The Lucky One (2) - Taylor Swift

30

"Is that- is that your mum?" Eleanor asked with an open jaw that resembled the two significant others that had yet to say a thing about the statement she was obviously making.

"Sadly," Grace cleared her throat, a pickup on Taylor's nervous habit that wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the blonde if every single eye in the room wasn't suddenly on the odd one out. It was a very big no to wear any white at all to the funeral of someone in that circle, and yet there she was, not a drop of black in her outfit.

Jennifer scanned the room for the table of people she wanted to see while William quickly approached her, likely in an attempt to salvage the family reputation even the slightest bit after the recent downtown, or as some would say, drop to rock fucking bottom.

"Hello," Jennifer smiled at the group of adults gathered around the table in the back. Parker was up in a flash to keep her back but as though they had read the other's mind, Michael and Grace were quick to tell him it was fine. The woman could shoot daggers with her words but she was physically harmless unless she was making a comment about the slight and healthy weight gain Grace had gone through since she and Taylor had started cooking at home more and there was no private gym to visit most days.

"Hello," Grace stood and took the lead. She kept herself together as she said, "What an impolite outfit for the occasion."

"White symbolizes rebirth and renewal, two things I plan to experience now that your father has finally died," Jennifer folded her hands together and rested them alongside her waist, "It took twenty-five years of having the chef feed him food cooked in bacon grease but finally, here we are. Oh, is it not beautiful? Do you not taste the freedom? It tastes like the finest champagne."

"Been tasting it for almost eight years, Jen," Michael decided to speak although he did not stand to address her and did his best to use his forged American accent, "And you're fucking hammered. Go home before you embarrass yourself."

"My sweet boy," she approached him and placed her hands on his clean shaven cheeks, "It has been so long. How are you? You have grown so much."

"I'm going to suggest you take your hands off of my husband's face before I remove them for you," Amber did not mess around. Her mother had been raised in the heart of Texas and after spending quite a few summers there, she knew how to roll her words to come off intimidating enough.

"She isn't joking," Michael put his own hands on the woman's arms and moved them off. She was clearly intoxicated well beyond her limit with bloodshot crazy eyes and a voice that bellowed throughout the two storey room.

"Gracie Ann! My only daughter... shame I could not say the same for your father. Telling the press about the other and leaving was the best decision I could have made," she moved on quickly— too quickly for comfort and approached Grace to do the same strange, out of place gesture.

That was when Parker stepped between them and crossed his arms over his chest. He told her in the same tone one would warn a child about to do something stupid that they should know better than to do, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"She is my child, you pathetic neanderthal."

"Are you ready to leave?" Grace asked and in an instant, they were up and headed towards the door as William had security usher Jennifer upstairs and away from the crowd. It turns out that Jennifer had brought paparazzi with her, stood outside the gate ready to capture the group of people who were the least likely in existence to attend Robert Kent's funeral besides Jesus and the twelve disciples themselves.

Grace, do you have a comment on your father's passing?

Michael, what have you been doing for the last seven and a half years?