Domestic bliss
I know how bad you wanted it
.
.
.
Fezco.
Nate Jacobs' twin sister.
What could possibly go wrong?
.
.
.
Contains strong language.
Warnings for the usual Euphoria stuff (more details in the first part).
For mature audiences only!
I've already said I didn't really know Grace Jacobs before - but after we became friends, I realized perhaps no one really did at all.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As soon as she woke up, Grace regretted skipping school the day before. She groaned into her pillow and seriously considered skipping two days in a row.
Today was the pep rally day.
In another life she imagined she might actually enjoy it - the hype, the boys, the lax attitude teachers usually adopted on game days.
But in this life, she was Grace Jacobs, the team captain's twin, Cal Jacobs' daughter. And that alone came with its own set of rules.
After getting ready, she shoved the papers, scattered across her desk into her bag, and ran downstairs. She hadn't finished her History homework and prayed to gods the teacher, a big fan of East Highland Blackhawks, would let it pass.
If he gave her trouble, she could always just say she stayed up late making Nate sandwiches and acting as moral support for their precious team captain. It would be a lie, but one she could live with.
Their father was already downstairs, brewing coffee, his chest puffed out, a smile on his crude face. But what made Grace stop in her tracks was the sight of her mother in a blue dressing gown, standing behind the kitchen island, flipping pancakes. Her hair was immaculate, her nails freshly painted. She even wore lipstick.
"Good morning, honey," she said, smiling at Grace.
"Morning," she muttered back, glancing at Nate and plopped onto the chair on his left.
"Morning to you, too," he said in her direction while pouring maple syrup over his pile of pancakes.
Grace rolled her eyes, but gave him a half smile and reached toward the fruit basket on the table.
"Oh, no, Gracie, I'm making pancakes for you, too!" called their mother, noticing Grace bite into an apple.
"I'm not hungry," Grace replied chewing.
Their father sent her a disapproving look and walked toward the table. Grace stiffened, but he only poured her a cup of coffee.
It looked strong, just the way she liked it.
She looked up and sent him a tentative smile.
"Well, I already made them," said her mother, bringing a plate in front her. She leaned on her husband, still staring her down, and smiled at Grace expectantly. "Dig in!"
The pancakes looked delicious. Golden, with a thick piece of butter melting over them.
