note: I did a fic a while ago called "The Best Chrismukkah Ever," so I thought this year I'd do a story about the worst. Hilarity will hopefully ensue. This will be a two-parter.
Don't own MSB.
the worst chrismukkah ever
by the ultimateSora
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Chrismukkah Day One. First Day of Hanukkah.
Despite being environmentally conscious, it was snowy days like these that made Phoebe glad her step-mother bought her a Jeep Grand Cherokee in high school that she still drove. She was also glad Ralphie was a good step-brother and got her snow tires put on. She got in the Jeep, but it wouldn't start. She cursed to herself when she remembered Dorothy Ann was in Minnesota with her family, thus her free mechanic wasn't home to fix her car. She went inside the house for warmth as she called Ralphie to see if he'd let her borrow his Xterra.
"What d'you need, Pheebs?"
"Your car. The Jeep won't start."
"Want me to take a look at it?"
She laughed. "If I want my car to blow up, I'll call you."
"I'm a man! I know cars."
"Ralphie, I live with your girlfriend, who can actually fix cars, including yours, which you messed up while trying to fix. Remember?"
"Whatever. I'm currently playing some Modern Warfare 3 multiplayer with Carlos right now, so I'll ask Tim to drive my car over."
"You can't take a break for ten minutes to pick me up?"
"No. I'll see you later, Pheebs."
With that, he hung up. She sighed and decided to make herself a sandwich while she waited for Tim. She took off her coat, tossing it on the couch, and she turned on the TV before going in the kitchen. A bar counter divided the kitchen from the living room, so she could see the TV as she made a strawberry jam sandwich.
Phoebe took off her engagement ring so she wouldn't get jam on it, a ring that Arnold refused to tell her how much he spent on it, but she knew it was beyond what she could imagine. She knew he'd never buy her a simple ring.
According to Arnold, it was "a platinum band with an asscher cut diamond with a micro pavé halo setting." In Phoebe-terms that meant, "Band made of expensive metal with a square diamond that had little diamonds around it and little diamonds in the band, so it's probably worth more than everything you own, plus your soul, Phoebe Terese." Arnold had proposed on her twenty-fourth birthday that past July, and they had yet to set a date, mostly because they couldn't decide on one. So as of then, their wedding date was "Some time in 2013."
She finished making her sandwich, and as she turned to rinse her hands off in the sink, she hit her ring, sending it bouncing in to the sink and down the drain. "No!" She stuck her hand in it. "No, no, no! Oh, God, please let me get this ring! I promise, I'll stop having sex with Arnold until we're married- okay, we both know that can't happen, but I'll go to church with Daddy and Suzette more often!"
This was one of the rare times she was glad to have long, bony hands and fingers. And she was also glad to be home alone so no one could accidentally turn on the garbage disposal while her hand was digging around for her ring. On the downside, if D.A. were home, she could easily take it out and get the ring. After all, D.A. was the one who installed it.
The front door opened. "Phoebe?" Tim walked in. "Whoa!" He hurried over to her. "What happened? Your hand stuck?"
"No, my ring fell down the drain!"
His concern was gone. "Oh. Well, you ready to go? Ralphie said you needed his car."
"Tim, do you know anything about taking disposals apart?"
He shrugged. "Can't say that I do. Re-stringing a bass guitar and fixing amps? Totally."
"Not what I need!" she snapped. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just- this ring. You've seen it. Arnold spent a fortune on it, I know he did, and my dumb ass had to send it down the drain!"
"Leave it for now. With no one home, where's it gonna go? Plus, Ralphie can come by later and get it for you."
He had a point. "You have a point." She took her hand out. "I'm gonna go wash my hands in the bathroom, and I'll be ready to go."
When Tim heard the bathroom door shut, he turned on the sink in the kitchen. He smiled when he heard the ring clink down the pipe. "And that is that."
Ralphie wasn't playing Call of Duty with Carlos. When Phoebe called, he was really sitting shotgun in Arnold's 2003 Porsche 911, a car his grandparents gave him on his sixteenth birthday, as Arnold drove them to New York City.
"Tell me again why we're going all the way to New York so you can get Phoebe's Chrismukkah gifts? Providence would have the simple crap she'd love, and it's, you know, closer."
Arnold grinned. "Oh, Ralph Carmine Tennelli, how long have we been bros, and how long have I dated your step-sister, and you still haven't realized that I like giving good gifts?"
"Which time when you dated Phoebe? Part one or Part two?"
Arnold and Phoebe always referred to their romantic relationship as "Part I" and "Part II." Part I was July 13, 2003 (Phoebe's sixteenth birthday) to May 1, 2005 (when Arnold freaked out they were going too fast and broke up with her), and Part II was July 13, 2009 (her twenty-second birthday) to present day.
Ralphie shrugged. "Well, you did give her that gaudy, rich trash ring, so..."
Arnold playfully punched his arm. "I bought that ring in Manhattan, and you're just jealous my family has money."
Ralphie laughed. "Are you kidding, man? When you finally tie the knot, that money is mine too! Family, man! I'll be at your grandparents' Martha's Vineyard home in the summer and their Vermont cabin in winter!"
"It's a chalet, and my grandparents aren't too fond of you after you puked on their yacht and tried to cover it up."
"Wait...the Rosens or Perlsteins?"
"Shit. Can't you just tell them it was Carlos, not me?"
"Maybe. First you have to help me shop for Phoebe."
"I'd ask why you didn't drag D.A. with you, but my lady had the smarts to hightail it to Minnesota."
"So, I'm using the next best thing to Phoebe's girl-bro: Her step-brother, who is also my bro."
Ralphie laughed again. "Is it weird that Phoebe and D.A. are to each other like we are to each other, and we're dating them?"
"Well, Ralphie, you know I'm only dating Phoebe because society would look down on me dating you."
They both laughed, and Ralphie reached over to ruffle his hair. "Admit it, man. I'm hot."
Arnold swatted his hand away, hating it when people (that weren't Phoebe) touched his hair, seeing as he spent a lot of time getting it perfect. "Meh, you're not my type. Too big. I prefer partners who are long and lanky. I also like 'em freckly and awkward."
"Yeah, and I like mine tan, blonde, and brainy as hell."
"They would kill us if they heard us talking about them like objects, wouldn't they?"
"Oh, most definitely."
Tim parked Ralphie's Nissan Xterra in the street outside of the guys' townhouse. "Well, Pheebs, it was a nice ride during the couple of miles from your house to here."
Phoebe smiled. "Always."
Before she could react, he grabbed her by her coat and pulled her in for a kiss. She pushed him away and punched him, trying not to show pain when she felt her left knuckles pop in a way they shouldn't.
"Get out!" she screamed.
"No!" She wanted to punch him again, but her hand was throbbing now. "Get out, Tim! And you can be damn sure I'll tell Arnold and Ralphie about this!"
"I've always had feelings for you, Phoebe! But you were always hung up on Arnold-"
As much as her hand hurt, she wanted to hit him again. "Yeah, because I love him!"
"You never even gave me a chance!"
She used her right hand this time to shove him back. "It's always been Arnold!" She took a deep breath to calm her anger. "I'm sorry, Tim, but it will always be Arnold for me. We're going to married some day. I'm going to have his children and grow old with him. I'm going to be Phoebe Perlstein, not Phoebe Reynolds."
"Why him? What's so great about him you couldn't ever give me a chance?"
She sighed, not wanting to get in to it, but she hoped telling him would help him understand she didn't want anyone else. "Arnold's compassionate, selfless, brave when he needs to be, loving, funny, and everything I'd want in a guy. I've had feelings for him since we were kids! On top of all of that, he never makes me feel like I'm not good enough or socially inferior. I'm his equal."
Tim snorted. "I'm supposed to believe his money has nothing to do with it?"
Phoebe wanted so bad to hit him again. "I had feelings for him before I knew he had money, before the Porsche and designer clothes and Black Card." She motioned to the door. "Thanks for the ride, but get the hell out before I punch you again."
He got out, and she moved to the driver's seat. She drove away, her left hand hurting a lot now. When she got to a red light, she took her mitten off and noticed her knuckles were purple, and her whole hand was swollen. Great. Her writing hand was busted. Ralphie had always been trying to teach her how to punch properly, and now she wished she took his fighting lessons.
Part of her was reluctant to really tell Arnold and Ralphie what had happened because she knew both would kill Tim. Realistically, Arnold would probably make him move out (seeing as his grandparents owned the townhouse), and Ralphie would rough him up.
No, she wouldn't think any more about that for now. It was the first day of Chrismukkah, and she needed to get Arnold's first gift.
Since Phoebe had the house to herself, she and Arnold planned to celebrate Chrismukkah day one that evening at her place. Her hand swelled up even more and turned a darker purple as the day had gone on. There was no way she could hide it. To make things worse, she still couldn't find her ring down the drain. She was good about not using that side of the kitchen sink all day, but she knew she'd have to confess what happened to Arnold.
Since neither were the best cooks (Phoebe was learning but couldn't make a nice big dinner for them just yet), Arnold brought seafood from their favorite little local restaurant. Seeing as seafood was the only meat Phoebe could bring herself to eat ("I'm from New England with Louisiana blood in me, after all."), there was a bigger selection of dinners she could choose from, as opposed to always getting salads at the fancy steak places Arnold would treat her, Ralphie, and D.A. to.
"One grilled tuna and crab-stuffed lobster for me," Arnold said, putting the bags in the kitchen, "and one order of fried catfish fillets for you."
He was wearing his nice black slacks with a light blue collared shirt under a dark blue cashmere sweater...his usual style. His black loafers were shined almost to perfection, and his thick curls were styled just right. Phoebe, on the other hand, was wearing jeans, a plaid blouse that was wrinkled, and a pair socks that had a hole on the bottom. Her hair was pulled up in a lazy bun, the shorter strands laying against her neck...her usual style.
"The sophisticated preppy nerd boy and his awkward hippie girlfriend with no sense of style, eh?" she asked, smiling.
He kissed her cheek. "Well, you like your men fancy and nerdy, and I like my girls awkward and Mother Earthly."
"Did you make sure there was no breading on the crab stuffing?" she asked. "I know they can sometimes add peanuts or some types of tree nuts to it."
"Didn't look like there was anything that could be dangerous to us."
In the fourth grade, Phoebe found out the hard way she had developed a peanut allergy. Arnold learned of his tree nut allergy when they were seniors in high school. In a way they were glad they had similar allergies because they knew what it was like living with certain restrictions and what to do in an emergency. D.A. and the guys were good about keeping anything they had that were nuts or nut-based away from any food Phoebe and Arnold ate. Phoebe knew her catfish was all right, as the restaurant did not use peanut oil.
They took the containers holding their meals to the dining table, and Phoebe lit the Chrismukkah menorah sitting in the middle. It had snowmen as the candle holders, and the base looked like a candy cane. While she did that, Arnold got the wine and poured two glasses.
"Merry Mazel Tov!" she said, picking up their blue Santa hats that read the same in bright red and white letters. She handed Arnold his when he came to the table.. "Ever since 2003."
They put their hats on, and Arnold pulled her close for a kiss. It was then he noticed her left hand was wrapped up in an ACE bandage.
She pulled her hand away. "Oh, nothing. Slipped on ice and landed...on- on my hand."
Arnold shook his head. "No, really."
"Not now, okay? Please? Let's just eat and enjoy the night. I'll tell you later. Trust me, my hand looks worse than it feels."
He didn't look convinced, but he nodded. They said a dinner prayer, and before they started eating, they took their EpiPens out, as they always did, just in case. It had happened a couple of times before where one of them had to inject the other while at dinner.
Phoebe was trying to cut her fish with her right hand, which Arnold, as a fellow lefty, knew couldn't be easy. "At least let me cut your fish so you can eat it easier," he said.
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
He took her meal and cut the fillets into smaller pieces. "Thanks," she said.
She sighed. "What a day. First my Jeep wouldn't start and- and then I hurt my hand. I'm just glad we're here together."
He smiled. "Me too." He took a bite of his crab-stuffed lobster. "Oh, this is excellent. Want a bite?"
He took a drink of wine, before taking another bite of the crab stuffing. He was almost halfway through the lobster tail when he said, "Oh- oh, shit."
Phoebe grabbed his EpiPen when she saw he was getting flushed and heard him wheezing. He was quick to lower his slacks enough for her to inject in his thigh. She got up to get a damp washcloth, and she patted his face with it.
"I should have quadruple checked," he said.
"Shh, it happens." She combed his hair with her fingers. "You're all right now. Why don't you go lay down on my bed, and I'll bring you a hot chocolate."
"I love you, Phoebe. Oh! I didn't give you my gift!"
She smiled. "Do it tomorrow. You need to rest."
He grasped and kissed her right hand. "Best fiancée ever."
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Chrismukkah Day Two.
Arnold felt better later in the night, enough for them to celebrate the first night of Chrismukkah in her bed. Phoebe was the first one up the next morning, so she decided to start on breakfast. She felt her stomach fall when she heard the shower start.
Now that Arnold was up, she knew she would have to confess about her ring and how she really hurt her hand. She couldn't put it off any more. Though, did she need to tell him now, after what happened last night? She couldn't bring up that when he was still woozy from the allergic reaction.
After his shower, Arnold walked in the kitchen in just his boxer-briefs. He wrapped his arms around Phoebe's waist as she cooked his bacon. "Smells delicious," he said. He kissed her neck. "So what's the plan for Day Two?"
"Well, I thought we'd have a nice breakfast, maybe some more day sex, and then go to dinner."
"Excellent." He let go of her and went to the sink. "Hey, you want me to take a look at the drain? Maybe there's something I can do until D.A. comes back."
In her haste to keep him from turning on the disposal, she hit the bacon skillet. Not only did she burn her right hand, but grease flew up and hit her on the left side of her face. Arnold's attention was now on her while she screamed, and he pulled her to the bathroom. He turned on the cold water in the tub, putting her face under first.
"Tell me when the burning stops." When she nodded, he pulled her back and put her hand under. "We need to get you to the ER since you were hit in the face. You all right to walk to your room while I go turn off the stove?"
Her face started to feel like it was being ripped apart again, and she realized she couldn't open her left eye. "Yeah. I can do that."
"I'll be in soon to help you dress. With one hand bruised and the other burned..."
Shit. She was down to no hands. It was bad enough she had busted her left hand, seeing as she was a lefty, but now she had a fairly big burn on her right. That thought suddenly made her aware that her right hand was throbbing and feeling just as ripped as her face.
Being down to one eye made her depth perception nil, so she was slow in going across the hall to her room. Arnold met her in there, and he got a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from her closet.
"Jeans and a 'Walker Lake Middle School Buccaneers Track & Field' shirt." He smiled. "I can't believe shirts from middle school fit you still."
She knew he was trying to keep her mind off the pain.
"I wear your shirts from childhood," she pointed out. The left side of her face felt tight, so her lip felt like it was being pulled up. "Do I look like Freddy Krueger?"
He smiled and helped her take her sleep shirt off. "Not yet." He carefully put her middle school t-shirt on her, and he pulled her pajama pants down. "You have a badass look about you right now, though."
"Two busted hands and a burned face? I can see that."
Arnold helped her in her jeans, buttoning and zipping them for her, and he helped with her socks and boots. He brushed her hair and put her winter hat on after he made sure her hair was presentable, and it was times like this she liked having a fiancé who was conscious of appearance.
He got dressed and straightened up himself when she was done, and he helped her with her coat and scarf before putting his on. Phoebe prayed she wouldn't slip on the ice, but Arnold's firm hold on her made her feel secure. He got them to the Porsche in one piece. The car had its winter tires on, so Phoebe didn't worry they'd slide all over the roads on the way to the hospital.
They got to the hospital in good time, and Arnold helped her across the slick parking lot. Fortunately, the emergency room wasn't too busy, and Arnold helped Phoebe sit while he went to check her in. Her face and hand were now hurting so bad, she wanted to throw up. Her other hand wasn't feeling too good either. Arnold came back, and he sat beside her, putting his arm around her and holding her close.
"I'm so sorry, Pheebs."
"If I hadn't startled you-"
"Wait," she interrupted, "you think this is your fault?"
She tried really hard not to laugh, as that would make her scream in pain. "How long have we been together, on and off, and you haven't realized I can be very accident-prone?"
"Well, compromise: We're both at fault."
"Phobee Tersay?" a nurse called out.
Phoebe closed her eye and sighed. "Not the first time my name was pronounced wrong."
Arnold helped her up. "C'mon, Phobee."
"All right, Ronald."
After Phoebe got her burns treated and bandaged (a large white bandage covered a quarter of the left side of her face, including her eye), the doctor came in the room with antibiotic burn cream and papers that went over burn treatments.
"Well, Miss Terese, you have second degree burns on your hands, but your face was third degree. We'll send in a burn specialist to see you, but for right now, I want to give you the cream that will help the healing and infection prevention." He handed the cream to Arnold. "I trust you'll help with the changing of bandages and healing, Mr. Perlstein?"
The doctor handed him some papers. "Here's all the information for treating second and third degree burns. The specialist will go over all of it with you both, and he'll decide if you need to come in for an evaluation for a graft, if he feels your burn is severe enough."
Phoebe shook her head. "A graft? Am I going to have a scar?"
"It's very likely. You may not be able to open your eye fully, though fortunately there's no injury to the eye itself. Also, you won't be able to grow that eye brow back."
Phoebe didn't care about not having hair on her face any more. The scar itself didn't bother her either. "Well, if my burn isn't so severe that I'm awake and not in agony right now, then I don't want the graft."
"You can discuss that with the burn specialist."
Arnold raised his brow. "You sure?"
"My face being scarred won't bother me. I'll be like Prince Zuko."
The doctor looked at Arnold. "Who?"
Arnold shook his head. He looked at Phoebe. "Well, if it won't bother you, and it doesn't bother me, then we'll let the burn specialist know you don't want a graft."
She smiled and mouthed an "I love you" to him. Hopefully, the rest of Chrismukkah would go by more smoothly. All the bad happened, so now, things could only go up.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Chrismukkah Day Three.
The rest of day two went by all right, but Phoebe still had to come clean about her ring. She decided to wait for the right time, and ice skating at the rink in downtown didn't seem like the right time.
Phoebe looked out the window of Arnold's Porsche, and she noticed they were getting on the highway. "Wait...where are we going?"
Arnold smiled. "New York City. We're skating at Rockefeller Center."
He continued to smile. "It's our first Chrismukkah since becoming engaged. Let's do it up!"
She scoffed. "I wouldn't have a problem falling on my ass in Walkerville, but New York?"
He reached over and took her arm, seeing as her hands were both still wrapped up. "You won't fall."
She pointed to the bandage over her left eye. "I have no depth perception, plus the fact I have poor motor skills."
"I'll make sure you won't fall."
And she didn't fall.
But Arnold did.
He ended up in the emergency room to get his nose checked out, and it turned out to be broken. Seeing as the swelling made it so he couldn't wear his glasses and Phoebe had one eye, they stayed at his grandparents' luxurious home in Manhattan for the night.
Arnold was laying on one of the guest beds, Phoebe making sure the gauze the doctor put in his nose wasn't leaking. Ruth Rosen, Arnold's grandmother, walked in, a servant behind her with cups of tea on a tray.
"How is my grandson feeling?" Ruth asked.
"Painkillers kicked in, so fantastic," he said.
"We're quite the pair," Phoebe said. "I have one eye and little use of my hands, and you have a busted nose."
"We're going to have to call Ralphie to get us tomorrow," he said. He looked at Ruth. "Did Granddad get my car?"
"He did. It's in the garage." His grandparents had a private underground garage. "Get some rest. Here's some tea to help you both sleep."
Phoebe noticed the look Ruth gave her as she left, as if she blamed Phoebe for Arnold's busted nose. The servant set the tray down on the dresser, and she shut the door behind her.
Arnold sat up. "I can help you with your tea," he said. "Painkillers are in full force."
She sat back against the pillows as he got up. He brought both cups to the bed, but he put one on the bedside table.
"I put sugar in yours," he said. "Like you like it."
Phoebe smiled. "You're so sweet."
He helped her drink it since she couldn't hold the cup. When she finished, he drank his tea. He put the empty cups on the dresser, and they got ready for bed. Since they didn't bring any overnight things, they slept in their underwear, and Phoebe knew Arnold was hating that he couldn't brush his teeth or wash his face.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, but all Phoebe could think of was how she was hoping this holiday would end already.
note: Stay tuned for Part II.