A special thanks to my editors Todger65 and DormDad for making this story much more readable.
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Copyright (c) 2019 Ada Stuart, All Rights Reserved.
This work may not be published whether for fee or free without this copyright.
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Christmas eve, somewhere in Scandinavia
"Front or back?" the handsome man in front of Jenny asked.
A wink in his eye indicated that he was talking about something other than the marzipan pig he was holding in his hand.
"Whatever," Jenny replied. "Just give my portion to the kids."
"They've had enough, but you certainly need a little sweetening, puss. You haven't smiled at me once," Eric said with a wide smile.
As her brother's best friend, he and his mother had been invited to spend Christmas with them, much to Jenny's frustration. His mother, Ruth, was a longtime friend of Jenny's mother, Laila, and none of the mothers seemed to understand why Jenny disliked Ruth's precious son.
"Would this do?" Jenny said as she gave him a forced smile.
What wouldn't she do to keep her mother happy, she thought, as she took in the rest of the party? Her brother was also here with his two children, while Eric's father had to work during the holidays this year.
Her father spent most of his time in the kitchen, experimenting with some new recipes. The experiments usually led to edible results, but you could never know in advance. She really hoped he wasn't experimenting too much on the Christmas dinner and making them end up with pizza instead.
"I'm still not convinced. You can do a lot better than that," Eric the annoying interrupted her thoughts.
"Oh, come on. Just give her half the pig and be done with it," Ruth interrupted her son. "She found the other part of the almond in the porridge."
Eric handed her the backside.
"You look like a back girl," he grinned at her.
She sneered at him and took a large bite of the pig. He watched her carefully while he made no attempt to eat his own piece. Licking her lips, she looked him straight in the eye and challenged him to irritate her further.
Instead she was surprised to see that his eyes were focused on her mouth and his face held a strange expression.
"You're right," Jenny couldn't help herself saying as he finally took a bite off his own piece. "I like the backside best. It's so much larger."
He seemed to have swallowed wrong and he coughed violently.
"Oh, for god sake," her brother, Robert, said as he stepped forward and gave Eric a few hard slaps on his back. "Behave yourself. Both of you. There are tender ears present."
"Yes, mine among others," Jenny replied as she pushed the rest of her rice porridge aside.
Since they've already found the hidden almond in the porridge, it wasn't necessary to eat the rest of it. Besides, she had lost her appetite when Eric got into his usual theatrics. They never seemed to get along, although her brother had always considered him his best friend.
"Daddy! Aunt Jenny hasn't eaten her porridge," her nephew Filip complained.
"Jenny," her mother said reproachfully.
"I'm not hungry."
"Me neither," cried Filip's younger sister, Linnea. "I want snack! Now!"
At the same time both children ran from the table and dug into the candy they had received from their grandparents' just hours earlier.
"Hey, wait up you two!" her brother followed them, and his wife, Sara, was close behind.
"Tsk, tsk," Eric scolded her while Jenny sank into her chair again. "You mustn't give the younger generation such ideas."
"And what makes
you
the expert? As far as I know, you don't have any kids."
"Not yet. But that can surely be fixed in nine months' time. Want to participate?"
"And be responsible for bringing your genes into the next generation? Not very likely."
"What is it with you two?" her mother interrupted. "You've done nothing but argue since you came here. Maybe you both should take a long walk to get into the Christmas spirit."
Eric laughed loudly.
"Jenny's lucky that Santa's not handing out the gifts. He doesn't give anything to those that haven't behaved in the last year."
"Then you wouldn't get any either," Jenny interrupted. "Not the way you're tormenting me."
"Maybe you two should find a room and work out your differences. Preferably in a bed," Ruth suggested with a wink.
"We don't need a room!" Jenny felt insulted. "I don't even want to be in the same vicinity as him, much less in the same room."
"Pity. You would have learnt a thing or two," Eric said teasingly.
"Maybe I'm simply not interested."
"You don't know what you're missing."
"How about a glass of mulled claret?" her mother interrupted again.
It seemed she was trying hard to ease the tension between the guests, and Jenny was glad she was there. Still, it would have been even better if she hadn't invited Eric in the first place.
Her mother placed two cups in front of them. The rest of the party had collected their cups and had joined the children.
"Thank you, yes," Eric replied and grabbed himself a cup and a spoon, before filling his cup with mulled claret, raisins and blanched almonds.
"You won't have any room for dinner after that load," Jenny commented.
"Want to bet?" Eric clapped his large hand over his flat stomach. "There's plenty of room here."
"Have you ever considered the fact that once the belly increases into a beer belly you can't see what's underneath?" Jenny challenged.
Eric just stared at her with those intense looking eyes of his as if he was trying to make out an enigma but wasn't sure if he had found the correct answer.
1-0 to me, Jenny thought, as she carefully sipped the hot drink.
"That won't happen," Eric suddenly replied.
"No? You're getting back into shape in January?" she nodded toward his fit looking body and tried her best to make an insult out of her comment.
She could see his arm muscles tense, but she couldn't prevent herself from trying to stick another needle into the inflated ego of his.
"Trust me. It's all a matter of size. I'll always see what's underneath my stomach," he finally replied, and he looked as confident as ever.
She couldn't help but look into his lap and the bulge there made her start to wonder if she had just started a landslide of some sort -- with her gliding on top of it and aiming for disaster.
Judging by the tension between them something would have to give by the end of the evening. She prayed that it wouldn't be her.
"Wishful thinking," she replied.
She poured herself half a cup of mulled claret, before filling her cup with as much raisins and almonds as there was room for. There was something to be said about tradition, she thought, as she blew air at the warm liquid. Burning her tongue on the mulled claret was becoming a tradition.
"Presents!" she heard her nephew shout. "Daddy, I want presents."
"Yes, we might as well start," her mother said. "There are so many of them that we'll have to sit up all night."
"Start with this one," her brother said and handed over a large present.