Chapter Text
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” Ellen spat, dashing across the kitchen, following the thin trail of smoke that had set off the detector on the ceiling.
She threw open the oven door, and sighed in relief at her sugar cookies. Thank God, they were salvageable. Nothing scraping off the bottoms with a cheese grater and a healthy dose of homemade frosting couldn’t fix. She couldn’t bring ugly cookies to the neighbors, not with their relationship being as fraught as it already was.“Fraught” meaning they were one noise complaint away from having her husband spend his Christmas in the county jail. That reminded her, she needed to remind him not to try and trim the tree anymore. It was consuming half the living room and drowning her favorite curtains in sap, but that didn’t mean he needed to break out the chainsaw again.
She quickly wrapped the tray of finished cookies in cling film, and wondered what else she could bring next door to smooth things over.
They’re the fancy type right? Should I bring wine? Will they judge us for drinking cheap wine?
The most fancy-looking bottle she had was mulled wine, Clark insisted on maxing his credit card out importing a case of the stuff. It’s seasonal, they’ll like it. At least I hope they do.
Margo grumbled, stumbling around in the dark as she shrugged on her housecoat and slid into her slippers, mentally preparing herself to answer whoever could be ringing the doorbell at this godforsaken hour.
“Who the fuck is that?” Her husband mumbled, barely awake and still in bed.
“Probably Grisowld." she sighed, taking off her sleep mask and tying up her hair. “If it is, I’ll slam it in his face.”
Margo was half right. It was a Griswold, but not the man himself, the one who’d been single-handedly driving their property values into the mud since the day he slithered up the driveway. No, it was his wife, looking chipper as a coked-up squirrel, standing on their doorstep in a frumpy sweater and matching hat.
“Hi!” She cooed, tilting her head, blonde ponytail swinging over her shoulder. She, seeing Margo in her pajamas, made an apologetic little pout. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Not at all.” Sarcasm dripped like corn syrup from her mouth.
“I don’t know if we’ve met, but I’m Ellen, Clark’s wife. You must be Mrs. Chester!”
“Margo Chester.” She’d never let herself turn into one of those dead-eyed women who called themselves “Mrs. Whatever” as soon as they were married. She had a name, and she expected people not to forget it the second she walked down the aisle. “Is there a reason you're here or can I go back to bed?”
“I just wanted to wish you and Todd a very Merry Christmas.” Of course, the Griswolds were sappy enough to dry and drag the whole neighborhood into that saccharine bullshit. She should’ve expected as much. “And can I just say that I’m so sorry about my husband.” Margo blinked. Now that, she hadn’t expected. “You see, Clark’s always been the passionate type.” Passionate, is that what we’re calling it now? Is it a euphemism for criminally unhinged? If so, Jim Jones was very “passionate” about religion. “He tends to take things a little too seriously. But I swear, he never means any harm. Anyway, as a token of good will, I brought cookies!” She held the ceramic tray between them like an olive branch, a small army of snowflake and snowman shapes on display.
“It’s just flour, sugar, eggs, and cinnamon, in case you’re on diets or have allergies or something.”
“They’re fine.” It was their cheat day anyway.
“And also wine.” Margo didn’t think the Griswolds could afford the bottle Ellen was currently holding out to her. But it was a very welcome surprise. “I’ll let you go now, but just so you know, you and Todd are always welcome!” She waved goodbye, before turning to go back home, golden hair flapping behind her.
“Who was that?” Todd asked when she came back inside, pressing her morning coffee into her hands and punctuating the action with a kiss to her forehead.
“The toad’s wife.” She muttered, sipping from the mug. “Came to apologize on his behalf. She even brought cookies and wine.”
“Just like the bastard to make his woman do all his dirty work. Are they any good?”
“Haven’t tried.” She was saving her calories for the cheat day ice cream tub in the bottom of the freezer. Todd picked up one, a grinning Santa Clause, and took a bite out of his beard. He made a satisfied “hmph” as crumbs and frosting covered his chin. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
That made sense to Margo. The woman seemed like the “PTA bakesale” type. She had a couple kids, right? Margo didn’t know anything about them beyond the offspring of immediate family, and her brother’s brats were all little sugar addicts.
Outside of the kitchen window, Margo could see her, standing on the stoop of her house, chuffing down a cigarette as fast as she could. No doubt the poor woman was trying to steel her nerves, preparing herself like a soldier on D-Day to face the house of horrors that she and her husband’s extended family had turned the Griswold residence into. Margo didn’t envy her one bit.
Well, perhaps one bit.
Ellen Griswold had the sort of figure girls would kill for. She must be the only woman in the world able to pull off a sweater that hideous.
“Dear God, she is out of his league.” Her husband spoke her thoughts aloud, dunking the remainder of his cookie in his coffee. “How the hell did you think he did it?”
“He probably bribed her.” She snorted, rolling her eyes. Ellen Griswold’s life decisions didn't have any effect on her, so long as they at least partially consisted of reigning in that idiot she married. “I wouldn’t even pity fuck him if he was the last man on earth. And she did it at least twice.”
“Do you think she had her eyes closed the whole time?”
“No, she’d have to make him wear a bag over his head and pretend he was Harrison Ford.”
The young couple laughed their way up the stairs. That was the only thought they spared for Ellen Griswold, not until the very next morning, when they found her crying on their doorstep in her pajamas.