Friends: Christmas

Part 3

"Oh, Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree -."

Please someone kill me.

"Thy leaves are so unchanging -."

You sink a little lower in your chair by the table, your ears aching from listening to your sisters and Sabrina's husband sing that song.

It makes you want to drink.

But, since precious Sydney was in the house, there wasn't alcohol to be found.

You grimace, and drizzle a little more icing onto the gingerbread house you and Chris had been tasked with building, the first one had crashed and burned, apparently. He doesn't seem to mind, apparently completely blocking out the horrid singing as he drops a gumdrop here and there.

"Why did they have to chose that song?" you grumble softly, scowling. "I hate that song."

"Probably just to annoy you," Chris chuckles, squeezing your hand. Your chairs are pulled closer then necessary, hip to hip, and you find yourself leaning against his shoulder with a sigh.

"Well it's working."

This was only the second day and you were wishing you were deaf. You can't stand the thoughts of having to stay another couple days with them; maybe you could talk Chris into leaving early?

But he wouldn't, not when he barely got to see his mother as it is, and you know you could never ask that of him just because you were an asshole.

You sigh.

Chris bumps your shoulder with his, giving you a smile that you can't help but return.

You doubt the two of you can be anymore obvious with your relationship.

Your mother was still ooing over the fact she was going to have a grandchild, and that seems to be all that the family wants to talk about; you don't mind, considering it kept you out of the spotlight.

But it wasn't like you were hiding the fact you and Chris were together, either. The only reason you want to say anything is because your mother would attempt to murder you if you don't.

If she even notices.

You might be able to get out of telling her completely at this rate.

If you didn't tell her, she would never pay any attention.

Just like always.

Being the middle child sucked.

You really wish you had some wine.

Chris mother had decided to stay home today out of the cold, but you and Chris had to come over and help build the gingerbread house, bake the cookies, listen to the most annoying Christmas carols on the face of the planet - oh my god please just stop.

"I can't take much more of this," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "It's only getting worse."

"Instead of complaining you could join them," your mother informs you as she strolls into the kitchen in her ugly Christmas sweater. "Like you used too. We used to have so much fun decorating the tree!"

"I don't sing, Mom."

"I remember a time when you did!"

"I was eight." Your face is sour.

"And you're not acting much older now," your mother responds, making you bristle as you straighten. Chris hand tighten around your thigh beneath the table, as if warning you not to start a fight with her.

You frown.

You want to smash the stupid gingerbread house.

It looked terrible anyway.