herr_bookman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
herr_bookman) wrote2014-09-19 12:32 am
herr_bookman) wrote2014-09-19 12:32 am
OOM: We are family
"Autorchen!" his mother called from downstairs, jerking him out of falling asleep on his desk. "Come here, would you?"
"Coming," Autor said, interrupted by a yawn. He checked his watch and noticed that it was far too early in the day for him to feel this sleepy. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes as he stood. Then he tromped downstairs to encounter the smell of baking apple pie.
"That smells wonderful, Mütterchen," he said, replacing his glasses.
"Oh, Autor, you're here! Good," Erna said, turning to him with a smile.
Clara, Autor's younger sister, beamed at him from her seat. "Good morning, Bruder," she said, and then giggled behind her hand. "Sleepyhead."
"Hey!" Autor said, coming around to tickle her sides. Clara shrieked and laughed, and Autor struggled to keep her from falling off of her stool.
"Now, now, none of that," their mother chided softly, and Autor stopped, only to wrap his arms around his sister.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching their mother. "What did you want me for, Mütterchen?"
Then his mother said something which made his jaw drop. "I," she said, secretive, "want you both to skip school today, and spend the time baking with me."
Clara stilled in his hold. Boggling, Autor checked his mental calendar to see if today was his birthday, or Clara's, or even Hanukkah. "B-But we can't skip school--"
"Yes, you can--I've already spoken to your teachers," Erna said, raising a hand.
Autor licked his lips, already entertaining the possibilities as Clara asked, "Does Papa know?"
Erna winked. "No. And it will be our little secret, yes?" she said. "Now, come here, Autorchen! Let me get a good look at you."
Autor released Clara and crossed to his mother, standing straight and proud. She squeezed him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder. The hug shocked him; Autor's mother was an affectionate woman, but it had been a while.
"Oh," she said, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "You're getting so tall! I hardly ever see you anymore, and I've missed you."
"Mütterchen..."
"When did you get so tall?" Erna demanded.
Autor chuckled, catching her tears on the backs of his fingers, on his knuckle scars. "I am the same as I have always been."
"You lie," she said, huffing. "You're getting taller everyday, and I've just not noticed."
"Me next, me next!" Clara shouted, scrambling off her stool to tackle the embracing pair. Autor laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, keeping his mother from toppling over.
"Well!" Erna said, releasing them both. "What should we cook first? How about some latkes?"
"I can make them, Mütterchen," Autor said, ruffling Clara's hair. "Please, sit down, and let me serve you."
"Do you treat all the girls at school like princesses?" she teased, and laughed delightedly at his fearsome blush.
"Autor's not a prince!" Clara said, squeezing him around the waist. "He's a pianist."
Autor scooped her up and backed away from their mother just enough to spin her around. Warmth blossomed in his chest, and he couldn't keep from smiling at Clara's giggling and his mother's earnest tears.
"Autorchen," his mother started, taking Clara's seat. "Tell me about you. I've been so busy, I haven't had time to catch up."
Autor set Clara down, and she ran to cling to their mother. "Me? Well, what do you want to know?" he said. He crossed to the apron hook on the wall and tied the garment around his waist. "My studies are coming along nicely. I can play Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu almost flawlessly now. And Herr Brandt says that I may even start accompanying the ballet division."
"Really?" Erna said, wrapping an arm around Clara. "That's wonderful! Would you be paid for it?"
Autor knew why she asked. Any wages he'd earn would go straight to the upkeep of the family's inn. "Yes, but only a pittance," he said. He located some potatoes and a peeler, and set to work.
"That would still help," Erna said, and Autor nodded. "Mein Junge, I am so proud of you. You're such a hard worker."
And Autor smiled, inclining his head. "Thank you."
His mother asked about Clara, and Autor chuckled as the girl spoke passionately of schoolyard politics and a seven-year-old's workload. He asked about Erna's day in turn, and she threw up her hands, speaking of troubles with the inn's customers and new recipes she wanted to try, but never had the time.
For the rest of the day, Autor laughed at her jokes, blushed at her teasing, and embraced them both as often as he could. At the end of it, Autor knew that if he had to relive his days again and again, he'd be content with this one.
"Coming," Autor said, interrupted by a yawn. He checked his watch and noticed that it was far too early in the day for him to feel this sleepy. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes as he stood. Then he tromped downstairs to encounter the smell of baking apple pie.
"That smells wonderful, Mütterchen," he said, replacing his glasses.
"Oh, Autor, you're here! Good," Erna said, turning to him with a smile.
Clara, Autor's younger sister, beamed at him from her seat. "Good morning, Bruder," she said, and then giggled behind her hand. "Sleepyhead."
"Hey!" Autor said, coming around to tickle her sides. Clara shrieked and laughed, and Autor struggled to keep her from falling off of her stool.
"Now, now, none of that," their mother chided softly, and Autor stopped, only to wrap his arms around his sister.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching their mother. "What did you want me for, Mütterchen?"
Then his mother said something which made his jaw drop. "I," she said, secretive, "want you both to skip school today, and spend the time baking with me."
Clara stilled in his hold. Boggling, Autor checked his mental calendar to see if today was his birthday, or Clara's, or even Hanukkah. "B-But we can't skip school--"
"Yes, you can--I've already spoken to your teachers," Erna said, raising a hand.
Autor licked his lips, already entertaining the possibilities as Clara asked, "Does Papa know?"
Erna winked. "No. And it will be our little secret, yes?" she said. "Now, come here, Autorchen! Let me get a good look at you."
Autor released Clara and crossed to his mother, standing straight and proud. She squeezed him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder. The hug shocked him; Autor's mother was an affectionate woman, but it had been a while.
"Oh," she said, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "You're getting so tall! I hardly ever see you anymore, and I've missed you."
"Mütterchen..."
"When did you get so tall?" Erna demanded.
Autor chuckled, catching her tears on the backs of his fingers, on his knuckle scars. "I am the same as I have always been."
"You lie," she said, huffing. "You're getting taller everyday, and I've just not noticed."
"Me next, me next!" Clara shouted, scrambling off her stool to tackle the embracing pair. Autor laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, keeping his mother from toppling over.
"Well!" Erna said, releasing them both. "What should we cook first? How about some latkes?"
"I can make them, Mütterchen," Autor said, ruffling Clara's hair. "Please, sit down, and let me serve you."
"Do you treat all the girls at school like princesses?" she teased, and laughed delightedly at his fearsome blush.
"Autor's not a prince!" Clara said, squeezing him around the waist. "He's a pianist."
Autor scooped her up and backed away from their mother just enough to spin her around. Warmth blossomed in his chest, and he couldn't keep from smiling at Clara's giggling and his mother's earnest tears.
"Autorchen," his mother started, taking Clara's seat. "Tell me about you. I've been so busy, I haven't had time to catch up."
Autor set Clara down, and she ran to cling to their mother. "Me? Well, what do you want to know?" he said. He crossed to the apron hook on the wall and tied the garment around his waist. "My studies are coming along nicely. I can play Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu almost flawlessly now. And Herr Brandt says that I may even start accompanying the ballet division."
"Really?" Erna said, wrapping an arm around Clara. "That's wonderful! Would you be paid for it?"
Autor knew why she asked. Any wages he'd earn would go straight to the upkeep of the family's inn. "Yes, but only a pittance," he said. He located some potatoes and a peeler, and set to work.
"That would still help," Erna said, and Autor nodded. "Mein Junge, I am so proud of you. You're such a hard worker."
And Autor smiled, inclining his head. "Thank you."
His mother asked about Clara, and Autor chuckled as the girl spoke passionately of schoolyard politics and a seven-year-old's workload. He asked about Erna's day in turn, and she threw up her hands, speaking of troubles with the inn's customers and new recipes she wanted to try, but never had the time.
For the rest of the day, Autor laughed at her jokes, blushed at her teasing, and embraced them both as often as he could. At the end of it, Autor knew that if he had to relive his days again and again, he'd be content with this one.