Chapter 1: Christmas Morning

Leah ran her fingers across Andrew’s cheek, waking him. It was 7:00 in the morning on Christmas Day.

“Good morning, Santa.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Claus. What time is it?”

“I told the kids, ‘Leave us alone until 8:00;’ we have an hour and they have their stockings.”

“An hour, huh. You have something in mind?”

“Always. The North Pole is pushed between my legs, so let’s celebrate.”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Oh, I’ll get my cookie. Let me lie on my back, please.”

Already hard, Drew was ready to make love. By mutual agreement, they routinely used anal sex to avoid pregnancy. He skinned back his foreskin, rubbed the head of his cock up and down between her labia for slickness, and then pushed into her ass firmly and smoothly.

Just the way she liked it: anal, but face-to-face.

Her hands were on his butt, urging him on. He groped her breast with one hand while using his other arm to support his weight.

Once he had filled her insides, he made a little space between them so she could slip her vibrator down between them and buzz her clit. Like always, he stayed fully erect to enjoy her internal contractions while she climaxed two more times before pulling out and splattering her belly. His young body’s erection only eased afterwards.

Once they had calmed down, he lay on his back once again next to her, covered by the top sheet and blanket.

Precisely at 8:00, the kids burst into the master bedroom: two boys and two girls. Respecting tradition, they were wearing juvenile nightwear. Leah came out of the bathroom in a flannel nightgown, and Drew wore pajama bottoms pulled back up to his waist.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Presents!” Nia, the youngest (a 9-year-old girl), was anxious.

Everything about this Christmas morning was utterly normal. Completely conventional. Except...

Leah and Andrew are 19 years old, and all six people in this master bedroom are each other’s siblings.

Eighteen months before that Christmas, social worker Amara Kumar looked at the six orphans seated with her at their kitchen table. She’d been tasked by the judge with perhaps the most difficult case of her career. The children (she couldn’t call them “clients”) ranged from age 9 to 19, both boys and girls. On their faces, she saw shock, grief, and fear—their emotions were all over the map.

“Whatever I tell them, someone will be unhappy. This is awful,” she thought.

Carla and Oliver were the recently deceased parents of these children. Years ago, Carla’s husband died of sepsis, leaving her to raise their three children on her own. Oliver’s history was also one of single parenthood. Deanne, his wife, abandoned him after she delivered their third child. Her only explanation: “I can’t do this anymore!” After that, Oliver had only very intermittent contact with her, as (apparently) she flitted from state to state working odd jobs. At no point did she make any more than cursory inquiries about her children. After a few years, he lost contact with her entirely.

Amara knew what she was going to tell the six orphans.

“I’m going to level with you. The judge said he will abide by whatever I tell him. He’ll provide the necessary orders and paperwork for your family. I REFUSE to separate you all and put you younger kids into the system, that is, into foster homes.

“Andrew and Leah, you’re full legal adults, with all those rights and privileges, except for smoking and drinking.

“You two are going to be appointed as joint legal and physical guardians of your four siblings. You’ll function like a mom and dad. I don’t see any better way. It’s a crushing responsibility to put on your shoulders before you’re twenty. I won’t ask if you’re ready; that’s a foolish question.

“I can only ask, Leah and Andrew, are you willing?”

“It’s necessary; I can see that. Yes.”

Leah was in, so the focus moved to her brother.

“I’ve been left in charge before, like when Mom and Dad...”

Grief overcame him then; he put his head in his hands. Leah put her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s OK. Look, Andrew, you can ... I will help you. Count on me, we’ll work together. Say yes.”

With obvious effort he gained control of himself and looked the social worker in the eye.

“Yes.”

Relieved, Amara blew out her breath and went on to the next subject.

“Now I need to explain some practical matters with just the two of you. Your parents were both working and made decent money, so you will all receive a survivor’s insurance monthly benefit from Social Security. After processing, you will see hundreds of dollars directly deposited each month into your bank account. That will end for each of your siblings as they reach 18; perhaps the benefits will extend a bit longer if they are still in school.

“So, you will have some income to live on. But one of you two adults will have to get a job. You need to keep up the mortgage payments so you all can stay in this house...”

In the past, Oliver first met Carla when their two youngest children enrolled in a cooperative nursery school. Back then, it was his youngest daughter Nia and her youngest son Tim, ages 3 and 4, respectively. In exchange for reduced tuition, each parent was required to work one day each week in the school.

One day they were watching the kids about to awaken from their early afternoon naps and go home, while indulging in war stories. After a few of their usual rounds of “Can you top this?” anecdotes, Carla broke off and looked him in the eye.

“You know, Oliver, sometimes I’m so exhausted I don’t even feel like picking up the TV remote. Other times, I’ve been daydreaming. About you. Would you like to come over for some playtime?”

“Playtime? Oh. I see by your expression you mean, uh, serious playtime. Wow. Really? I’d love to, but how?”

“Tomorrow at lunchtime, our kids will all be in school, including the two that are here. Can you take a personal day?”

“You bet I can! But first...”

He leaned over and kissed her.

“Oh, she’s wonderful! What’s this? That’s one enthusiastic tongue. She’s so hot. Uh-oh, stupid pants. I need to adjust, oh, ow. She’s got her hand down there, making everything worse.”

“Carla, um, I need some space.”

“You’re breaking up with me? From our first kiss? You bastard!”

“No, no, the opposite! My pants are killing me; I need to, well, adjust myself.”

“OK, sweetie. It’s my fault, I guess. Go ahead.”

They were married about three months after that, surrounded at the front by their six children. Oliver’s oldest (Andrew) was his best man, and Carla’s maid of honor was Leah, her oldest. Of the six, their youngest child was Nia (Tania), one of Oliver’s kids. Thrilled, Nia was prancing up the aisle, scattering flower petals in a tiny fairy dress.

Officially, the eight of them became a blended family. Sadly, neither the bride nor groom still had living parents or relatives to attend the ceremony.

It started at the reception. One of the more lubricated guests walked up to the couple and brayed, “You’re the Brady Bunch! Husband, wife, and six kids. Just like on TV. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. Ha-ha-ha.”

Carla was very uncomfortable. She hadn’t made the comparison until then. The old TV show was a distant memory. Suddenly, the prospect of fending off stupidity for the rest of her life haunted her.

At the same time, Oliver was facing the lout with a stern expression, waiting for his spring to wind down. After a couple of uncomfortable silent beats. He said, icily, “Never heard of it,” and abruptly turned away, dismissing him as beneath notice. Confused, the man wavered and then wandered away, looking for the bar.

Silently, Carla cheered while Oliver moved on to a friendly chat with other guests.

“I love him so much. That was perfect!”

On their honeymoon, after two exquisite consummations, Carla spoke to her new husband about the reception.

“Ollie, everything went perfect except for that drunken asshole. We’re going to be hearing about the ‘B’ word, that stupid-ass TV show, for years. Your last name is Bailey; we’ll be called ‘The Bailey Bunch.’”

“I know, but worthwhile people won’t make a big deal about it. And rude fuckers like that guy are going to find out just how impolite I can be. I’ll be Mike Tyson, not Mike Brady.”

“My hero! May I ask, politely, would you care for some well-deserved fellatio in the morning?”

After Ms. Kumar left, Leah and Andrew realized it was time to start making some changes. For a few years, the family had been tightly crammed into a modest three-bedroom house. With the parents in the master bedroom, the other two bedrooms were overcrowded and divided by sex.

In the weeks after the parents died, they kept most arrangements the same. They all continued to attend the public schools. The oldest “kids” were using their rudimentary skills to make dinners. They had cereal for breakfast and sandwiches (or school lunches) during the day. There was a little money available for deliveries (pizza, fried rice, tacos, etc.) on days they didn’t cook dinner.

The previous sleep setup wasn’t working. In the second bedroom, Ted (Carla’s middle child, 15) and Tim (her youngest, 10) were above and below in a bunk bed, while Andrew’s twin bed was set against the bunks at 90 degrees. Accessing the bunk beds required climbing in from the foot end. Only eight drawers in two dressers didn’t work for the three boys.