Family

Christmas Cheer

Jean opened his eyes groggily, forgetting for a moment where he was, and after that remembering where he was supposed to be, and after that realizing he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Where was that, anyway? Right. The guest room. Well, he was in a guest room. Just not the one he had been assigned to.

Instead, he was laying down next to Emily and Marco, on a bed much too small to fit all three of them. He noticed there was a large handmade blanket on him that he didn't remember being there when he fell asleep. He was curious as to how that blanket got there, and obviously, a very tired Marco - who had just woken up - had been wondering the same thing.

"How this ge'ere?" he yawned, grabbing the fabric with one hand. He then noticed the other hand, still very loosely laced with Jean's, and smiled. "I guess our 'sleeping arrangements' didn't really pan out."

Jean laughed gently. "Yeah, not really," he agreed. "We should probably get out of bed." Marco nodded, but neither made a move to put that suggestion to action. And they most likely wouldn't have, had Marianne not burst in a minute later, promptly shooing them off the mattress and downstairs while she woke Emily up. The two stumbled into the kitchen, where all the ingredients were laid out to make a very special breakfast.

"What time is it?" Jean wondered groggily, looking at the clock on the stove. "Eight. Huh. I haven't been up this early in a really long time."

"Well it'll be worth it once Mama and I finish the cinnamon rolls," Marco replied, Jean lifting himself to sit on the counter.

"I'll take your word for it," he said. It took a second, but Marco soon realized what Jean was doing.

"Jean- don't-" he sputtered, quickly switching his gaze from Jean to the kitchen door and back again, his eyes like a frightened deer's.

"Don't what?"

"My mom- she'll-"

It was too late. Marianne walked into the kitchen, Emily in tow, and stopped when she saw Jean sitting there.

"Jean Kirschtein!" she scolded, shoving him off the counter. "That is a damn food preparation space, not a seat! I don't want your butt poisoning my cinnamon rolls, and I would bet money that you don't, either. Now if I see you sitting on that counter again, I'm going to have to see to it you leave with one less asscheek."

"One less asscheek?"

"Don't criticize me. Not another word, Jean, I mean it."

"Yes, Mrs. Bodt," Jean shamefully replied, slinking into a seat at the dining table.

"I tried warning you," Marco offered, pulling a large mixing bowl out of a cabinet.

"Tried and failed." Marco shrugged and started on the cinnamon rolls, his mother going to help him.

"Jean, do you want to give us a hand? Or does Emily?" Marianne inquired. Jean then noticed that Emily had moved from behind Marianne to sitting at the table quietly.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," he said, shaking his head. "Last time we both helped out I ended up half naked and covered in icing-- oh, shit, that sounded way dirtier than it actually was."

"Dear, what you and Marco get up to when I'm not around is none of my business," Marianne replied, smirking at the blush creeping its way onto Jean's face. "Although I'd encourage you two to be safe and responsible, whatever it is you do."

"Mom!" said Marco as he hid his face behind his hands. "We haven't even had sex yet!"

Jean perked up at this. "Yet?" he wondered, one eyebrow raised.