Anathema | KLANCE

FIVE: FOOLS

"Up, up, up, up, up! Time to start cooking the turkey, you gotta help your grandfather out with the mashed potatoes!"

Lance grunted from the bathroom, the bothersome-broken record of a Witch knocking non-stop at the door. He washed out the toothpaste from his mouth, and stomped out of the room. The witch was stunned by his agitated stance, but still refused to stop irritating him.

"Get up, you can't go back into your room! Y'gotta help out, Lance!"

"Alright!" His voice croakily shouted at the older woman, his eyes stinging from the lack of sleep in the past three days. "Can you leave me alone?! I have things to do, too, so I'll be out in a minute! Alright?!" The bedroom door clicked shut immediately after the final word, leaving the witch to mind her own business.

The Harry Potter slippers plodded on the carpet full of leftover coffee stains and blood, Lance giving the vile splats of color and mysterious odors no attention. His fingers traced lines along the molding duct tape placed on the window so his family wouldn't question the gaping hole in the glass, the welcoming, chilly breeze no longer gusting into the room.

For once, he was at ease while gazing out the window, Keith's house barely being visible through the thick-grey layers of tape.

Downing the last few drops left of his third cup of coffee, Lance stretched his back until multiple cracks resonated in the soundless room, a strange-yet-calming satisfaction engulfing him afterwards. "Let's get down to business," Cracking his knuckles one last time, he stomped out of the room again, avoiding the witch's annoyed huffs directed at him. All he wanted to do this morning was to make the mashed potatoes and turkey-fried rice with the leftover pieces, not to get in another fight during the holiday season.

Marc Anthony played fuzzily from the old-school radio in the dining room, both Lance and his grandfather swaying their hips gently to the beat in the kitchen. The whisks violently mashed the potatoes with Lance's quick pace, taking out the pent-up aggression and stress into them.

When the knocks at the door progressively got louder than the music, the three preparing in the house were all shaken by how early the guests arrived.

"Oh, fuck! Martha, get the door, my hands are in the turkey!" His grandfather yelled over his shoulder at the witch, the oven beeping to signal it's at the right temperature. The new broom she was using was propped up on the hallway's wall, her feet making pitter-patter sounds as she approached the door.

Lance and the Witch gulped from nerves at the same time, and the door was opened to welcome in the Ramirez family. Valeria and Adrian – Lance's mother and father – were the first to step in, eyes clearly moving around to scrutinize the house. Little Liana and Danny followed right after them, along with Francisco, Tatiana, and the eldest sister: Adriana.

The mashed potatoes were as fluffy as ever, Lance's shaky hands sprinkling the sliced pieces of bacon and scallions into the bowl. He wasn't exactly sure about what he was feeling – whether it was panic, grief, or tension, the one thing he was sure of was that the atmosphere was drowning in awkwardness.

Carlos vigorously washed his hands, squinting at the judging kids standing by the entrance. "Well, well, welcome to our house. Can I get you guys something to drink?" He shook his hands quickly, water splashing onto Lance's clean shirt on purpose. "Tea, maybe coffee?"

"Todos estamos bien, papa." Valeria held up her hand in disgust, clearly not comfortable with the conditions of the house and the stench of smoke. The older kids glared at her in shock, knowing full well that she broke out in Spanish only when she was irritated. "Liana, Danny, why don't you go play outside? Daddy will take your bikes out of the car if you ask nicely."