Jingle all the Mitchell Way: a holiday novella(9)

“We’re planning on driving it across country filming college chicks getting freaky in order to kick start our new porn venture. It’s been a dream of ours for quite some time.”

I could tell my dad was catching on that I was joking, while Uncle Colt seemed to be sickened. It was quite entertaining to witness.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jake,” he attested. “You need to make better choices. Doing something like that will ruin your lives. I don’t know what you and your brother are into these days, but you need to think twice about getting involved in something so taboo. You’ll be taking advantage of young desperate girls, not to mention putting yourselves in danger of being charged with underage pornography or worse. You never know what these girls will say for a few extra dollars in their bank accounts.”

By this point, my dad had jumped on board, with me, not my uncle. “Actually, I think it’s an opportunity. Good for you. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if it wasn’t for your mother keeping me tied down. Imagine the amount of * you’re going to get to see, and your wives are on board. That’s fantastic.”

It only took my dad a few seconds to burst into a laughing fit. He tapped on my uncle’s shoulder. “Lighten up, Colt. He’s yanking your chain.”

I chuckled with my dad. “We had you going. Damn. It was too easy.”

Uncle Colt seemed annoyed, but thankful we weren’t getting into the porn business. “You had me going. I never know what you two are getting in to.”

“Jax is a married man, with a woman he would never take for granted. I’d like to think he would have been in on the joke, but I never know with him. He walks a tight rope when it comes to keeping Amber happy.”

“He’s whipped,” Dad added. “Plain and simple.”

“It takes one to know one,” Uncle Colt added.

“True.” Dad exclaimed, before turning his attention back to me. “Alright, enough of the bullshit. Why did you go out and buy a motorhome on Thanksgiving?”

“In due time, Dad. I’ll tell everyone the news once I know everything is a go. I can tell you this… It does have something to do with film, and the four of us being together for an entire month.”

Seeming to be intrigued, I headed out of the motorhome, hoping to leave them puzzled as to my intentions.

They joined me a few seconds later, my dad closing the door as he exited.

“What’s in the crockpot?” I asked.

“Your Aunt Van’s macaroni. She also made an extra turkey, just in case Amber’s doesn’t work out.”

My dad chimed in. “That makes two of us. Miranda had me fry one up last night.”

I laughed. “Jax is going to shit himself by the time the night is over. I can’t wait to see his face when you both walk in with two turkeys. He’s doing his best to pull this off, but let me just say, when I last saw them they were getting worried.”

“If I were you, I’d keep that bit of information from Jax and Amber. They’re adamant about tonight.”

My dad and uncle looked at one another, and then both back to me. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “History repeats itself. We needed to make sure there would be scrumptious food, instead of the charbroiled kind they tend to end up with.”

I shook my head and started to head toward my sister Isabella’s house, which was also located on the property. “You all do whatever you want. I need to get back to Jax before he commits Thanksgiving suicide. Smell you two later.”

As I ventured away from them, a smile remained on my face. I was optimistic about the outcome of my getting the motorhome, and hoping that when my brother and Amber saw it they’d know everything was about to work out.





Chapter 5


Jax


“I’m ready to drop it in. Are you sure the temperature is set right?” Jake asked while holding the twenty five pound turkey, prepared to lower it into the hot grease.

“Yeah, it’s been on for an hour. Drop it in.”

I wasn’t one to read directions, not that my dad’s turkey fryer came with any. I was pretty sure my mom had them somewhere in the house, or that I could pull them off the internet, but chose to wing it, much like everything I attempted. The concept was simple. You drop the bird in the hot oil and when it turns brown it’s ready to eat. It was foolproof.

“If you say so.”

I never could have expected what would occur when my brother took my advice. At first I realized I’d put too much oil into the pot. As the turkey dropped, hot oil poured from the sides, falling down and igniting against the open flame. We both backed up and watched as the fire spread to the inside of the pot, a loud crackling sound coming from the turkey.

“Holy Shit! Get the hose!” I scrambled around it, completely in denial that I’d misjudged to this degree.

Drops of little flames fell onto the ground, charring the cold grass surrounding the area. “I got this!” Jake fetched the garden hose, hopeful to control the blaze, only to discover it fueled it more. In a matter of seconds the plastic prep table beside it was on fire, and it was spreading to a nearby shed, full of equipment, including cans of kerosene. “Shit. It’s not helping.” He was doing his best to manage the situation, while I was still assuming it would burn out and be fine.