Chapter Text
"Damn it."
Malcolm tried to curse very silently. "That kind of language" was not permitted in the very decent Reed household. He looked around if someone observed his efforts to attach the Christmas decorations to the door frame. But it seemed he was lucky. His mother was busy in the kitchen, his sister was cleaning the living room and his father ... He was in charge what else. Making his inspection rounds no doubt after a very well thought-out schedule to be able to catch his family making as many mistakes as possible. And taking pleasure in disciplining them.
'The only good thing is that his methods of disciplining have changed since I was a child.' Malcolm grumbled in his head.
After he was done with nailing the fir branches to the door frame, he went on adjusting every damn lamp his family owned. They were supposed to spread a comforting, warming but inconspicuous light all over the house. When the guests for the big Christmas party arrive they were supposed to feel at home without knowing why.
'Psychedelic drugs would be a start.' Malcolm thought. He had no idea how to achieve this magic light. "Just make it perfect" was the official working instruction. There were no words farther away from the Reeds then "Comfort" and "Warmth". "Inconspicuous" on the other hand, that would fit. Whatever you do, just don't draw attention in an unseemly way. So Malcolm surrendered to his fate and started to work his way through the entire house. Setting up new lamps, adjusting the old ones, checking the results and start all over again.
"It is a disaster. Like everything I do. What was Christmas all about? The lamps?"
"I think it looks good."
Malcolm startled. For a moment he thought his mother had approached him but it was Madeline.
"Thank you. But you know father, he will be very disappointed. I will start over again."
"Relax, Malcolm. It looks fine."
"But fine's not good enough. Imagine at the party one of the guests makes a comment about the light. He won't ever let me forget about that."
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Later at the dinner table it was the usual cheerful atmosphere.
"Did you change the recipe?" Stuart Reed looked at his wife.
"I experimented with the spices, Darling." Mary Reed tried to calm her husband.
"Tomorrow you will follow the recipe to the letter! It would be an embarrassment if the food isn't perfect."
He emphasized his words by tapping with his index finger at the table at every word.
"Off course, Darling."
Mary Reeds voice was very small. Malcolm let his fork fall on his plate with a little clang. He hated it when his father treated his mother like a maid. At the sound his father looked at him.
"The lights in the living room are not adjusted correctly. The corner next to the window is too dark. And behind the sofa the lamps have the wrong orientation. You will fix that."
"Yes, sir."
"Malcolm, don't sulk only because I'm pointing out mistakes."
"I'm not sulking. I just know an insult when I hear one. I've had a lot of practice."
Malcolm didn't refer to himself but to his mother. Stuart, Mary and Madeline Reed all stared at him.
"If you excuse me, I have some lights to realign."
Malcolm left his almost completely full plate and went into the living room. After a few moments Madeline came after him.
"Malcolm, you know how he is."
"Yes, I know. It's my own damn fault. Why am I even here? What did I expect?"
"Malcolm..."
"Tomorrow is Christmas. But I don't feel like it at all. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel."