-yet to be titled-

Food Fight

Christmas is my least favorite Holliday.
If you like that you'll LOVE my 9,000 other unpopular opinions.
But really though. It's so cliche. I don't care about gifts, I've never believed in Santa. I mean come on. A fat man flying on a slay with magical raindeer giving gifts to every little kid on the planet in one night? It's stupid.
But no the "real meaning" of the holiday is love and family, right? I just don't understand why we can't all do that every day. No, this July we're not gonna be thinking about "love and family" when aunt Millie divorces her 8th husband and has another breakdown. And we're not gonna be thinking about "love and family" in April when cousin Carter applies for food stamps when he "obviously" smokes pot. We're not going to be thinking about "love and family" when great uncle Miles dies and leaves people out of the will.
Gossip gossip gossip.
Christmas is a mask. And I hate it. I always get pissy this time of year. Why must our entire family come over? It wouldn't be so miserable if I could just spend it with mom, dad, Nick and Sarah.
My four parents, that's all I need.

"Gab love? Will you also bring me the grater if you find it?"
I had gone in the basement of our new house to find a crock pot to cook the Christmas dinner roast in. It had to be around here somewhere, shoved in one of the many boxes littering the floor.
We had moved right after my first hospitalization. The memories in that house... it was just bad for everyone. "A new start" mom had said. Yeah. A new start to be hospitalized twice more.
I trip over cardboard sprawling out on the floor face first, resulting in a startled yelp from Bear, who happens to follow me everywhere.
Clingy little shit.
"Everything okay down there?" Mom called from the kitchen.
Grunting and sitting up in my elbows I yell back "Yeah I'm good. When are we gonna get all of these boxes unpacked?"
"Oh maybe someday." She grumbles.
My pocket buzzes and I groan.
"Hello?" I say picking up the phone.
"Gabbie, how are you."
"I'm good Simon," I giggle, "how are you?"
"I'm fantastic. I was thinking we could get together and read today, what do you think?"
"Simon, it's Christmas Eve."
"Oh is is that today?" Cocky bastard. I could almost feel him winking through the phone.
"Yes Simon it is today. My family and I are cooking now so I don't think that would work." I sat up criss cross applesauce, Bear nudging his way into my lap.
"That's perfect actually!"
"What?"
"I'm an excellent cook. No doubt your food could use my magic touch."
"Please don't touch our food."
His laugh is like poring honey in my ears.
"You know what I mean, plus I know you're dying to see me." Cocky. I smile.
"Is that why you called me?"
"Exactly! I'll be there in 20 alright?"
"Simon you don't even know where I live!"
"Which is whyyy," He stretches out the word for emphasis and I hold in my giggle, "you're going to text me your address when I hang up."
"We'll see." I say hitting the end call button and immediately send him my address.
Prick.
And yet somehow, I hadn't thought of Maria the rest of the day.

My parents were way too excited about meeting Simon, I decided. His worn down dodge pulled into our driveway and my parents practically squealed. "You've never had a boy over." Mom had said in a pinched voice making me roll my eyes.
When he shook their hands, addressing them by "Mr." And "Mrs." they fell in love.

"So let's get to cooking, yeah?" He had said clapping me on the shoulder, his hand lingering a bit too long.

Now my mom stood in the place next to him, her delicate hands chopping, and his peeling. They chatted about absolutely everything while Nick and I nabbed whatever food they didn't keep an eye on.
"Why don't you two make yourselves useful and get the sauce going, hmm?" Mom said, obviously trying very hard to sound annoyed. She winked at me.
"Indeed. I do believe we've done the bulk of the work already." Simon chimes in giving my mother an eyeroll directed towards us. She smiled at him. Prick.
"Fine fine." I practically purr. "But first-" I fling a carrot pice at Simon, hitting him square on the nose.
He yelped jumping back before a near feral grin spread across his face.
"Oh you're gonna regret that." He growls and leaps after me. We run around the house, a handful of carrot chunks each. Throwing a dodging. I feel as though I should have war paint smeared all over my face and a pigs head on a spear. I aim for home, right at his head, Lord of the Flies style- and miss.
Hitting Nick instead.
"Hey!" He chuckles. "Leave me out of this war." As he turns a piece thumps him right in the back of the head, rolling down his shirt. Simon and I look at each other and burst into laughter while my mom gathers more carrots, a blush on her cheeks, and light in her eyes.
"Oh now it's really on." Nick says and lunges for the vegetables.
I bolt around the corner, giving Simon no time to think I launch my whole handful at his face. He didn't even flinch as he scooped me up in his arms, tickling me to death.
"That's what you get Gabbie!" He's laughing. And I'm laughing harder.
"Simon! Simon put me down!" I squeal through my giggles.
He tosses me over his shoulder like I'm nothing and replies "I'll put you down, but first, repeat after me. 'Simon is the most lovely, handsome, devilish person in the whole world.'"
"You're an insufferable prick, that's what you are."
"Wrong answer!" He puts me down on the couch, belly up, only to begin tickling me again.

It was the most fun I had had in months.