Work Text:
“Ketsl, come on we’re going to be late.” Flip checks his watch and calls up to you from the foyer.
The family car is running out in the driveway to warm up the engine and get it nice and toasty for the little one, the bags are packed for the gift exchange and your Pyrex dishes are safely nestled into the trunk where your famous desserts won’t slide around, but you’re still not downstairs.
For always being so punctual, you seem just a tad frazzled tonight. Flip doesn’t give you any flack for it though, it is Hanukkah after all.
The wait is worth it, you descend the stairs like an absolute goddess, and Flip can feel his pulse jump. Your son, who has been patiently holding Flip’s hand and waiting for you to join them even lets out a little happy noise when he sees you. But as beautiful as you are, as much like a movie star you look, you halt about halfway down the steps, cutting yourself off when you notice,
“I’m here I’m here, hold your horses – what are you wearing?”
Flip looks down at the sweater that he has pulled over his head and feigns complete and total innocence.
“What do you mean?” He asks, biting back a smile.
On the first night of Hanukkah you had given him something of a prank gift – he had asked for a new nice flannel to add to his ever growing collection, and you had given it to him. But before he got to open that present, you had instead jokingly given him…whatever the hell this abomination was. It was bright blue with white knitted patterns all over it, a giant dreidel that lit up smack dab in the center. It was garish, it was tacky, and Flip decided that he was going to never take it off.
Much to your dismay.
“We have to be at Temple in twenty minutes, you can’t go like that.” You wave a hand to gesture to the sweater, but Flip just picks his son up and braces him on his hip, cool as a cucumber.
“I told you I loved this thing so much that I wanted to wear it for all eight nights.” He shrugs, looking to his son for backup, who only giggles and wriggles, arms reaching out for you instead, making Flip whisper, “Traitor.”
“Surely you can’t be serious.” You scoop your son up and let him snuggle into your neck where he wants to be, and Flip does give you a big grin then.
“I’m always serious,” He puts on his stern voice, “And don’t call me Shirley.”
You break out into laughter, and so does your son, and so does Flip, and you have to rub your forehead groaning, “Please tell me there’s a nice button down underneath that thing.”
“Yes I’m wearing the nice button down you like under this.” Flip tugs the sweater over his head and leaves it on the credenza by the door, revealing a nicely ironed shirt that will blend right in at Temple and not cause any scandal.
“Oh thank god.” You grin, heading out of the house to the car, the clock chiming on the wall a reminder that it’s time to get going.
“He had nothing to do with this,” Flip pats your ass fondly.
“Do you really like it? The sweater I mean. It isn’t just a joke?” You ask, as you buckle the little guy into this new thing called a car seat, the latest and greatest in childcare technology.
You’re eyeing him carefully, and Flip has no desire to lie to you.
“It’s real fucking ugly,” He admits, because it was, but that was the whole point of it. And anyway, you had thought it would make him laugh, which it had, and that means more to him than anything else. “But yeah, I like it.”
He kisses you, and you kiss him back, a sweet chaste press of lips on lips, before he corrals you into the car too with a cheerful twinkle in his eye.
And something tells you that you just know that damn sweater will be making an appearance at every Hanukkah from here on out.