Because of Haven Beach

24 | anagapesis

anagapesis (n.)

no longer feeling any affection for someone you once loved

* * *

MY uncle threw his napkin on the table and stood up. "I'll go see what that's about."

Ella glanced at me, slightly raising her eyebrows to ask if I could see anything. I craned my neck but saw nothing. It was probably just a group of carolers who wouldn't go away. Nothing to worry about.

"Get out of my house," Uncle Ricky said firmly to whoever was at the door.

"No. I am just here to talk."

Goosebumps erupted all over my body as I involuntarily shivered. I knew that voice—unfortunately so.

My fa- sperm donor was here.

"Mark, go away before we call the police," my mom said calmly. "Kelli, can you come help us? Please." Her voice quivered at the end, betraying her stony facade.

Aunt Kelli got out of her seat and rushed to join them.

Grandmother shook her head and sighed theatrically, "Michelle was always one for the dramatics. I should have known she would ruin Christmas, just like that goddamn Grinch!"

Without a doubt, the real Grinch was Grandmother. And unlike the Grinch, her tiny, shriveled heart would not triple in size. She certainly wouldn't undergo a great awakening or be given redemption.

"Shut up, Evelyn. I want to hear this," Grandfather said sharply.

Her bird-like eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Are you asking me to shut up, Borris?"

I dug my teeth into my lip to prevent myself from drawing attention to my amusement.

"Yes. I cannot hear the drama over your squabbling," he said irritatedly. "You sound like a cat in heat."

She crossed her arms and huffed.

My mother's voice carried into the dining room, "Mark—I swear to God—if you take one more step in here..."

"What, Michelle? Are you going to kill me with that fork?" my father taunted. "We're just here to talk with Charlotte. Where is she?"

"Over here!" Grandmother hollered.

That traitorous bitch—

I shot her the dirtiest look I could muster.

She smiled smugly in response.

I heard his heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Seconds later, he was standing in the doorway with his secretary-slash-mistress clinging to him.

I was surprised he brought the woman he cheated with, but at the same time, unsurprised that he was still up to his childish games. At heart—assuming he had one—he was thirty-nine and still growing up. How depressing.

"Charlotte, Merry Christmas," he grinned as if nothing were amiss.

Seeing his disgusting face after two and a half months wasn't as much of a shock as I imagined it would be. Looking into those frigid hazel eyes, I felt indifferent. I felt not even a glimmer of grief for what he had become.

However, I was delighted to see that the divorce had taken a toll on him. His eye bags were larger (darker, too), and I could spot various gray hairs that surely weren't there a few months ago. He wasn't by any means attractive before, but he got a whole lot uglier during our absence.