Mixtapes & Polaroids | Sam x Deena

40

Simon loves thanksgiving.

He'd say it's his solid second on his list of favorite holidays, right below Christmas. Simon adores it, a day full of good food and his best friends? It was practically wonderland. He makes sure to dress extra nice, waking up earlier than usual to pick out his best shirt that didn't have any holes or stains. He even wears his good jeans, and his favorite sneakers. Simon spends the whole day buzzing, out of the house trying to pick out the best pie and bottle of vodka he could afford.

When the day begins to dwindle and he comes home at sunset, Simon realizes absolutely no one is ready but him. He usually brings his brother and grandmother over to Kate's, all of them spending thanksgiving in the Schmidt residence having it be the only one big enough to accommodate everyone but Simon had a bad feeling about that year.

He was trying really hard to keep his enthusiasm, but when his brother has been in the shower for nearly an hour and his grandmother was still in bed, taking her afternoon nap— Simon begins to panic.

"Timmy! I swear to fucking God i'm going to kick the door down!" He bangs his fist against the wood, his blonde curls hanging loosely in front of his face as he hung his head against the door in a frustrated huff.

"I'm in the shower!" The older boy calls out, but Simon knew what it meant. He was probably just in there with all his magazines and a blunt, which Simon did too on some occasions but he really, really just wanted to have a nice organized day at least once a year.

"I can hear you! the water isn't even on, asshole!" Simon exclaims on the other side, hands reddening from his incessant knocks as he wires his eyes shut trying to settle himself.

"Five minutes!" Timothy calls out, Simon pushing himself off of the door. He could burn a hole through it with the way he was glaring.

"Kate is going to kill us for being late. She's literally going to kill us." Simon pleads again, getting increasingly tired and unbelievably annoyed with every passing minute when he finally hears the water switch on.

"Go check on Gammy." Timothy calls out from the other side, just when Simon thinks his worries are over his jaw nearly drops.

"You didn't wake her yet?" He practically screams, eyes wide as his brother takes his merry time in answering.

"No, you said you would."

"Jesus fuck." Simon huffs, stomping away and over to his grandmother's room, making sure to take a few breaths before putting on a smile and delivering three knocks on the hardwood door.

"Grandma? Hey. It's time to get up, we gotta go to Kate's." He peeks his head in with a warm smile, the older woman still in bed, buried under thick, knitted covers and looking at the boy through squinted eyes.

"Who?" She croaks out, voice hoarse and still ridden with slumber as Simon steps inside.

"Kate, my best friend. We go there every year, remember?" He coos, coming closer to sit on the edge of the bed.

Simon loves his grandmother probably more than anything. When his parents divorced and practically dumped him and his brother in Shadyside, his grandmother took on the role of everything he ever needed.

She was the kind of lady that would feed even strangers, greet them with a warm smile, the same one Simon took on as he grew older. She was also the most hilarious person he had ever met, she taught him how to laugh through even the most painful times, how to never let go of the light even when everything was pitch black.

Then she got sick.

Slowly, her jokes dwindled and her smile became timid. What was once the warmth of the sun became merely a distant spark as her walks slowed and words slurred. Simon did everything he could to get her to the right doctors, even with her retirement fund he still sought to work as much as he could, wherever he could.