Cimmy's Notes: Thank you, Kristine! You’re the reason to why this story was ever written, so I feel obligated to tell you how wonderful you are.
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Chapter 5. Christmas Glory
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It’s Christmas Eve. My dad is back from his meeting in Berlin. Probably just a cover for him sleeping around, but who’s giving a shit?
Alex is hyper. It’s his first real Christmas. Last year he was only a month old, and couldn’t care much at all about anything. And of course, Sebastian is winding him up by telling him about the presents and food, along with Donald Duck. Swedish traditions include Donald Duck at 3:00 pm, disgusting porridge and unwrapping gifts on Christmas Eve.
“I know that big one is for me,” Sebastian explains to baby Alex. Then he points to a small packet, probably some jewelry my dad got for my mom. “And that is for you, because you’re the youngest.”
Not to my surprise, Alex starts crying to this statement. “Sebastian,” I warn. He just shrugs and hugs the big box even firmer. I pry Alex away from the Christmas tree, again with chocolate to help.
I carry him over to the window and point out. “Can you see the lights over by the water?” I ask, trying to keep his attention away from the presents. “It’s from that direction Santa comes from.”
“Oh.”
“And can you see the lights on the Christmas tree outside?” I continue, ignoring Sebastian’s oohing and aahing. I’m going to strangle him later. “You want to go outside and play for a while?”
I take him with me outside, dressing him with so much clothes that he’s almost toppling over. I don’t need to take care of a sick brother. A drunk one is enough. Alex is content when I let him roll around in the snow for a while. I’ve never realized how huge our backyard really is. It’s almost as big as a regular sized park.
When everyone has calmed down a bit, I bring Alex with me inside again. Marcus and Sebastian are bickering about the food, and Alex joins in, crying. The joy of Christmas. “Cut it out! You want Dad to hear you fight?” I threaten. The two oldest shut up.
Dad can’t be bothered about something as trivial as Christmas. He’s talking to some big-shot in Japan, while I’m trying to organize my brothers. They slump down on the couch, eating popcorn. Alex cries, of course, because he can’t have any, so I have to give him some more chocolate.
Mother shows up. She’s acting like nothing is wrong, but I know she’s been drinking. She kisses me on the cheek and tells me to ‘run things my way’. I could always give the youngsters up for adoption... Nah, I sort of love them.
They gloom at the TV, cheering when the Disney hour starts. I have to load the dishes into the dishwasher, set the table and take out the food. I wonder what the others are doing? Not this, probably.
I can just picture Adam’s house at Christmas time. Our house is quite similar, but I think we have a larger one. Not much to brag about, his parents obviously spend their money on important things, like their children’s educations, instead of shiny objects.
But I can’t complain. We have a roof over our heads and food on the table. We don’t have to starve. So why complain? My brothers are scuffling, but hey, it’s Christmas. And do they ever not scuffle?
When Donald Duck has ended, they all scramble into the kitchen, helping me carry plates out into the dining room. We only eat there when some big event is taking place. Otherwise we eat in the room next to the kitchen. Yes, there are a lot of rooms in this house.
“I want to have that one,” Sebastian explains, tearing one of the blue glasses away from me. I almost drop the rest. “Can I sit with Alex? He doesn’t steal my meatballs.”
Marcus folds his arms. “Hey, I only did that to keep your mind of that herring. Which by the way stunk up the whole house.”
Sheesh, meatballs and herring. Could we be more Swedish?
Well, my mom just entered, so I guess we can’t. Even though she’s the typical blonde, blue-eyed Swede. I’m not, I take after my dad. So do my brothers. I hope they don’t get more kids. Duplicates of my dad shouldn’t be spread out into the world just like that.
The phone starts to ring, so I quickly answer. I almost forget that I’m in Sweden, so I have to think twice before I answer with a Swedish phrase. Doesn’t matter. “Fred?” Catalina says.
“Hi!”
“I knew that was you! You sound really weird when you answer. Why did you start the sentence in English and ended it in Swedish?” she snickers. “Did you see the show?”
“A bit. I’ve told you a hundred times that it’s the same shi... I mean crap they show each and every year,” I point out. I had to censor myself, my brothers take after me far too much already.
“But it’s a classic!” she exclaims. “Did you at least watch the Robin Hood segment?”
“I’ve seen it!”
“But the Chip and Dale one? With Pluto?” she goes on, almost sounding panic stricken. “What was the new bit this year?”
“Would you like to talk to Alexander? He watched it,” I roll my eyes. Of course, she can’t see that, but the moment requires some rolled eyes. That sounds creepy. Never mind.
“Yeah, put him on the phone. Maybe he appreciates a tradition when it hits him over the head. Or at least I’ll get a mature conversation out of it.”
“Very sweet. You know, I’d kill for some alone time with you right now,” I say, lowering my voice so my family can’t hear me. I walk out into the TV-room.
“I know. Hey, Fred? When you get back?”
“Yeah?”
She’s quiet for a long time, and I’m starting to get worried that she’s hung up on me. Then she replies. “Nothing. I just really miss you. If you were here, we could have so much fun.”
“I miss you too. I think about you every single second I get the chance to.”
“In bed too?” she asks teasingly.
“Sure. I just wish you were there with me.” I bite my lip. Yeah, that came out wrong. “Uh, you know...”
Catalina laughs. “Yeah, try to talk yourself out of that one! But seriously, I really think we should get together before school starts. Can’t you come home earlier?”
Home? I have a home? “I don’t know. I’ll try. Hey, Catalina?”
“Yeah?”
“Merry Christmas. I love you. I have to go.”
“Fred?”
“Uh-huh?”
New silence. “Merry Christmas.”
I wonder if she was going to say she loves me, or if she was just teasing me? I love her so much. It would mean the world to me if she ever said it back. I’ve never heard anyone tell me that before. Ever. And I keep telling her how much I love her, so she’ll know she’s loved.
Marcus gives me a suspicious glance when I come back. “Was it the girlfriend?”
“None of your business,” I snap.
“Did she miss you?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Boys,” Mom warns, frowning at us. “Don’t fight. Fredrik, could you help Alexander with his bib?”
She leaves when she’s done putting up a plate for herself. I’d get drunk too, but I have to look after my brothers. Alex keeps throwing sausages all over the room, while Sebastian can’t eat ham without choking on something. I don’t even care when he doubles over a third time.
When we’re done, the two youngest jump away to go shake the presents. Marcus helps me gather the dishes. “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“The girlfriend.”
I’m starting to get annoyed again. “You know, it’s none of your damn business.”
“I’m just asking,” Marcus shrugs. “You’ve never had a girlfriend before. Do you love her?”
“Marcus,” I say, my voice is dangerous.
“I’m just curious.”
Fine, let the brat win. “Her name’s Catalina, and yes, I love her.”
“Oh. Have you slept with her?”
Oh, Jesus. “What’s that got to do with it? Mind your own business.”
“That means you haven’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten so angry,” he concludes.
I take up one of the plates and threaten to throw it at him, so he dashes off. My sex-life is none of anyone’s business. Not that it exists, but it’s still no one’s business.
I have to read to Sebastian before he agrees to fall asleep. I know Marcus is forced to read that turtle story for Alex, I know the words by heart. I read it to both Marcus and Sebastian when they were younger. Now I have to read Harry Potter, and that book just confuses me. Especially when Sebastian keeps requesting for a new book every night, changing the part whenever he can. I barely even know who Harry Potter is.
When I’m finally able to fall down on the couch downstairs, I hear my parents howl insults behind closed doors. Well, it ain’t fucking Christmas until somebody is injured. I get up to hurry over to my room, but I don’t have time. My mom comes running in, screaming something. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know.
“You fucking bastard,” she bellows at the top of her lungs. Okay, the usual fight. He’s a bastard, she’s a bitch.
“Calm down, Caroline,” my dad yells. Well, at least he got most part of her name right this time. Her name is Carolina.
They start hurling insults again, along with some breakable glass ornaments. I don’t even think they’ve seen me. Suddenly my dad grabs one of my mom’s favorite vases and tosses it right towards me. I can see that he really didn’t notice me stand here until right after he threw the vase. I quickly jump out of the way, but one of the shattered pieces hits my face and I double over.
“Oh, no. Fredrik? Are you okay?” my mom asks worriedly. Wow, some concern? Regarding me? Yippee. Ouch, by the way.
“I didn’t see you stand there, son. Linn, go get the dustpan.”
My mother shoots him an evil glare when he mispronounces her name again. They’ve both been drinking, so what can you ask from them? Marcus comes flying down the stairs, gasping when he sees the destruction. My dad looks up. “Marcus, could you go to your room?”
“What happened?” he mumbles. I just shrug. He knows damn well what happened. He gives me that patented look of pity and goes back up.
Mom comes back, wiping the blood off my face. “I’m sorry, honey. What were you doing there?”
“I was trying to cross battlefield to get to my room. But we all suffer from injuries during war, don’t we?” I mutter. It’s not that bad. It barely hurts anymore. It’s not even that deep of a cut. What could be fancier than being hit in the face by a vase worth 3000 dollars?
Mom’s clearly a bit tipsy, because she keeps reassuring me that she didn’t mean for this to happen, she would never hurt me deliberately, blah, blah, blah. She always lies when she’s drunk. Not the best time to ask for a car as a Christmas gift. I don’t need one, I can steal Daddy’s.
My mother leaves to find more alcohol, and I go out to the kitchen to get some ice before I go to bed. My dad is following me. What does he want know? “I heard your girlfriend called again.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve clearly seen tonight why you shouldn’t get married. It only causes pain for you, and for the people around you. Don’t ever get married, Fredrik.”
“Wasn’t planning to do so.” My voice is stern, and I’m on the verge of tears. “I’ll go to bed now.”
“She’ll ruin your life, that girl.”
“No, she’s the best thing that has ever happened to me,” I snarl. “Goodnight.”
“Don’t tell me that I didn’t warn you,” Dad mutters.
I’m warned as it is, thank you, Daddy.
On the way back to my room, I steal the bottle of vodka my mom has just placed on the dresser next to the hallway. Can’t have ice without a drink, right? Or was it the other way around?
Doesn’t matter, I’m getting horribly drunk either way.