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Tommy wrinkled his nose as he walked downstairs, what was that smell? He questioned as he wandered into the kitchen. There he saw his dad, popping open a bottle of wine, a second bottle already empty next to the garbage can.
“Hey, Tommy!” Phil had called upon seeing the youngest son wander into the kitchen.
“Hi, Dad. What’re you doing?” Tommy walked over and sat at one of the counter stools.
“Well, I was asked to bring the mulled wine to the party tonight. So I’m making that.”
“It smells disgusting.”
Phil laughed loudly at his son’s expression. “That’s because you’re a child.”
“I’m a man, thank you very much.” Tommy shot back, “I just don’t think wine smells good and I don’t understand why someone would drink that over a nice can of coca cola”
Phil shrugged, a smile still on his face. “I dunno either, people just like it.”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit before Tommy piped up again.
“Do you need some help with anything?”
In response, Phil handed over a small bag of oranges, giving Tommy the task of peeling them all. The silence took over the room once more, as the two were the only ones home at the time.
“Finished,” Tommy said, some time later, handing over the now peeled oranges. “Can I try the wine when you’re done?”
“Absolutely not, but thanks for asking.”
“Why not, Dad? I’m only a couple years away from legal drinking age! Why not just bend the rules a little?”
“Didn’t you just say that you think the stuff smells bad?”
“We aren’t talking about that right now.”
Phil nodded slowly, pretending to consider Tommy’s request. “Nope.”
The teenager groaned loudly, making a show as he walked across the room to the table. Not without sneaking a couple of orange slices, though.
“I saw that.” Phil called.
“I know.”
Phil shook his head, rolling his eyes as he smiled at his son. He continued following the recipe he had found online, stirring the wine he had warming up in a pot, adding the orange slices, cloves, and cinnamon into the mix.
From behind him, Tommy had sprawled himself onto the kitchen table, looking at his phone.
“Hey, Dad, guess what.” He called
Phil hummed in response.
“People started making mulled wine to fight off sicknesses and help against the Black Death or something.” He paraphrased, glancing away from his phone.
“Oh, that’s neat.” Phil answered, not sure why his youngest was looking up the background to the drink.
“And this person says that maybe the weird background as to why it’s called mulled wine is because of the word ‘mould’ which is an old term for the human body in decay.”
“I didn't really want to know that, Toms.”
“Didn’t want to know what? The fact that you’re drinking Black Death body decay juice?”
Phil choked a little as he had been taking a sip of said ‘juice’ “Tommy, stop it. That’s so gross!”
Tommy, ever the gremlin child, as his brothers called him, laughed at his father before looking back at the phone he was holding.
“Hey! Warming up the wine takes out the alcohol!” Tommy cheered.
“Mmmm.. The answer’s still no.”
“But why?!”
“A: Because I said so. And B: Because the alcohol doesn’t go away entirely.”
Tommy grumbled something under his breath, and on a bad day, Phil probably would have challenged the youngest child to say it again, knowing the mumbles were something negative. But Phil was in a good mood, and simply chuckled at the attitude.
“But this stuff helps your heart!” Tommy called, “Don’t you want my heart to be healthy?”
Phil quietly walked to the fridge, pulling out a container of blueberries, and setting them next to Tommy.
“There you go, bud! Eat up! Those help your heart too, and clearly you need a good strong one to handle the breaking it’s doing tonight due to the fact that I’m still saying no.” Phil stirred the wine once more before checking the temperature and setting a lid on top of the pot.
“How about I just try one single sip and then I leave?” Tommy asked.
“Aww, Tommy, I don’t want you to leave! That’s why the answer is nope!”
Tommy groaned, picking himself off the table and trudging out of the room.
“How about I make popcorn and we watch a movie instead while we wait for your brothers?” Phil calls after him, making Tommy pause on the stairs.
“Fine.” He calls out. Both men have a smile on their face.
An hour later, as they’re watching Elf and eating popcorn, Tommy lifts his head from where it had been resting on his dad’s shoulder.
“Just so you know, Dad, just because I’m cold and want to cuddle you for warmth, doesn’t mean I forgive you.” He whispered.
Phil chuckled, ruffling Tommy’s blond hair.
“No, of course not.”
And so they sat, Elf playing on the tv, father and son snuggled under a blanket, and mulled wine warming on the stove.
Tommy was going to try that wine though, no matter what it took, he swore to himself.
Phil would like to see him try.