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3 Merry Christmas, Baby
Eva
The scentof frying bacon makes my mouth water. Normally, I’m a caffeine first, food way later type of morning person. Today, however, I plan on chowing down.
“Kali mera,” YiaYia rasps as she staggers into the kitchen like she spent the night drinking heavily. “Where is the coffee?”
Papou whistles to himself at the stove as he continues flipping strips of bacon and scrambling eggs.
They’re being weird.
Luckily for me, Mama strolls in a moment later, yawning. “Good morning, family. How did everyone sleep last night?”
I expect this question to be aimed at me in combination with a dirty look, but instead she pins her parents with the death glare.
Maybe I haven’t had enough coffee after all. I hunker down at my spot at the table, chugging the contents of my mug to prepare for what promises to be an epic showdown. Rob might’ve been onto something to be worried about us falling asleep together on the couch.
Something’s definitely up. With Tini still in bed, I’m defenseless and at their mercy for a potential interrogation.
YiaYia and Papou don’t grace her with an answer.
This is a set up. I can smell it.
The silent stares continue all around as a cold sweat breaks out on my skin.
“Really?” Mama scoffs. “You don’t feel the need to apologize? Not even a little?”
“I’m sorry!” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with Rob! Nothing happened, I swear!”
As all eyes turn to me, I realize my mistake. “You…weren’t talk to me, were you?”
Mama looks at me like I’m insane. “No. I was talking to your apparently perverted grandparents.”
Oh, gag. TMI. Please don’t form a mental image, brain.
Before either YiaYia or Papou can respond, Tini skips into the kitchen, far more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than is her normal morning MO.
“I’m Twitter famous!” She thrusts her cell into the air like a trophy.
YiaYia latches onto the distraction like a lifeline, grabbing the phone from Tini’s clutch. “What did you do? Is this the internet thing that all the teenagers display nudity with?”
Tini’s expression wrinkles with disgust, and she aims a questioning glance in my direction.
I know what she’s asking without saying a word.
Why does YiaYia know about that kind of stuff?
My silent stare in combination with a prim sip of the last dregs of my coffee conveys the answer. You don’t even know the half of it, sister.
“What is this?” YiaYia questions, glancing between the two of us. “When did this happen?”
“Last night.” Tini’s smile is far too blinding for this early hour. “They didn’t know I was recording it. But look how many likes and retweets I have!”
Uh-oh. This spells trouble with a capital T.
Mama peers over Tini’s shoulder, then taps the screen and suddenly the kitchen is filled with music…and singing.
Oh, crap.
