Free to Rejoice by Tracey Jerald

Author:Tracey Jerald [Jerald, Tracey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tracey Jerald
Published: 2018-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

I don’t care what store you’re in, shopping for Christmas on December 23 is a mistake—even if you’re looking for the tackiest shit you can find in HomeGoods. Phil and I go up and down every single aisle. My genius husband saw a throw on a display chair as we walked in and snagged it. “Just in case we run into one of the others,” he warns.

Good thing he did.

We’re down the clearance aisle where the worst and cheapest crap is shoved when we run into Corinna. She’s holding a surprisingly normal hot-pink cashmere throw in her hands and admiring it. I pull Phil back behind a display by the back of his jeans. “Shit. I think you just gave me a wedgie,” he complains.

“Corinna,” I mouth to him, pointing.

Phil’s head snaps to attention like a Doberman on the scent of fresh meat. His face screws up in concentration. “That’s…”

“Normal,” I interject. “It’s normal.”

“Well, yeah. Jesus, Jason. If that’s the worst they have, then your statue of poo is sure to win.” Phil slaps a hand over his mouth.

My voice darkens. “How do you know what my entry is, husband dear?”

“Umm…”

“Have you been snooping in the Christmas presents again?” I demand as I push out of our hiding spot.

“Jace, get down. She’ll see you,” he hisses.

“I don’t care.” I’m royally pissed.

“I swear I didn’t see anything beyond the statue. Once I realized what it was, I closed the door and walked away.”

There’s one way I can test him. “What did you think of the new Skele-Toes I got you for running? Ali and I talked about them for a long time. She said they’ll help a lot with the marathon training she has planned for you this year.”

The abject horror on Phil’s face can’t be faked. He’s not that good of an actor. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he finally whispers.

“Not at all. She says they’ll help build up your muscles for endurance. I stopped listening after she said they were the best for you. That’s all I want for you to have, baby,” I deadpan.

My husband is falling apart in front of me. He’s emitting choking sounds that might concern me as a doctor if I didn’t know it was from shock.

Behind me, I hear a slow clap. Turning, I’m greeted by Corinna’s mischievous grin. “Hey, Cori,” I say casually. “Finishing up your white elephant gift shopping?”

“Nah, I bought mine last week. I bribed a stock clerk with a cake to save me some seriously awful crap in the back. I knew I would be too busy to have a chance to shop, and I was not living with another ugly-ass picture frame in my house this year.” Corinna’s eyes turn feral. “In fact, I may give someone the money for the donation just so I can smash that thing into pieces.”

“Is that because of the frame or what’s in it?” My husband just has to poke at his sister for receiving a picture of hot military men, thereby reminding her constantly of someone from her past.

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