Roommates with a Player

Chapter Twenty Three: Keeping Promises [THANKSGIVING SPECIAL]

(back to) Emma’s P.O.V.

            Of all the embarrassing, nerve-racking, and terrifying things I’ve had to do in my life, having Thanksgiving with my too-good-for-anyone relatives beat every other thing. I’d been woken up by a panic attack, which followed with a hysterical sob session, and then ended with me raiding the kitchen for chocolate. You could say it was my way of dealing with my problems.

            But as I shakily put on some mascara, I felt my breathing hike dangerously high. The intoxicating smells of roasted turkey and stuffing wafted upstairs and made my stomach twist. The noise of cheery houseguests being welcomed inside bubbled up and into my ears. It was almost time…

            “It’ll be like your debut to the Stephens family!” Michelle had announced last night when I’d finally found the courage to broach her on the subject.

            “So, I’m not allowed to go and celebrate Thanksgiving with Maggie’s family?” I’d asked.

            “We’re not letting you get out of this one, kiddo,” Henry had teased and I nearly burst into tears.

            I glossed my lips for the third time, puckered, and slowly backed away to get a full look at my prettied self.

            An impatient knock pounded on the bathroom door.

            “Hurry it up, Princess! My family is not one to be kept waiting,” Ricky’s voice warned.

            I opened the door slowly and stepped out. Ricky took me in, his mouth dropping slightly. I almost did the same, but kept myself composed. Ricky actually looked pretty decent. He wore a blue dress shirt with some khaki pants. His hair was combed back, but still kept its cute messiness. His coffee-colored eyes glinted with confidence.

            “Wow. You look…you look…” he trailed off, seeming to have a hard time forming sentences.

            I felt my cheeks redden and I looked away, self-conscious. Michelle had insisted I wear this ridiculously tight, over-expensive, revealing dress for the occasion. It was the only thing I had to wear, as none of my $15 dollar, washed out dresses were going to cut it.

            Ricky cleared his throat and grabbed my hand. The sudden connection of our hands sent a shock through my system. I let Ricky tug me to the top of the stairs. My legs shook badly and I gripped Ricky’s hand tighter.

            “Don’t make me go,” I silently begged.

            He paused for a second, looking deep into my eyes. I saw a flash of sympathy in his expression. Ricky had no idea what I was going through. I was nothing in the eyes of these people, just another person to tear apart with their incessant judgment. And wasn’t Ricky the one who’d wanted to keep me from that?

            “I’m sorry, Princess. I don’t really have a choice. I’m the one who has to escort you down,” he whispered, pulling me to his side.

            His arm slipped around my waist and rested on my hip. I pressed myself to him, ready to hide if I got the chance. We slowly descended down the stairs. I still couldn’t see my audience, but I knew they could see me. I took each stair at a time, careful not to trip in my absurdly high high-heels.

            At last they came in to view. I first spotted Charlie, who was perched on the couch, eagerly awaiting my arrival. He hopped up from his seat and ran to the foot of stairs, a grin on his face. He was dressed as proper as Ricky, but his shirt was un-tucked and his hair was a mess. I had the urge to come over and scruff it up some more.