Fowl Holiday

By Cheri Milionis Hooper

Alanas parents are too self-involved to include her in their holiday plans this Thanksgiving. Luckily, she gets an offer from her eccentric aunt to fly to Fiji and spend the holiday with her. One might think a trip to Fiji would be the trip of a lifetime, especially when the cute guy Alana spotted at the airport ends up sitting behind her on the plane. Instead, she runs into one adventure after another. This could definitely be a life-changing Thanksgiving vacation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Dec 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781489705839

Cheri Milionis Hooper

Cheri Hooper is an educator in the public school system and author of the children’s book What Do the Kids Say about Space? In her first adult fiction novel, Fowl Holiday, Cheri’s writing flows in such a way that is meant to make her main character, Alana, appeal to a wide range of audiences. Cheri drew from her own personal experiences of living in the Pacific Northwest and working with people from other cultures to write the hilarious circumstances that Alana must face. Cheri relies on witty writing to keep readers entertained from beginning to end.

Book preview

Chapter One

J ust my luck. This Thanksgiving I will be flying alone to visit my aunt who I haven’t seen in a few years. It’s not like I don’t have family to be with to celebrate this special holiday; it’s that my mom made it pretty clear the ski condo they’d rented for the holiday only had one bedroom. They had been searching for just the right condo and apparently two bedrooms was not a top priority. Not that I would want to spend any amount of time around Larry.

My mom’s husband, Creepy Larry I call him, only behind his back, is an avid skier and wants to teach my mom how to ski. I use the word creepy because he wears skinny jeans and v-neck T-shirts and his curly chest hair sticks out. Yuck. He’s too old to wear skinny jeans; he’s like forty or something. He has really long fingers too, which bother me.

You don’t even know how to ski, my mom had said when she called a few months ago to inform me of their plans. I wanted to reply that I would know how to ski if someone had taken the time to teach me. That all my friends had learned how to ski and do other fun and exciting things, like camping or waterskiing, while I sat and watched TV for hours a day. I didn’t say anything though. I just glared at her through the phone. She continued to explain to me that their week-long trip to Schweitzer Mountain was kind of like the honeymoon they had never had. My mom and Larry were married two years ago, but apparently didn’t get enough alone time.

On the other hand, or other half of the reason for my existence, my dad is too busy with his new baby boy. Why he would want a new baby is beyond me. They smell, they scream, and they suck all the energy right out of your body. At least that’s what I imagine they do since the last time I saw my father, he looked like a zombie. He had big circles under his eyes and was slouched over like a gorilla. On a good day, my father is about six feet two inches, nice-looking, and still has a head of thick wavy brown hair.

Another problem—I wasn’t exactly invited to my dad’s house either. The last time I talked to my dad on the phone, and told him mom would be busy for Thanksgiving, he didn’t offer a seat at his holiday table. Linda was probably in the background giving him the finger across the throat sign. My stepmom is very nice and she’s always been cordial to me when I’ve visited, but I think she would rather not have any reminders that my father had a previous marriage or family.

How do I know this? Last year when I visited my father and Linda in their beautiful two-story Victorian house in Oregon, soon after they were married on the coast in a quaint little ceremony and the terror was born, I noticed there was not one picture of me on any wall in that place. I had sent senior pictures too. My stepmom is an interior decorator, so she knows how to hang a picture, and I could tell she spent quite a chunk of her earnings to furnish their house. I almost asked where my senior pictures had gone, but just assumed instead they were given a nice Oh, she’s so pretty, and quickly stored away in an old album. Even worse, she might’ve thrown them away. She could’ve put one frame on the mantel, instead of all those candles. Nobody needs that many candles.

Also, if I mentioned anything that had to do with my mom, like I was casually discussing Satan, she would quickly change the subject and act as if I hadn’t said anything at all. One time, I tried to mention what mom did with some of dad’s stuff and this is how it went—

So Dad, Mom sold your old bowling ball and shoes. They were in a box in our garage for years. Hope you don’t mind. Turn to Linda. Did you know my mom and Dad were on a bowling team about six years ago? Do you bowl Linda?

What did you say Alana? I’m sorry I wasn’t listening at the moment. Can someone put the placemats out for dinner? See what I mean? It’s not like I was trying to talk about mom and dad being on a team together and falling in love at the bowling alley. And then, she would walk off in her matching dress suit and heels. She’s a very well put together lady. When I’m near her, I feel like a big old mess. She probably thought my jeans and sweats were the worst thing imaginable. I remember one of the conversations we had about my clothes.

Alana, would you like to go shopping to buy some more fashionable clothes? A few of my clients are coming by to see some samples later, and, well, we wouldn’t want to offend them. Linda said.

What do you mean, offend them? I asked.

She squeaked out a little laugh. Oh, I just want everything and everyone in the house to look their best, so my clients will trust that I will do the best job decorating their house. she stammered. I didn’t mean you don’t look nice, but I would love to buy you a nice dress and some new heels. It could be a fun girls shopping trip!

I sat for a minute and looked at her. Me? In heels? Linda’s eyebrows went up, and then her eyes squinted a little, as if she was waiting for a rude remark. I can’t help that I love antagonizing her. I was very polite though.

Linda, if you don’t mind, I would like to continue to wear my jeans and T-shirt, but I will gladly take the money you were going to spend on me to go see a movie and buy myself a giant slice of pizza and a large Coke. Then, I won’t even be here when your clients come over. You might want to clean up that pile of cat vomit off the floor over there too. I pointed to where my cat George had gotten a little sick.

Her cute little nose wrinkled and the corners of her perfect lips turned down. Just then, my baby brother woke up from his nap and started screaming. Linda ran out of the room quickly to get him, or to get away from me.

My half brother is cute. I just don’t know what to do with a baby—I’ve never even held one. Or changed a diaper, or anything like that. Only child syndrome, party of one. During my visit there I would’ve offered to help take care of him, but one time I accidentally stepped on his finger when he was lying on the floor and made him cry; well it was more like a wail. Linda ran into the room and looked at me like I had pinched him on purpose or something. She grabbed him and hurried out of the room, muttering something about nap time.

When I had talked to my dad about the upcoming holidays and whether or not I would be driving down for any of them, he told me that they were flying to New York to be with Linda’s family for Thanksgiving. I was welcome to come for Christmas, but I might have to share a room with Linda’s sisters who would be visiting. There is only one bed in the guest room though. he added. Hmm…I’ll have to talk to Linda about where you could sleep.

Don’t worry about it dad. I can spend the holidays with mom and my friends. I said. It’s not like I wanted to be with them anyway. Dang though. I’ll miss Linda’s over-the-top holiday decorations and matching pants suits. One year she wore a green and red pants suit and put a fucking red bow in her hair.

So, it’s off to the island of Fiji in the Pacific, across a giant ocean filled with sharks and other dangerous creatures. I get to visit my aunt, a very eccentric woman who spends her days studying sea turtles and what not. I feel like I sound ungrateful. I mean, who wouldn’t want to visit a tropical island in the middle of November? Especially considering the weather outside my tiny apartment doesn’t top forty degrees. I live in Spokane, which is in the eastern part of Washington State. When I look outside in November, I see only grey; grey snow, grey skies, people dressed in dark grey coats and hats, dirty grey rainwater splashing as the grey cars drive by.

I guess I am getting a little psyched to see blue skies, instead of constant grey. And, packing a suitcase can be exciting. Well, except trying to figure out which bathing suit hides the extra fifteen pounds and the starchy whites legs from lack of sun exposure. Spokane doesn’t really provide too many opportunities for sun-bathing in the fall. At least I was able to squeeze in a few tans at the salon in the short time since I received this offer. It was pretty difficult to find swimsuits this time of year, but I did find one that was somewhat flattering.

I’ve always had trouble with choosing swimsuits, mostly because I want to hide my body. If I could wear sweats and a T-shirt in the water, I would. But I figure a trip to a tropical island calls for something other than sweats, so I brave the first snowfall of the year to drive to Wal-Mart. I scrounge the clearance rack, hidden in a small section near the bras and underwear, until I find the winning suit. When I went to ask for a changing room, a young employee, Peyton, saw the bathing suit I had grabbed and bombarded me with questions.

Oh my gosh, are you going somewhere fun? I would love to be able to get out of this dreary weather! She grabs one of those cards that say how many items you’re taking into the room and starts to walk back into the changing area. I reluctantly follow her as she continues to blab. I had a fabulous vacation in San Diego a few years ago, with my boyfriend, and I got my swimsuit online. She rattles on about how she got her swimsuit online at Victoria’s Secret and that I could go online and search for swimsuits rather than buy one here, because of course the clothes here will unravel or fall apart too quickly and looking at my body type, which is on the curvy side, the one I chose would not be flattering. Of course she adds that she noticed I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and if I want to get the attention of some hot guys, I would definitely want to go more with a bikini.

I do believe she was oblivious to the fact that I was shooting daggers from my eyes directly at her face.

Can I please get a room quickly? I ask in my monotonous voice, still glaring at her. I have a lot of errands to run.

I think my tone is a little on the harsh side—she looks offended. After raising her eyebrows and turning that smile upside-down, she points to the dressing rooms at the end of the aisle and walks away. I have never had chatty friends, I couldn’t handle it. I would turn into a strangler. The headlines would read: Strangler Strikes Again! Young, pretty, blonde Peyton, employee at the local Wal-Mart, strangled and left for dead in the bra and underwear aisle! I’m sorry. I just don’t have patience for idle chit-chat with people I don’t know.

After trying on my swimsuit, and deciding it would do because I was not going to go through that again, I hurry past Peyton and go on to buy some suntan lotions. I walk around the store for quite a while trying to find some suntan lotion. When I finally find the lotions, choosing one was harder than I thought it would be. There are so many different brands and SPF numbers; I just grab an SPF 30. Luckily, I have some sandals from this summer I can pack and will not need to search the clearance shoe section for unraveling summer sandals, as Peyton might call them.

Driving home from the store, I think back to the phone call I had with my mom when I told her Aunt Cindy had invited me to go to Fiji for Thanksgiving. I didn’t tell my mom how I had complained that nobody wanted to spend time with me anymore. My mom said that this adventure would be a great experience for me. A chance to meet new people. A chance to see the world. You could learn to snorkel and swim with the sea turtles. Maybe even meet a man. Yes, a man. I’m twenty-two years old and my last relationship with a man was more than a year ago. It was quite serious, at least I thought it was, but after two years of dating he threw his shit in a duffle bag, told me I was a boring hermit crab (aren’t all hermit crabs boring?), kicked my cat George, and walked out the door.

So I’m not that adventurous. I like to stay home, read books, pet my cat George, and watch shows on the BBC channel. To me that sounds like a pretty stable and content life. Sooo much better than the chaotic life in which I grew up, watching two people coexist in the same house who should never had married, never had a child, or who should never have ignored free marital counseling through insurance benefits.

When my parents told me they were getting a divorce, when I was about fifteen, it was such a relief. No more yelling, throwing food, dirty name calling, and crazy make-up sex that I could hear from my bedroom down the hall. Thank god for earphones. After hearing statements thrown out like, You never pay attention to me anymore! or How could you do this to us? you find joy in noise canceling earphones and loud music.

I did the every other weekend thing with my father for a while, but when I turned sixteen and started driving it turned into quick visits when I had time. By my senior year of high school, he had married Linda and told us he was moving to Oregon to live with her. I’m not sure if Linda had been the receptionist at his dentist office whom he would talk to secretly at night, but I did hear my parents arguing about something like that. I would half listen to them fighting and half listen to witty script lines from Hanna Montana. Reruns of Full House were good too. Such happy little messages and morals, in which I could use in my real life. Blech.

My mom and I moved into an apartment shortly after the divorce. She sold the house I grew up in, which held a few fond memories, and we moved into a small two bedroom apartment a few miles away. Luckily, I was able to stay at the same high school and didn’t have to awkwardly make new friends. And when she started dating Creepy Larry a few years later, she moved in with him and I got to stay in our apartment. I also call him that because he looks me up and down and makes me feel weird. Where are my sweat pants? I always think to myself.

Happy graduation to me! Grow up, get a job, get a cat, and figure out a new place to spend the holidays. I was the only one in my small circle of friends who had their own place our first year of college. It’s not like we had any raging parties or anything. Mostly just hung out and played board games or video games. Okay, so maybe I am a little boring.

Growing up, my aunt Cindy always spent time when she visited Spokane and made me feel very special. She always brought thoughtful gifts from wherever she was living at the time. Cindy had wild curly red hair that seemed to have a life of its own. I would stare at her hair as the sunlight reflected on it and seemed to make her hair dance. Even though she was ten years older than me, she was like the older sister I never had who would take me to the mall, point out good-looking guys and giggle when they walked by. We would end our day with two scoops of ice cream in a waffle cone.

She was also the one who explained to me what a period was and what was going to happen when it started. We went to the store and she bought me pads and tampons. I don’t know if my mom just chose to ignore teaching me about womanly things, or if she just forgot.

Cindy also explained sex. It was after I walked in on her and some guy having sex in my mom’s room. My parents had asked her to watch me for a few days while they went to Seattle. I was only twelve at the time, but had plenty of questions about what they were doing. It might have scarred me a little, the position they were in and what I saw. Luckily, after a little chat with Cindy, I knew what they were doing and that it could be done in many different ways.

At least I was prepared for my changing teenage hormones in high school. I called Cindy after I had sex for the first time and we giggled and laughed on the phone for about an hour. My parents must’ve assumed I never even had sex, with my plain brown hair, negative attitude, and old grey sweatpants. Who would be interested poor old Alana?

When Cindy offered to fly me down to the islands to spend a few weeks in Fiji, after I told her I would be spending the holidays alone with my cat, I gladly accepted—to the relief of my mom and dad I assume.

Chapter Two

S o here we are. It’s the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving and my best friend Jenna is driving me to the Spokane International Airport. I’m so happy that we’ve been friends since first grade. I’m lucky to have her in my life. I think she really gets me—we can throw the sarcasm back and forth like pros. She’s even agreed to take George in for two weeks. In return, I’ve been told I have to bring her back a beautiful shell necklace, a real sea turtle (not going to happen), a flowy island print skirt, or a hot island man. I don’t think that’s going to happen either, especially considering I can’t even get myself one.

My mom, Aunt Cindy, and Jenna have all mentioned these island men. I’m picturing boys cracking coconuts on sharp rocks and chasing wild boars through the jungle. Okay, not that primitive. I realize the world has evolved past the cave man stage. I’m just one of those people who have low expectations and when something good does happen I get to be pleasantly surprised. Just like this trip. I expected to