𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐄𝐘
For the past five years, I've managed to avoid him. I've managed to forget about him and move on from him. Mostly. Alex Lancaster and I have history, but nothing will ever change between us.
At least until he shows up at my dad's work...
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After a while, everyone starts migrating toward the kitchen and, since everyone's here, we begin to make actual plates of food — stuffing, corn, burgers, hot dogs, ect. Azzy and Blair are the first to have their plates made, being that they're the only kids here.
Once they're set up at the table, the rest of us form a line and begin shoveling our own food onto our plates. I make mine, then find a spot on the stairs to eat.
Alex finds a spot next to me. We eat in silence.
"You still mad at me?" He asks.
"Nope." I lie. I'm still very mad at him.
"Really?" He breathes a laugh, but it's humorless. "Because you haven't said a single word to me all night."
"We're talking right now, aren't we?" I eat a forkful of stuffing.
"You know what I mean." He mumbles. "I never meant to snoop into your business. I didn't realize it was personal."
"You have sisters. Didn't they ever teach you not to go through a girl's notebook?" I finally glance at him, and he turns to meet my eye.
"I wasn't very close to my sisters growing up. Jane was in elementary and Amelia was being a teenager so we didn't really talk much, and then I...I had my...incident...so we didn't talk much then, either."
"So what changed?"
"What?"
"You're close with them now. What changed?"
"I'm close with Amelia." He corrects. "And after everything happened, I made sure to build up my relationships with my family. I wanted to regain their trust, and so I did."
"That's good." Is all I can manage. "It's good you're close with your family." I turn back to my plate.
I wish I was close with my family. Except my only family is my mother, and I'm already close with her.
Unless you count my father. I've never considered him family. Maybe once upon a time, but never now. Not after everything he's put me through.
Not after everything he's still putting me through.
"So..." He mumbles. "Who was your song about?"
"You couldn't guess?" I retort. It's a rhetorical question, and I'm sure he knows it, too.
"Didn't want to be self-centered." I roll my eyes. "It was a good song." He adds.
I snort. "Yeah, right."
"It's true. It would've done well if you were to publish it." He tells. And a small part of him believes him.
But then my dad's voice is nagging in the back of my head. "Your dream is just a stupid dream, and that is all it will ever be!"
