All This Time

7 ⦿ in which i meet the fockers

"You make it sound like we were awful!" Wolfram complains, lip pouting at me. His hand snakes out to grab a peppermint but I swat it away.

"You were," I shoot back, not missing a beat. His angelic expression doesn't deter me; he knows as well as I do why I loathe him with a fiery, burning passion. And I'm not about to let him off the hook anytime soon.

"You'll still marry me, right?" He props his feet up on my desk.

I resist the all-encompassing urge to scream and drive my letter opener through his chest. I can't believe he just said that. This boy is truly incorrigible. "When pigs fly," I smile sweetly.

December 22, 2010 11:30 a.m.

The bathroom is surprisingly normal compared to the rest of the house. Luxurious, yes, but not to the point that I am afraid to touch anything. Like airport restrooms, the faucets in the house don't have handles for hot and cold; instead, all I have to do is place my hand underneath the gold spout and the sensor  immediately releases warm water into my waiting palm.

The tile floor isn't cold at all, despite the chilly winter month, but is delightfully warm thanks to the under-floor heating. Opposite the commode is an enormous bathtub that could easily have fit three people, sparkling gold taps free of a finger smudge - and trust me, I looked. Cautiously, I twist the handle, and a steady stream of water comes out, quickly filling the tub. There is an elongated neck by the tap that has an oversize, immovable shower head. But there isn't a shower curtain, and I have a bad feeling that I'd get water everywhere, so I settle for a soak instead.

I strip quickly and sink gratefully into the hot water, feeling the grime of travel wash away. Using the elastic wrapped around my wrist, I tie my hair into a poofy top-bun to keep it dry, and help myself to one of the small slivers of soap in the wooden soap saver which is neatly placed on the ledge next to a mini-loofah. Each soap sliver is wrapped with a thin piece of recycled brown paper around the middle with the scent and ingredients printed in small typewriter lettering. I choose a light green soap that says "Christmas Bliss" on it and rip the paper off. I submerge the soap in the water and then lather it generously over my skin. Instantly, the aroma of fresh spices, frankincense, and balsam wood whisper through the air, tickling my nostrils with the subtle fragrance.

Finishing my bath quickly, I wrap a towel around myself and step out onto the bath rug, wiggling my toes in the soft green moss with perverse delight. A smile still on my face, I dress quickly in the clothing I'd brought inside with me.

Dumping my old clothing in the wicker basket next to the tub, I emerge from the bathroom fresh and sqeaky-clean. Even though I called my mother the moment I'd landed, I grab my iPhone and take a few pictures of the bedroom and still-steamy bathroom and send them to her. Without waiting for an answer, I leave my phone on the nightstand and traipse out of my room.

Before I even finish rapping on Xander's door, he opens it, eager-puppy expression fading swiftly when he sees me.

"Uh," he clears his throat. "Is that what you're wearing?"

Clearly my Ugly Christmas Sweater doesn't pass muster. It's a scarlet-red sweater with a pug on it, wearing cute antlers, and there's a bell on his collar that jingles gently when I walk. Paired with a pair of ripped skinny jeans and Ugg boots, I suddenly feel underdressed. Especially when I see his dark-wash jeans and classic, navy v-neck Ralph Lauren sweater.

"Should I change?"

"No," Xander says. "It's kitschy." He hooks his thumbs into the loops of his jeans. "I was thinking we could explore the village after we eat. Wolfram wants to show us around."