The O.C. Fic: The Worst Chrismukkah Ever (1/4)
Title: The Worst Chrismukkah Ever
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG-13+ / Gen / Chrismukkah (2)
Words: 2825
Spoilers: Season One & Two
Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: For emonerdgirl in response to the challenge she issued. In November. Whoops. Happy Chrismukkah!New Year!Birthday?!. Sorry it took so long and fret ye not, the rest is well under way.
Note: Thanks to Shelbecat who did a much needed proof read for me. The inevitably remaining mistakes are mine.
Summary: Ryan's homesick, Seth's just sick and Sandy and Kirsten are determined to look after them both. Multi-chapter, set around the second Cohen Chrismukkah, but not canon.
~~~
Ryan sat on the floor of the poolhouse, trying in vain to neatly fold the corners of his last present for Seth neatly. If he'd been wrapping something soft and squishy like the Elmo he was giving Lindsay, that would have been fine, but this was a book and it wasn't exactly rocket science. Which was a pity, because these days that was something he might have had a shot at. There was something about dating a physics devotee that made studying a much more attractive pastime. Finally, just as Ryan was beginning to despair, he got the edges tucked in and held them down determinedly as he pulled a piece of tape from the dispenser and stuck it down. Putting it with the CD he'd picked out with a little long distance help from Anna, he tied a silver bow around the small stack and sat back to admire his handiwork.
Three small stacks of presents for the Cohens, a small matching gift of manicure sets for Marissa and Summer to be delivered simultaneously so that there would be no romantic confusion whatsoever, a sketch pad and pencils for Trey and a photo frame for his mom on the unlikely off chance that she came by the jail anytime soon. A total of eleven individually wrapped gifts in all. They may not be the most perfectly wrapped presents in the history of Chrismukkah, a festivity with twice the good will of normal holidays, but he swore if anyone teased him about patterns not matching, he'd wallop them. He checked his watch; it had taken the best part of three hours. A definite improvement on last year; he might suck but at least he was making progress. Now all that remained to be wrapped was the box containing the simple silver necklace he'd picked out for Lindsay and the dreaded Elmo, staring at up at him in what Ryan felt was a distinctly malevolent fashion.
Feeling his nose twitch, he glowered back as he reached for a tissue from the near-empty box beside him, grabbing one just as he let out a spectacular succession of sneezes.
"Bless you," came Kirsten's voice as he finished his fifth sneeze.
Ryan turned to see her standing behind him with a fresh pack of tissues and a steaming mug of what he hoped was cocoa. "Thank you."
"I know you said you were wrapping presents but it's practically midnight. You should get yourself into bed."
"I know," said Ryan as he scooped up a pile of grotty tissues from floor and dumped them unceremoniously in the trash, "I'm done for tonight."
"You have much more to do?" Kirsten said, looking at the bed in the hope that any telltale shopping bags might be peaking out.
"Yours are wrapped, stop snooping," Ryan said, without looking back.
"I wasn't snooping!" Kirsten exclaimed like an admonished child caught drawing on the kitchen table.
Ryan looked at her levelly.
"I liked you so much better when you were doped out on Nyquil."
"I think I did too; that stuff had a kick," Ryan deadpanned.
"How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay. How's Seth?"
"Doped out on Nyquil. And starting to wish he'd been less of an ass to you last week."
Ryan laughed briefly before breaking into a hacking cough. Seth had teased him last week for succumbing to a mere sniffle and missing the last three days of school before the holiday break. Seth had insinuated filthy things about Lindsay's bedside manner when she dropped by with noodle soup. Seth had commented that Ryan's permanently high temperature made him closely resemble a beetroot. Seth had complained that Ryan was too easy a target for his jibes. Seth had belittled Ryan's chesty cough, seismic sneezing, streaming eyes and death rattle snoring as wimpish, claiming Cohens were made of sturdier stuff. Seth had ignored Ryan's half-hearted warnings of karma. Seth had no idea that the Atwood boys' immune systems were the stuff of Chino legend. Seth had grown up an only child. Seth had never had a brother to share germs with before.
A week later karma rose up and bit Seth on his skinny little ass.
"Urgh, 'scuse me," Ryan choked into his hand.
"What about Elmo?" Kirsten asked, passing him a half-abandoned glass of water from the floor.
Ryan looked over at the fuzzy red monster and felt a thousand times more tired, "I think he's going to have to wait 'til morning. Besides," he added as he took the glass gratefully from Kirsten and took a sip, "I'd like Lindsay to have something that doesn't look like I wrapped it with my feet."
"She's a nice girl."
"Do you think-"
"-I think she'll love it, Ryan."
"Thank you."
"And anyway," she teased, trading Ryan's empty glass for the mug of cocoa, "You kept the receipt, right? So when she hates it-"
"- Hey!"
"I'm sorry, if she hates-"
"- Do you want me to sneeze on you?" Ryan threatened in a jovially stern fashion.
"It's Elmo and it's from you," Kirsten said reassuringly, "What's not to love?"
"Cool. Thanks Kirsten."
"You're welcome. Now go to bed."
"Alright, alright I'm going!" said Ryan, sitting down on the bed and pulling his socks off with his toes, smiling to himself a little as Kirsten's sensitively hidden concern momentarily bubbled through. Scolded for not sleeping enough; there were worse things to be admonished for.
" 'Night, Ryan. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning," she quipped as she turned out the main light, dropping the pool house into the soft warm light of Ryan's bedside light.
"That's a comfort," Ryan replied, trying to suppress a yawn. He smiled back at her, "'Night."
"'Night." Kirsten pulled the pool house door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Ryan alone once again.
Drinking from his cocoa, he looked over at the little bundles of red and gold star wrapped presents on the floor. They'd look great under the whopper of a tree that Sandy had bought home and tomorrow he would wrap Lindsay's presents to join them. Right now, he was going to follow Kirsten's orders and hit the sack. Elmo would just have to wait.
~~~
The next morning Seth sat at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. He'd known even as he'd gently mocked Ryan last week that sympathy was probably more appropriate; but this was Ryan Atwood, he of the irritatingly good metabolism and muscles that refused to atrophy in an acceptable fashion even though it had been months since he'd quit his construction job. Watching him shuffle around the house like a consumptive poet was too good an opportunity for Seth to miss. Unfortunately, his stand-up hadn't gone down too well and despite the fact that this was now the new and improved Ryan Atwood (now with extra dimples) he'd barely succeeded in raising a smile. Only now, as he picked at the soggy floating remains of his Coco Pops, did Seth truly appreciate why.
He felt like utter crap. His head was fuzzy, every time he needed to blow his nose (approximately every 0.25 seconds) he had to ponder the old sensitive sinus-versus-potential nosebleed conundrum, his chest sounded as if he had spent most of his young life down t'pit and his taste buds seemed to be on strike. So, his mother might possibly have had a point that it was cruel to imply that Ryan's husky voice made him sound like Chrissie Hynde, but this he did not deserve. And through it all Ryan had been utterly gracious. He hadn’t said I told you so, hadn’t mocked the fact that despite his declarations as to the incredible litheness of Cohen, the flu bug had clearly hit Seth much harder than it had Ryan. And yet he'd said nothing.
Instead, Ryan, damn him, had been sympathetic; asking how he was, bringing him spontaneous cups of tea up to his room where he had languished in bed for the past four days. He'd even asked Lindsay to bring over an extra helping of her fabulous noodle soup. It was the behavior of a mature, noble and thoroughly decent young man and they both knew it was driving Seth just as crazy as he'd driven Ryan the week before. It was, in short, a masterstroke of revenge on Ryan's part.
Giving up on the rest of his cereal, Seth stood up and moved to the sink to rinse his bowl, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit him as he did so. Perfect. Yet another delightful new symptom, and just in time for Chrismukkah Eve.
"Hey," came Sandy's voice from behind him as he placed the bowl in the dishwasher, "You feeling better?"
"Not really, " replied Seth as he straightened back up.
"You don’t look great," said Sandy truthfully as he crossed over to Seth and put his hand on his son's forehead, "How'd you sleep?"
"Okay. I just feel kind of eugh."
"You're hot again. You should be starting to feel better by now, if Ryan's anything to go by."
"Well, it turns out there's yet another layer of manhood that Ryan's got on me, okay?" Seth snapped, a little harsher than he'd intended.
"Okay, okay," Sandy said kindly, sensing Seth's renewed frustration at the disruption of his beloved Chrismukkah and backing off, "You should go back to bed. If you're not feeling better later on, I'm going to make an appointment at the doctors' for you. It's not like you to be this run down."
"Whatever. But I'm not going back to bed, it's all gross in there."
"Then go and sit yourself down in the den and I'll bring you a mug of peppermint tea. If you don’t keep your fluids up then your mother will kill us both."
"Whatever," Seth said again, going into little kid mode. Being sick sucked at the best of times, being sick at Chrismukkah was just plain unfair. "Sorry," he sighed, looking up at his Dad for comfort, "I just…"
"- Yeah, I know. Come here," Sandy said as he pulled gently Seth into a hug.
Behind them, Ryan wavered momentarily before quietly entering the kitchen from outside. Even though it had been the best part of eighteen months since he'd first rolled up on the Cohens' doorstep, he still couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious when he inadvertently stumbled in on Cohen-on-Cohen affection. It was silly and he knew it, but that little pang of guilt at the disruption he'd brought into their lives still flickered bright if given half the chance. Or maybe, he thought, as Sandy kissed Seth tenderly on the head, it was simple jealousy at the unashamed and unrestrained affection the family had for one another.
As unobtrusively as he could manage, Ryan crossed to the fridge, pretending to peruse the contents inside the door as he stood watching them with plaintive envy in the reflection of the window. It wasn't until he felt Kirsten's hand on his shoulder that he realized she had entered the kitchen.
"Honestly, those two," she sighed wistfully, as he was pulled out of his reverie, "It doesn't matter how many times I tell them to tell me when we're running low on juice, whenever anybody else wants some, there's only ever mush."
Embarrassed, Ryan turned around and offered her a smile as he took the nearly empty bottle out of the fridge, "I don't know, mush isn't so bad."
"I'm still campaigning for a pulp free household," said Seth, breaking away from his father.
"And the day you buy the juice, you can consider your campaign a success," said Kirsten as she laid down her bag of groceries on the counter and retrieved a fresh bottle of pulpy goodness, "Until then, this house will continue to come with juicy bits."
"Here's hoping," said Sandy flirtatiously, planting a kiss on Kirsten's cheek as he swiped the juice and poured out four glasses, "I for one love the juicy bits."
"Oh my God, Dad, I'm sick already, please don't make me hurl," Seth protested.
"I don't know what you mean," grinned Sandy, his eyes sparkling.
Ryan shook his head to himself, taking a gulp from his glass. Then again, perhaps there was sometimes a little too much affectionate sharing under this roof.
The new and the old juice finished, aside from pulpiness, Kirsten picked up the bottle and headed to the sink, "All joking aside, if this is how quickly we get through juice in this house, someone else has got to start remembering to buy some every once in a while. At this rate, I'm getting all my exercise just by grocery shopping."
"Say no more. But don't rinse those out," said Sandy, as he stayed his wife's hand, "I'll have the pulp with ice cream."
"If you insist," said Kirsten, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated disgust.
"I do indeed. You ever had orange pulp on vanilla?" Sandy asked Ryan as he offered Seth a Kleenex to stay a string of sneezes.
"Uh, sadly, no," said Ryan, with absolutely no intention of being drawn down that road again. He'd still hadn't gotten over the, "Try calamari rings, Ryan, you'll like them," incident of a few weeks back and was in no mood for culinary adventures.
"Don't!" said Seth between sneezes, "Seriously-! It's -! Just-! Ugh-!"
After seventeen years of parenthood, Sandy and Kirsten had a highly developed sense of puke-dar and knew instantly how to recognize the look on Seth's face that meant he was about to throw up in a particularly explosive fashion. Unfortunately for Ryan, the only person he had developed puke-dar for was his mother and he was totally unprepared for what Seth was about to let loose. No sooner had he had time to wonder why Sandy and Kirsten were leaping backwards from their son, then a fantastically gross arc of juice and coco pops spewed forth from Seth with the force of his sneeze, hitting Ryan dead on and leaving lumpy splatters dripping down his t-shirt and jeans, decorating his arms and and bare feet.
"Oh. My. God," Ryan muttered, trying to suppress the urge to return the favor as the Cohens looked on, horror and hilarity twinkling in their eyes. He looked down at his clothes; brown, warm and soggy with all that remained of Seth's ex-breakfast. Even his mother had always managed to hit the basin.
"Dude, I'm so sorry," Seth choked out between dry aftershock hitches, "That's like the most disgusting thing ever."
"And the most impressive," declared Sandy, trying to lighten the mood as he offered Ryan a towel, "I thought that the projectile banana at CVS was remarkable, but this was a thing of beauty."
"Not now, Sandy," Kirsten admonished her husband, crossing to Seth and rubbing his back gently. "Come on young man," she said turning Seth gently around by his shoulders and pointing him in the direction of the stairs, "Let's get you back into bed."
" 'kay," Seth agreed pathetically, wiping at the stray coco-pops around his mouth and nose that had tried to make the six-foot journey across the kitchen via his nostrils, "Sorry bro."
"It's okay," Ryan answered, peeling off his sodden and stinky t-shirt as Seth shuffled out of the kitchen, "I'm just going to go take a really long shower."
"Or two," Sandy grinned, giving in to his urge to laugh.
"Maybe burn my clothes."
"Bet you weren't expecting that for Chrismukkah."
"But you know what? Still better than Christmas with Mom," Ryan half-joked back, mentally kicking himself as the joke fell flat and the inevitably downcast scenarios jostled for position in Ryan's imagination. There had been no gift from her this year.
"I'm sure she's okay, you know," Sandy said after a moment, sensing his unrest, "I know she's not been in touch for a while, but that doesn't-"
"-Yeah, I know," Ryan interrupted, acknowledging Sandy's platitudes as the good intentions they were with the smallest of equally well-meaning smiles.
"I've got this," Sandy said, grabbing a roll of kitchen paper from the sideboard, "Go shower and I'll make you some of my best chocberry pancakes for breakfast. I'm guessing you're probably not in the mood for cereal right now."
"Sounds great, thanks," Ryan nodded gratefully. Stepping carefully around the puddle on the floor, he shuffled out of the kitchen in the direction of the poolhouse, more determined then ever that this was going to be a good holiday. He could let his mom, his cold, Seth's drop in holiday hyperactivity dictate the festivities or he could take charge of them himself. Vomit or no vomit, Chrismukkah was a time of cheer, merriment, cheesy videos, excessive quantities of food- well, maybe just regular quantities this time round- and he was going to make sure everyone including Seth had a great time if it killed him.
~~~
Chapter Index: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating / Genre: PG-13+ / Gen / Chrismukkah (2)
Words: 2825
Spoilers: Season One & Two
Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: For emonerdgirl in response to the challenge she issued. In November. Whoops. Happy Chrismukkah!New Year!Birthday?!. Sorry it took so long and fret ye not, the rest is well under way.
Note: Thanks to Shelbecat who did a much needed proof read for me. The inevitably remaining mistakes are mine.
Summary: Ryan's homesick, Seth's just sick and Sandy and Kirsten are determined to look after them both. Multi-chapter, set around the second Cohen Chrismukkah, but not canon.
~~~
Ryan sat on the floor of the poolhouse, trying in vain to neatly fold the corners of his last present for Seth neatly. If he'd been wrapping something soft and squishy like the Elmo he was giving Lindsay, that would have been fine, but this was a book and it wasn't exactly rocket science. Which was a pity, because these days that was something he might have had a shot at. There was something about dating a physics devotee that made studying a much more attractive pastime. Finally, just as Ryan was beginning to despair, he got the edges tucked in and held them down determinedly as he pulled a piece of tape from the dispenser and stuck it down. Putting it with the CD he'd picked out with a little long distance help from Anna, he tied a silver bow around the small stack and sat back to admire his handiwork.
Three small stacks of presents for the Cohens, a small matching gift of manicure sets for Marissa and Summer to be delivered simultaneously so that there would be no romantic confusion whatsoever, a sketch pad and pencils for Trey and a photo frame for his mom on the unlikely off chance that she came by the jail anytime soon. A total of eleven individually wrapped gifts in all. They may not be the most perfectly wrapped presents in the history of Chrismukkah, a festivity with twice the good will of normal holidays, but he swore if anyone teased him about patterns not matching, he'd wallop them. He checked his watch; it had taken the best part of three hours. A definite improvement on last year; he might suck but at least he was making progress. Now all that remained to be wrapped was the box containing the simple silver necklace he'd picked out for Lindsay and the dreaded Elmo, staring at up at him in what Ryan felt was a distinctly malevolent fashion.
Feeling his nose twitch, he glowered back as he reached for a tissue from the near-empty box beside him, grabbing one just as he let out a spectacular succession of sneezes.
"Bless you," came Kirsten's voice as he finished his fifth sneeze.
Ryan turned to see her standing behind him with a fresh pack of tissues and a steaming mug of what he hoped was cocoa. "Thank you."
"I know you said you were wrapping presents but it's practically midnight. You should get yourself into bed."
"I know," said Ryan as he scooped up a pile of grotty tissues from floor and dumped them unceremoniously in the trash, "I'm done for tonight."
"You have much more to do?" Kirsten said, looking at the bed in the hope that any telltale shopping bags might be peaking out.
"Yours are wrapped, stop snooping," Ryan said, without looking back.
"I wasn't snooping!" Kirsten exclaimed like an admonished child caught drawing on the kitchen table.
Ryan looked at her levelly.
"I liked you so much better when you were doped out on Nyquil."
"I think I did too; that stuff had a kick," Ryan deadpanned.
"How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay. How's Seth?"
"Doped out on Nyquil. And starting to wish he'd been less of an ass to you last week."
Ryan laughed briefly before breaking into a hacking cough. Seth had teased him last week for succumbing to a mere sniffle and missing the last three days of school before the holiday break. Seth had insinuated filthy things about Lindsay's bedside manner when she dropped by with noodle soup. Seth had commented that Ryan's permanently high temperature made him closely resemble a beetroot. Seth had complained that Ryan was too easy a target for his jibes. Seth had belittled Ryan's chesty cough, seismic sneezing, streaming eyes and death rattle snoring as wimpish, claiming Cohens were made of sturdier stuff. Seth had ignored Ryan's half-hearted warnings of karma. Seth had no idea that the Atwood boys' immune systems were the stuff of Chino legend. Seth had grown up an only child. Seth had never had a brother to share germs with before.
A week later karma rose up and bit Seth on his skinny little ass.
"Urgh, 'scuse me," Ryan choked into his hand.
"What about Elmo?" Kirsten asked, passing him a half-abandoned glass of water from the floor.
Ryan looked over at the fuzzy red monster and felt a thousand times more tired, "I think he's going to have to wait 'til morning. Besides," he added as he took the glass gratefully from Kirsten and took a sip, "I'd like Lindsay to have something that doesn't look like I wrapped it with my feet."
"She's a nice girl."
"Do you think-"
"-I think she'll love it, Ryan."
"Thank you."
"And anyway," she teased, trading Ryan's empty glass for the mug of cocoa, "You kept the receipt, right? So when she hates it-"
"- Hey!"
"I'm sorry, if she hates-"
"- Do you want me to sneeze on you?" Ryan threatened in a jovially stern fashion.
"It's Elmo and it's from you," Kirsten said reassuringly, "What's not to love?"
"Cool. Thanks Kirsten."
"You're welcome. Now go to bed."
"Alright, alright I'm going!" said Ryan, sitting down on the bed and pulling his socks off with his toes, smiling to himself a little as Kirsten's sensitively hidden concern momentarily bubbled through. Scolded for not sleeping enough; there were worse things to be admonished for.
" 'Night, Ryan. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning," she quipped as she turned out the main light, dropping the pool house into the soft warm light of Ryan's bedside light.
"That's a comfort," Ryan replied, trying to suppress a yawn. He smiled back at her, "'Night."
"'Night." Kirsten pulled the pool house door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Ryan alone once again.
Drinking from his cocoa, he looked over at the little bundles of red and gold star wrapped presents on the floor. They'd look great under the whopper of a tree that Sandy had bought home and tomorrow he would wrap Lindsay's presents to join them. Right now, he was going to follow Kirsten's orders and hit the sack. Elmo would just have to wait.
~~~
The next morning Seth sat at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. He'd known even as he'd gently mocked Ryan last week that sympathy was probably more appropriate; but this was Ryan Atwood, he of the irritatingly good metabolism and muscles that refused to atrophy in an acceptable fashion even though it had been months since he'd quit his construction job. Watching him shuffle around the house like a consumptive poet was too good an opportunity for Seth to miss. Unfortunately, his stand-up hadn't gone down too well and despite the fact that this was now the new and improved Ryan Atwood (now with extra dimples) he'd barely succeeded in raising a smile. Only now, as he picked at the soggy floating remains of his Coco Pops, did Seth truly appreciate why.
He felt like utter crap. His head was fuzzy, every time he needed to blow his nose (approximately every 0.25 seconds) he had to ponder the old sensitive sinus-versus-potential nosebleed conundrum, his chest sounded as if he had spent most of his young life down t'pit and his taste buds seemed to be on strike. So, his mother might possibly have had a point that it was cruel to imply that Ryan's husky voice made him sound like Chrissie Hynde, but this he did not deserve. And through it all Ryan had been utterly gracious. He hadn’t said I told you so, hadn’t mocked the fact that despite his declarations as to the incredible litheness of Cohen, the flu bug had clearly hit Seth much harder than it had Ryan. And yet he'd said nothing.
Instead, Ryan, damn him, had been sympathetic; asking how he was, bringing him spontaneous cups of tea up to his room where he had languished in bed for the past four days. He'd even asked Lindsay to bring over an extra helping of her fabulous noodle soup. It was the behavior of a mature, noble and thoroughly decent young man and they both knew it was driving Seth just as crazy as he'd driven Ryan the week before. It was, in short, a masterstroke of revenge on Ryan's part.
Giving up on the rest of his cereal, Seth stood up and moved to the sink to rinse his bowl, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit him as he did so. Perfect. Yet another delightful new symptom, and just in time for Chrismukkah Eve.
"Hey," came Sandy's voice from behind him as he placed the bowl in the dishwasher, "You feeling better?"
"Not really, " replied Seth as he straightened back up.
"You don’t look great," said Sandy truthfully as he crossed over to Seth and put his hand on his son's forehead, "How'd you sleep?"
"Okay. I just feel kind of eugh."
"You're hot again. You should be starting to feel better by now, if Ryan's anything to go by."
"Well, it turns out there's yet another layer of manhood that Ryan's got on me, okay?" Seth snapped, a little harsher than he'd intended.
"Okay, okay," Sandy said kindly, sensing Seth's renewed frustration at the disruption of his beloved Chrismukkah and backing off, "You should go back to bed. If you're not feeling better later on, I'm going to make an appointment at the doctors' for you. It's not like you to be this run down."
"Whatever. But I'm not going back to bed, it's all gross in there."
"Then go and sit yourself down in the den and I'll bring you a mug of peppermint tea. If you don’t keep your fluids up then your mother will kill us both."
"Whatever," Seth said again, going into little kid mode. Being sick sucked at the best of times, being sick at Chrismukkah was just plain unfair. "Sorry," he sighed, looking up at his Dad for comfort, "I just…"
"- Yeah, I know. Come here," Sandy said as he pulled gently Seth into a hug.
Behind them, Ryan wavered momentarily before quietly entering the kitchen from outside. Even though it had been the best part of eighteen months since he'd first rolled up on the Cohens' doorstep, he still couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious when he inadvertently stumbled in on Cohen-on-Cohen affection. It was silly and he knew it, but that little pang of guilt at the disruption he'd brought into their lives still flickered bright if given half the chance. Or maybe, he thought, as Sandy kissed Seth tenderly on the head, it was simple jealousy at the unashamed and unrestrained affection the family had for one another.
As unobtrusively as he could manage, Ryan crossed to the fridge, pretending to peruse the contents inside the door as he stood watching them with plaintive envy in the reflection of the window. It wasn't until he felt Kirsten's hand on his shoulder that he realized she had entered the kitchen.
"Honestly, those two," she sighed wistfully, as he was pulled out of his reverie, "It doesn't matter how many times I tell them to tell me when we're running low on juice, whenever anybody else wants some, there's only ever mush."
Embarrassed, Ryan turned around and offered her a smile as he took the nearly empty bottle out of the fridge, "I don't know, mush isn't so bad."
"I'm still campaigning for a pulp free household," said Seth, breaking away from his father.
"And the day you buy the juice, you can consider your campaign a success," said Kirsten as she laid down her bag of groceries on the counter and retrieved a fresh bottle of pulpy goodness, "Until then, this house will continue to come with juicy bits."
"Here's hoping," said Sandy flirtatiously, planting a kiss on Kirsten's cheek as he swiped the juice and poured out four glasses, "I for one love the juicy bits."
"Oh my God, Dad, I'm sick already, please don't make me hurl," Seth protested.
"I don't know what you mean," grinned Sandy, his eyes sparkling.
Ryan shook his head to himself, taking a gulp from his glass. Then again, perhaps there was sometimes a little too much affectionate sharing under this roof.
The new and the old juice finished, aside from pulpiness, Kirsten picked up the bottle and headed to the sink, "All joking aside, if this is how quickly we get through juice in this house, someone else has got to start remembering to buy some every once in a while. At this rate, I'm getting all my exercise just by grocery shopping."
"Say no more. But don't rinse those out," said Sandy, as he stayed his wife's hand, "I'll have the pulp with ice cream."
"If you insist," said Kirsten, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated disgust.
"I do indeed. You ever had orange pulp on vanilla?" Sandy asked Ryan as he offered Seth a Kleenex to stay a string of sneezes.
"Uh, sadly, no," said Ryan, with absolutely no intention of being drawn down that road again. He'd still hadn't gotten over the, "Try calamari rings, Ryan, you'll like them," incident of a few weeks back and was in no mood for culinary adventures.
"Don't!" said Seth between sneezes, "Seriously-! It's -! Just-! Ugh-!"
After seventeen years of parenthood, Sandy and Kirsten had a highly developed sense of puke-dar and knew instantly how to recognize the look on Seth's face that meant he was about to throw up in a particularly explosive fashion. Unfortunately for Ryan, the only person he had developed puke-dar for was his mother and he was totally unprepared for what Seth was about to let loose. No sooner had he had time to wonder why Sandy and Kirsten were leaping backwards from their son, then a fantastically gross arc of juice and coco pops spewed forth from Seth with the force of his sneeze, hitting Ryan dead on and leaving lumpy splatters dripping down his t-shirt and jeans, decorating his arms and and bare feet.
"Oh. My. God," Ryan muttered, trying to suppress the urge to return the favor as the Cohens looked on, horror and hilarity twinkling in their eyes. He looked down at his clothes; brown, warm and soggy with all that remained of Seth's ex-breakfast. Even his mother had always managed to hit the basin.
"Dude, I'm so sorry," Seth choked out between dry aftershock hitches, "That's like the most disgusting thing ever."
"And the most impressive," declared Sandy, trying to lighten the mood as he offered Ryan a towel, "I thought that the projectile banana at CVS was remarkable, but this was a thing of beauty."
"Not now, Sandy," Kirsten admonished her husband, crossing to Seth and rubbing his back gently. "Come on young man," she said turning Seth gently around by his shoulders and pointing him in the direction of the stairs, "Let's get you back into bed."
" 'kay," Seth agreed pathetically, wiping at the stray coco-pops around his mouth and nose that had tried to make the six-foot journey across the kitchen via his nostrils, "Sorry bro."
"It's okay," Ryan answered, peeling off his sodden and stinky t-shirt as Seth shuffled out of the kitchen, "I'm just going to go take a really long shower."
"Or two," Sandy grinned, giving in to his urge to laugh.
"Maybe burn my clothes."
"Bet you weren't expecting that for Chrismukkah."
"But you know what? Still better than Christmas with Mom," Ryan half-joked back, mentally kicking himself as the joke fell flat and the inevitably downcast scenarios jostled for position in Ryan's imagination. There had been no gift from her this year.
"I'm sure she's okay, you know," Sandy said after a moment, sensing his unrest, "I know she's not been in touch for a while, but that doesn't-"
"-Yeah, I know," Ryan interrupted, acknowledging Sandy's platitudes as the good intentions they were with the smallest of equally well-meaning smiles.
"I've got this," Sandy said, grabbing a roll of kitchen paper from the sideboard, "Go shower and I'll make you some of my best chocberry pancakes for breakfast. I'm guessing you're probably not in the mood for cereal right now."
"Sounds great, thanks," Ryan nodded gratefully. Stepping carefully around the puddle on the floor, he shuffled out of the kitchen in the direction of the poolhouse, more determined then ever that this was going to be a good holiday. He could let his mom, his cold, Seth's drop in holiday hyperactivity dictate the festivities or he could take charge of them himself. Vomit or no vomit, Chrismukkah was a time of cheer, merriment, cheesy videos, excessive quantities of food- well, maybe just regular quantities this time round- and he was going to make sure everyone including Seth had a great time if it killed him.
~~~
Chapter Index: 1, 2, 3, 4.