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17 | Not supposed to
Plinio's POV:
“Merry Christmas, Nio!”
For the past four years, the first buoyant wish is always from Aunt Mary. Only she talks to me like that and I can never reach her level of enthusiasm when wishing her back.
“Christmas to you too, Mary,” I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder. With my free hand, I break open an egg in the bowl.
“Cheer up, love. It’s merry Christmas, the season of happiness.” She must have listened to carols and called me right away. Last year she made me listen to them on her phone. I hung up before my ears bled to deafness.
“Yep,” I drop the chopped onions in the bowl with some salt, black pepper, and green chili.
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