, peeling off of her wrist one finger at a time. She had him powerless, right where she wanted him. He was a bug on the windshield and her finger was on the wiper switch. He was helpless watching her finger play with the knob. He was terrified. He wanted to be as far away from that feeling as possible. He wanted to run.

“Hannah, you walk out that door, and it’s over.”

She looked through him. “I know”. 

His heart sank to his feet and shattered on his soles. He watched hollowly as she threw the bags in the trunk. She cried softly as she loaded the kids into their carseats. She shushed them as they stirred. They were sleeping on her shoulder, drooling in their pajamas. He watched painfully as their bed heads stuck out of the backseat windows.    

She looked at him one last time, hoping he would change her mind. "Talk me out of this," she thought.  This is the furthest she had ever called his bluff. He froze in fear. His silence slammed the driver's side door. She backed out of the driveway as the sun began to make their front yard gray. She drove away, leaving Eli alone in the dark.  

“Don’t go.” he thought too late. 

He sits alone on Christmas day, screaming with Kevin McAllister, without a family and all alone.