The Roast Run

Oh no.

Swirling the empty glass, I’m realizing I need to refill it. Which means I’ll have to get up off of my sister’s incredibly comfortable couch and cross her incredibly large house to the kitchen.

That is also obscenely large.

“Gwen,” I wine.

“I need another glass of red and your kitchen is so far away!” She giggles and tips her own glass toward me, “you need to check the roast anyway. That thing is probably dry as the Sahara by now.”

Good point.

I stand- after a few tries and make my way down the hallway, admiring the framed pictures of our family as I go. I’m nearly to the kitchen when our other sister barrels past me. Her hair flying out around her as she slides down the hall in her socks.

“I’m never leaving, Gwen. Seriously, who has a house this nice and hides it from their baby sister?”

I shoulder check her as I enter the kitchen, “I’m the baby sister, Richie. You

are just the chaotic middle child.”

“Touche,” she grumbles.

The fancy bottle of wine my sister had chilling in the fridge when we got here is now empty, forcing me to open another bottle. Which then led to another bottle. And here we are.

The Buchanan sisters are all tipsy and put in charge of their own Christmas Eve dinner for the first time ever. The history books will write about this night, I’m sure.

To prove to our parents that we were fully responsible adults, we insisted that we would host our own dinner this year so that they could take a much needed vacation.

Mom has been begging our father to take her on one of those fancy, week long cruises for ages. After a few promises from his precious daughters, he finally agreed. We’ve been left to our own devices and have done the one thing we haven’t gotten to do since we were teenagers.

We’re having a slumber party with our oldest sister and sipping wine until we all inevitably pass out watching a Christmas movie.

Lost in my own mind, I’ve suddenly become acutely aware that there is an awful smell wafting toward me. One that is eerily similar to burnt bacon.

“The roast!” I scream, dropping to my knees in front of the oven and

yanking the door open to a plume of smoke. It’s pouring out all around me as I wave my hand around frantically.

“Shit!” Gwen yells, grabbing a cookbook off the counter to fan the smoke away from our faces.

“The mitts! The mitts!”

Erica comes flying in next, throwing the oven mitts in my direction but nearly three feet over my head. Scrambling, I finally get them on my hands and pull the pot from the oven and drop it onto the granite countertops. There is so much smoke coming from this thing I am positive it’s on fire.

Oh, and it stinks.

“What do we do?” I shout, using the oven mitt to fan the pot, still heavily obscured behind smoke.

“I think it’s time to call it,” Erica says.

“Richie, no! We told mom and dad we could handle this and now they’re going to rub it in our faces that we messed it up!”

My brain is short circuiting. The wine has completely stolen my ability to think logically.

Think, Louise, think!

I’ve got it.

I race to the sink. Grabbing the nearest glass, I fill it with water and run back to the pot. As soon as the water hits the pot it starts hissing, evaporating quicker than anything I’ve ever seen.

“I think Richie is right, Lou.” Gwen says softly, wrapping her arm around me as Erica steps up to my other side and rests her head on my shoulder.

She says solemnly, “time of death. Nine…. Thirty-five.”

I sigh, throwing the cup into the sink as the steam and smoke die down to expose a very charred roast.

“You think it’s still edible?” I ask hopefully.

Erica snorts, “let’s try it. You go first.”

With that, we all fold over with laughter.

Erica is gripping the countertop as Gwenneth and I hold on to each other to stay standing. The laughter takes over completely until we all three end up a pile on the floor.

Gasping for breath, I barely get out my next question. “What are we going

to do?”

We stay there for the next few minutes. Not a peep from either of my know it all sisters and I can’t even blame them. It’s past nine on Christmas Eve. The roast is ruined, along with all the vegetables at the bottom of the pan.

We started the night with four bottles of wine and three of those are now gone, well, two and a half. Even if we wanted to run back into town and grab something, we’re all three tipsy.

“I have an idea,” Richie says, stumbling out of the kitchen before reappearing with her cell phone.

“Let’s Uber another roast!”

“Good idea!” Gwen beams.

“It’ll be like, double the price of a regular roast if we have it Uber-ed,” I say.

Alas, the two oldest have spoken and they don’t care very much for the doubts of the youngest. So, I find my way back to her couch and close my eyes as I collapse into the cushion and let it swallow me.

Approximately five seconds into my bliss, Richie is yelling out curse words and Gwen is sighing loud enough that I can hear it from my couch cocoon.

“What is it?” I question.

Without opening my eyes, I can tell that the both of them are now standing in front of me. Dimming the brightness of the Christmas tree on the other side of my lids.

“Couldn’t have it delivered?” I ask.

Again, they don’t answer.

Peeking one eye open, I see they’re both smirking.

That’s never a good sign.

“We’ve decided…” Gwen starts, walking toward me slowly.

Richie continues, “we’re actually going to go to the store ourselves.”

I open my mouth to object but Erica cuts me off, “via Uber. We’re going to get an Uber to get to the store and pick up another roast and shit. Then, we will come back home and cook a beautiful, delicious roast - that you are not in charge of- and mom and dad will never know the truth.”

Hm.

My head tilts naturally as I ponder the idea at hand.

Pay a crap ton of money to have a roast delivered to our home via uber… or

pay a crap ton of money to have us delivered to the store and back via Uber…

“Screw it. I’m in. Let me grab my coat.”

They lock in our Uber driver while I slip on my fuzzy boots and coat, checking my hair in the mirror before walking back down the hallway toward the foyer.

The garland wrapped around the stairwell is a nice touch on top of the red ribbon that wraps around the handrail. All of it screams wealth. Which we’ve never had much of.

I’m proud of my sister. She’s worked hard to overcome her struggles and watching her shine these last few years have been magical. Gwen’s law school success makes my little four year degree in marketing seem like dog poo.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Richie asks, snaking her arm through mine as we wait for Gwenneth to come down the stairs.

“Oh, just admiring our sister’s hard work. This house is insane.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything, which is unlike her. But I brush it off.

This year’s been a bit harder on all of us and I can’t blame her for not being as bubbly as she usually is.

“Alright ladies. Let’s go get that roast!”

Gwen comes down the stairs in a whirlwind and nearly knocks into us. All three of us are headed out the door to the curb to wait on our ride when we get a notification that he’s two minutes away.

Tucking her phone back into her purse, Gwen tells us to be on the lookout for a white SUV .

As if summoned by magic, a white Tahoe pulls up to our curb seconds later.

Richie wastes no time throwing herself into the front seat, leaving Gwen and I to the back. As he pulls away from the curb, I find myself examining his car. It’s a comfortable enough ride. The seats are super soft.

“Where are we heading ladies?” The man asks, turning to greet all of us.

Gwen’s brows furrow, “I put it in the app, we just need to go to the twenty-four hour market on main street.”

“The app?” He questions.

My sister’s body goes stiff next to me.

“Yes. The app. The Uber app? Jericho?”

Her hand tucks into her purse discreetly as Erica turns in her seat to fully face the man.

As if sensing our gazes, the man suddenly starts laughing.

“I’m joking! Yes, I’m Jericho. Here,” he holds up his phone. Much to our relief, he has his app pulled up and shows us the route to the store.

“That was so not funny,” Richie says, giving him a death glare.

He smiles back at her,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll make it up to you. You can pick the music.”

And with that, they are instantly best friends.

“Is it just me,” Gwen whispers, “or is she totally feeling him?”

I glance between them now and nod. “She totally is. I mean, she’s doing her flirty, hair twirl thing.”

We both giggle to ourselves as we watch her flirt.

“Oh really?” She asks loudly,

“A lawyer? My sister here is a lawyer,” she

points to Gwen.

“Oh, no. Don’t do this,” She protests as Richie starts gushing over our sister and her success.

“You got any advice for me? I’ll be interviewing for a few internships next week,” he asks.

“Just don’t pretend to kidnap them and you’ll do fine,” she jokes.

The rest of the ride goes on with us watching our sister chat up this stranger. As soon as we pull up to the market, we bolt.

Practically sprinting toward the market doors. The closer we get, the clearer the empty aisles become and worry pricks at my gut.

As we both simultaneously slam into the glass doors that are supposed to open before you get to them, my fears are confirmed.

One, the store is closed.

Two, we’re idiots.

I grab my sore forehead and Gwen rubs hers.

A few yards behind us, Richie is gripping her stomach as she howls with laughter. So does Jericho. Who decided to get out of the car for some reason.

“They turn the sensors off after seven!” My sister shouts, laughing even harder.

“So, they’re not closed?” I question, wincing as the migraine starts.

“No! You big dummy, just press the button!”

Jericho helps us up before hitting said button. The doors miraculously open, unveiling a low mumble of hustle and bustle that could not be heard from the mostly empty parking lot.

Workers stood at the registers waiting on patrons and a few elderly people were checking out here and there. It’s surprisingly empty.

“To the roast!” Jericho says, pointing toward the meat aisle.

“I’m sorry. But why are you helping us shop?” Gwen asks.

“I actually needed to pick up some bread for my grandma. I figured I might as well do it while you guys have me here.”

Rolling my eyes, I breeze past my sisters to find what we came for.

There it is!

The big green sign hanging above a section of cooler labelled ‘chuck roasts.’

Jogging over, I bend over the lip of the cooler and find it completely empty.

“No!” I groan, letting myself hang over the side like a child.

“What is it?” Gwen stumbles up and runs into the cooler beside me, then Richie.

“No roast?” Richie says softly.

“Christmas Eve dinner with no roast is like Easter without the bunny!” I pull myself up, shoulders slumping forward.

“Well, it’s not an option. Time to move on,” she says loudly.

Move on?

Is she kidding?

“Erica. Do not tell me to move on! It’s Christmas Eve for goodness sake! Santa is coming to our house tonight and I will have a roast, dang it!”

She shakes her head,

“Santa? Really?”

“Could you two not get into this right now? We still have to figure out what to cook for a very late, very fast dinner,” Gwen says.

I glare over at Erica but don’t say anything else.

“Okay. So, we won’t be having a roast. But,” Gwen walks over and picks up a precooked rotisserie chicken from the warming rack.

“Maybe a chicken?”

I shrug my shoulders lazily, Richie agrees, and we’re on our way to checkout. Cooked chicken in one hand, roll of premade cookie dough in the other, our eldest sister leads us out of the store and back to the car.

Jericho greets us with a smile.

“Find what you were looking for?”

The silence that answered him was too much and soon the three of us were laughing again. Then, Richie held up the precooked chicken and made it do a happy dance to a Christmas song and we nearly peed ourselves.

“I’m almost sad that her vibe is going to be off for the rest of the night after she gets out of this car,” Gwen mumbles.

She’s not wrong. Gwen is laughing more now than she has been since she got to our sisters. She and her boyfriend broke up a few weeks ago, and while it’s not a particularly nasty breakup, she hasn’t been by herself in a while. Before the boyfriend, she had roommates. Roommates that she kicked out so that said boy could move in, only to walk in on him cheating on her a month ago. Now, she has an empty apartment and a few old friends who said, “I told you so.”

“Well, maybe it won’t. Maybe she’ll be cheery and bright after she has another glass of wine and eats that dancing chicken.”

An hour later, I’m proven wrong.

“Okay, you have been completely lashing out since we got back. What is your deal?” Gwen asks.

Erica rolls her eyes, “like you would understand. You’ve got this perfect house and all this money now. Those fancy pantsuits have really given you a complex, and I’m not going to talk about my small people issues with you!”

Lord have mercy.

“Girls, let’s not -”

I’m cut off by a rogue pillow smashing into my face as they start throwing cushions at each other.

“I have problems too, brat! You don’t see me whining about it! So what? Your boyfriend cheated on you. Big deal. You didn’t seem that broken up about it when you were sucking face with Jericho an hour ago!”

Richie gasps, throwing another pillow.

“You little drama queen! I wasn’t

sucking face with him! I just kissed him on the cheek! Not that you’d know anything about kissing because you are too uptight to even let a guy come near you! You don’t know anything about being in a relationship so shut it!”

Oh great, now we’re getting physical.

“Are you forgetting about the divorce I went through two years ago because the love of my life couldn’t handle all the studying and working I did for law-school?”

Gwen shouts fuming as she crosses the room to shove her. Leading a drunk Richie to pulling Gwen’s hair.

“Yeah, maybe I did forget about that. But honestly, can you blame me? He was a boring snob!”

“If it makes either of you feel any better,” I interject, “I graduated over four

months ago and still haven’t found a job that has anything to do with my degree and I have no idea where I’m going with my life!”

They both stop and look at me.

“I got kicked out of my apartment,” Richie says softly.

Gwen pauses, pushing her tangled hair from her face. “I was laid off.”

Richie and I both gasp and reach for Gwen, but she’s already backing away from us. Her hand held up to stop us was the only thing keeping us at bay.

“It’s okay. Really. I knew when I signed the contract that it could either lead to a lifetime career or the one year that I was legally obligated could be it. I just didn’t make the cut.”

“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard,” I object.

“They’re stupid if they let you go, Gwen. I mean, look at how hard you work! I don’t think you ever even missed a class during school. Not even when you had the flu and could barely speak!” Richie sits next to her.

“All I’m saying is,” Gwen starts, “we all have it. Stress. Heartbreak. Why didn’t you tell me you got kicked out? You know I have room for you here. Matter of fact, I could use the extra hands around here and my mortgage is starting to get hard to handle on my own. The cases I’m taking are limited until I find a full time firm to sign me. And you-” she turns to me. “You can do anything. Your future is still unwritten. If you are having trouble finding something within your degree, talk to your professors and see if there are any opportunities that they know of. Talk to mom’s friends, talk to us. We will help you.”

With an arm around each of us, she collapses back onto the couch and pulls us with her.

“Could I really move in?” Richie asks, looking up at our big sister.

“Of course you can. You may be twenty-seven…” she turns to me,

“and twenty-five, but I’ll always take care of my baby sisters.”