Criss-Cross Christmas
written by: Simon Nadel
The lights on the perfectly shaped tree sparkle and shine. The house smells of pine and apples and cinnamon. Flames flicker in the grand stone fireplace. The woman sitting across the kitchen table from me is a kindly old grandmother right out of central casting. And outside, snow is beginning to fall. This is the Christmas I always dreamed of as a kid, the one I never had as I bounced between foster homes. But then I met Antonia, and through a number of often volatile years, one thing we’ve always maintained is a special Christmas. We’ll exchange gifts tonight, Christmas Eve. I know it’s a little different, but that’s just how we roll. I’m smiling just anticipating the look on her face when she unwraps her present.
I’ve helped myself to a glass of eggnog. “Delicious,” I say. “Good choice with the bourbon, though I know some people prefer rum.”
Mrs. Getz just stares, not quite at me but more over my shoulder as if someone might be sneaking up behind me. But I know nobody’s there. I know it’s only the two of us in this extraordinarily cozy house, so festively decorated it looks like a Christmas catalog come to life.
A timer goes off.
“Go ahead,” I say, motioning toward the oven.
She gets up warily and takes two pies out of the oven, puts two more in, then sits back down.
“I guess you’re expecting a big crew,” I say.
“Oh yes,” she says, “My sweet Weatherly and Ralph and their three.” I wince at the mention of sweet Weatherly, but she doesn’t seem to notice and continues. “And Browning and Patty and their girls. And Jack and whatever bimbo he’s dating this year.” She giggles a little, then catches herself, possibly realizing bimbo might be an outdated term.
As usual, Antonia has given me a gift list with five items on it, and I did the same for her. And as usual, I’ve waited until the last minute to get her gift.
“Do you host every year?” I ask Mrs. Getz.
She nods enthusiastically. “Of course, the grandkids are a handful, but it’s so wonderful to have everyone together at such a special time of year. We’ll go to church right after dinner tonight and carolling after that. Then presents in the morning.” She stops abruptly, aware of the precarious nature of her plans, that for her, Christmas morning is far from guaranteed.
“Traditions and family are important,” I say. “I never had any myself, but my wife Antonia was always close with her sister.” I stand up and look around. “This is a really well-equipped kitchen.” I take a cleaver from the knife rack. “Bella was so popular in high school, a straight-A student and good at sports.” Mrs. Getz looks confused. “Bella was Antonia’s sister,” I explain. “But she had this classmate who was so jealous of her. I think they both had a crush on the same boy. You know, one of those silly high school dramas that you look back on years later and laugh about.”
“It can be a difficult time,” Mrs. Getz says.
“It can be downright deadly,” I say. I grab the bourbon off the counter and add a little more to what’s left of my eggnog. Even better. “So this girl, Weatherly was her name if I recall correctly, she wasn’t smart or devious enough to cause much trouble.”
“Weatherly?” Mrs. Getz croaks in a barely audible voice. “My Weatherly?” Her eyes widen, and I can see she’s finally beginning to understand the what and the why of it all.
“As I said, this Weatherly couldn’t do much more than whine and complain, mostly to her mother. But this mother of hers, oh, she was something. You might say she was a pioneer in the art of cyberbullying.”
Mrs. Getz clutches at her pearl necklace. “It was my daughter,” she shouts. “I had to protect my daughter.”
I take the last sip of my drink and casually toss the glass across the room. It makes a pleasant shattering sound as it hits the wall. “You were relentless, Mrs. Getz, all those vicious notes and emails you sent, all those false rumors you spread. It was too much, drove poor Bella to take her own life, devastated her parents, and her beautiful sister.”
Mrs. Getz’s eyes narrow, and her mouth slowly slithers into a sneer. “That slut got what she deserved,” she hisses. “And that family, what trash.”
I’m relieved she’s finally revealed her true villainy. Maybe that’s her little Christmas gift to me. Along with the heavily spiked eggnog
“You probably thought you’d won,” I say. “I guess people like you think they can get away with anything, that you can lie and bully and trample over everyone in your way, that there are never any consequences.” I look at my fun-house-mirror reflection in the blade I’m holding. “I hear you should sharpen these every day,” I say.
Mrs. Getz swallows loudly, still clinging to her pearl necklace with her right hand, her left lying flat on the table. I bring the cleaver down swiftly.
***
Back home in front of our own little tree, so sparse and misshapen even Charlie Brown would have rejected it, I hand Antonia a haphazardly wrapped box. She tears the paper off and looks at the severed hand inside, and thinks for a moment. “Mrs. Getz?”
I kiss her. “It’s amazing,” I say. “I don’t know how you always guess.”
She smiles as tears stream down her cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, this is the best one yet.”
“Yeah,” I say, “she was something. Even worse than I’d imagined.”
“Well, she did essentially murder my sister,” Antonia says. She wipes her eyes. “Okay,” she says, “your turn.” She hands me my gift, a box that in a different household might contain the latest superfluous version of smartphone. This one, I discover, holds a mangled, blood-encrusted ear. (Looks like somebody forgot to sharpen their knives.) I rack my brain and finally give up.
“It’s your foster brother, Ronnie,” Antonia says, and envelops me in a hug. I cling tightly to her, remembering the terrible indignities Ronnie inflicted on me year after year.
After dinner, as we cuddle by the fire, I think about our first Christmas together. We were drinking eggnog and watching Antonia’s favorite movie, Strangers On A Train, when she said to me she hated the crass consumerism of Christmas. “Let’s do something special,” she suggested. “Let’s get revenge on the people who’ve harmed us the most. We’ll each make a list. You take care of mine, I’ll take care of yours.”
I hadn’t known Antonia that long, but I wasn’t surprised by her suggestion. Her darkness was what I was drawn to. I raised my glass. “Here’s to a very vengeful Christmas,” I said, and a holiday tradition was born.
- Criss-Cross Christmas - December 18, 2025
- The Last Night of Wishful Thinking - May 29, 2025
- One Night in Chagrin - August 15, 2024
