Ross Lynch Imagines

Thanksgiving

    "Is this the house?" In the driver seat, Ross points his index finger in the direction of a white Victorian house on the margin of the narrow street, an array of cars jam-packed in the gravel driveway. A few white Christmas lights are already streaming through the trees, but also a mix of pumpkins and a Happy Thanksgiving! flag is flapping in the brisk November wind. You peer out of the window, spotting your parent's car parked in between a bunch of other relatives' cars. Memories flashback from your childhood of coming here to visit your grandparent's, the house your mother grew up in with her two other siblings. And once her and her sisters moved out and created families, they started visiting with their kids, until your grandparents passed away years ago, but one of your aunts bought the house to keep it in the family. Now your aunt and uncle live here, previously your cousin as well until he moved out. So many memories have been in this house for decades and still the annual gathering for Thanksgiving continues.

  "It is," you clarify with excitement laced in your voice. "Park there," you point to the front of the house where there was still space left for Ross's car. As Ross turns the steering wheel, adjusting the car to line up along the beginning of the yard, you begin to notice his apprehensive demeanor. He's tapping his fingers nervously on the stitching of the wheel, his lips are tightly pressed together in a frown,  his eyebrows are knitted together firmly in concentration, and you can tell his shoulders are stiff, even underneath the material of his jean jacket, which you insisted he not wear because it's not West coast weather like he's use to, it's the end of November in the East Coast and it's freezing, making every inch of your body feel numb. You love the jean jacket on him with the furry collar, it makes him look hot and cuddly all at the same time, but it's just too cold. Nonetheless, getting back to the point, you know Ross is nervous to meet your family for the first time. He's not only meeting your parents for the first time, but he's meeting your extended family as well, adding on the pressure. He probably feels like he has impress everybody all at once, and you know they'll all be staring at him intently and evaluating him, which will only make Ross feel more anxious. Not to mention it's Thanksgiving, a family holiday, and you two will be staying at your aunt's house for the long weekend. If this goes badly, it's not like you two can leave after, because you still got the entire weekend ahead of you. But Ross is amazing, and even if you two have only been together for a few short months, he means a lot to you and you know they'll love him.

  Ross puts the car in park, snapping you out of your thoughts. You unfasten your seatbelt, reaching over to open your door, when you catch a glimpse of Ross frozen in his spot, not even attempting to move. You sink back into your seat, turning your head to look at him. "Ross," you say softly, confusion embedded in your tone. "What are you doing? We're here, and it's freezing cold—let's go inside."

  "No Y/N," he glances over at you, his deep honey eyes widen with a deer in the headlights look. He shakes his head, "I don't think I can do this." His voice is shaky and unstable. You've never seen him like before. Not even when you met his family you were this nervous, but then again you met them a week after Ross asked you to be his girlfriend and your entire family is just meeting him now on Thanksgiving three months after you two got together. Your parents don't mind that they didn't meet Ross until today, because you live on the West Coast now and they're still here, in the East. Besides, you've told them about Ross. You've told them that he works at a record shop as of now, but he's in a band with his close friend and three of his siblings and they just signed a deal with a record label company, their first direction to making it big, and you told him he's talented, responsible, well-mannered, a gentleman, adventurous, family-oriented, and traditional. You've told them everything they want to hear, and it's all true.

  "Of course you can," you tell him encouragingly. "I was nervous when I met your family, too."

   "Yeah, but I'm the guy," Ross states with a deep sigh, combing his fingers through his blonde locks that he gelled in the airport bathroom, and messing it all up. "I'm the irresponsible, rebellious, impulsive, hormonal, asshole boy that's dating their daughter and screwing her up on the other side of the country. They haven't even met me yet and we've been together for three months—they must hate me. I know I would."