Achievement Guide to Gavin Free

Chapter Twenty . . . Thanksgiving in England

Chapter Twenty . . . Thanksgiving in England.

Cat's POV

Cat at age seventeen

Thanksgiving Day

I scrambled around the kitchen, trying to finish cooking on the 'joyous' holiday, but it didn't exactly seem too 'joyous' with your mother passed out in her bedroom and your father favoring your younger sister by letting her watch the big parade on t.v. while I had to do all the cooking.

Something smelt like it was burning and I realized that I had a pie in the oven. "Oh shit!" I cried out as I ran to the oven and pulled out the now burnt apple pie. What did I do wrong?

I looked over the instruction in the cookbook and saw that the directions said to cook it at 345 degrees. I looked over at the oven and saw that I set it at 354 degrees.

I put my head down on the counter and wanted to cry but I refrained from doing so. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I threw the pie in the garbage. "Who ate apple pie on Thanksgiving anyway?" I asked out loud as I turned to finish up the rest of the food.

"Catherine, that food better be done soon, I'm starving." I heard my father shout from the other room.

"Yes, father." I yelled back and turned to the masterpiece I had laid out on the counter, the turkey.

For someone, who didn't really cook, especially a Thanksgiving meal, this looked awesome.

I picked up the turkey and set it down on the dinning room table as I stared at the feast I had slaved doing all day.

My stomach growled as I realized I hadn't eaten at all today, but I pushed the pain away, and instead went to the living room where my sister was sitting on my father's lap giggling.

"Dinner is ready." I announced and he gave me a nod.

"Should I get mom?" I asked and my sister was the first to jump in.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" He laughed at her response before glaring at me.

"Wouldn't be Thanksgiving without her would it?" He said cruely, just as my mother walked into the room.

"No, it wouldn't. Now why don't we go eat." I felt like you could cut the tension with a knife, as I watched my mother and father glare at each other with much hate.

Together, as a family, we walked into the dinning room and sat down in our spots at the table.

"This looks good, Cat." My sister said as she dug into her plate.

"Thank you."

"It looks . . . okay?" My father noted while picking up a piece of turkey with his fork almost in disguist.

"I want pie!" My sister suddenly declared and I bit my lip.

"We . . . we don't have pie." I watched as my father's head shot up.

"Well, why not?"

"I-I mixed up the numbers and burnt it." I mumbled, but loud enough that he could still hear.

There was dead silence as I watched my father twirl his fork, and my mother downed her glass of wine.

"I'm sorry." I whispered to them.