College Ruled

thirty

hi, hello, hey — little recap for those that don't feel like rereading since it's been a minute:
it's thanksgiving at the clarke house. remi has spent the past two days getting drunk. grayson's leg is a bit fucked up. and now everyone, including the lovely (gag*) drake family, are coming together to celebrate the holiday under one roof. what, oh what, could possibly go wrong?

without further ado —

| 30 |
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CANDIED YAMS can kiss my ass.

I put my blood, sweat, and tears into those damn yams. And I hate them.

Those spiteful, marshmallow covered, perfectly cooked things.

And yet, they're still here. In the center of the table. Staring at me.

When I subtly brought up the idea of making a different kind of yam dish this morning, my mother had immediately shot it down with a simple, "Just make the candied yams, Remedy. Everybody loves the candied yams."

Except, they don't.

See — I've learned over the years that my family are not candied yam people.

I've learned this because, per my mother's request, I make them every year. And they sit at the end of the table practically untouched for the duration of dinner. I end up taking a serving because I made them. Dad takes a serving or two out of pity. And the rest gets crammed into tupperware and swept away with me to my fridge.

Candied yams become a regular part of my diet for the days following Thanksgiving.

Because my family is not a candied yam family.

"Roll?" asks Theo. He sits on my right, looking much too comfortable at my dining room table.

Him and Grayson arrived a few hours ago. They waited for dinner to be ready by sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. They didn't feel like talking.

Melody and George eventually showed up, and they didn't want to stop talking. They squealed when they saw Theo already here. Bombarded him with questions.

Camilla, Mom, and I stayed squeezed in the kitchen until everything was done. Even though it was nearly impossible to keep my gaze off Grayson every time I swept past the kitchen door.

Even with his knee wrapped, he showed up in slacks and a black dress shirt. And damn, he looked good. And in surprisingly good spirits, given that he spent nearly an hour sitting on that couch, trying to steal peeks into the kitchen, blatantly being left out of the Drake's over-the-top fawning.

To say the evening has begun awkward as fuck would be an understatement.

For reference, I think it's the fourth time Theo's asked me about bread. Because as I give him a soft smile and take the roll, I realize there's already three on my plate.

Grayson tries to catch my eye from where he sits across from me, but every time I try to meet his stare, my gaze catches on the crutches leaning against the wall behind him and my stomach twists. I remember that there's a brace wrapped around his knee under the table. A lie tying us together instead of a relationship. And my attention falls right back to the yams.

Everything feels wrong —

"Remedy?"

I jolt out of my trance, chair screeching underneath me. I glance at my mother, who clicks her tongue and gives me a look.