Perfect Teeth by Sylvia Wrath

in the name of science.

Thanksgiving was not a thing that was had in the UK, but if there was one thing my mother was adamant about, it was having me home for the holiday. She didn't put her foot down on much when it came to my life and my decisions, but she was determined when it came to Thanksgiving. Especially when I told her that I no longer had classes, just a two-week study period that went into December to prepare for finals.

"Do you want me to e-mail your boss?" She asked, clipped tone full of exasperation as she sighed into the phone. "Because I will. Emphasizing the importance of Thanksgiving and family."

"That won't be necessary." I rolled my eyes, glad that she couldn't see me, and sighed into my seat. I was on the third floor of the library, backed into a corner cubicle that looked out onto a parking lot and a portion of the London skyline. "Considering I'm nineteen and not six, you don't have to talk to my boss for me. I'll just figure it out." I rubbed my forehead in frustration as I pulled up my calendar on my computer and squinted at the dates.

Technically, I was free of classes. There were two planned study groups (one for my chemistry class, one for media communications), six deadlines, and three work commitments all scheduled for the week leading up to Thanksgiving. Yes, logistically, I could shuffle them around. I could skip out on the study groups if I worked hard on my own and I could spend an entire day prefilming for Tongue in Cheek if there was a problem rescheduling. It was just that I didn't want to. I didn't want to ruin an entire week of planning and organization, especially when I was just starting to get into a rhythm that was accomplishing all of my schoolwork and video work, and giving me adequate socialization (read: tending to Harry's needy ass and Nick's constant request that I meet him for brunch after The Breakfast Show ended). It was Thanksgiving – yay for food, but nay for the premise really, and I had plans to fly home for Christmas anyway.

"Can I fly in Wednesday night and leave Thursday night?" I thought out loud, already pulling up the Expedia page.

"Do you hate us that much?" My mom questioned. "That we don't even get a full three days?"

I narrowed my eyes at the computer screen. "Thanks for the guilt trip." I said. "Shouldn't you be proud that I have a life and a job and am busy being mildly successful?"

"I'll be more proud of you when I can see you in the flesh. And what's the point of being successful if you can't use some of that money to visit your dear old mom and pop?"

"Dear old mom and pop?" I scoffed. "Please. Dad sent me a text the other day telling me that Ezra Koenig's twitter was funnier than mine and that I needed to step up my game." It especially pissed me off because I was the one who told him who Ezra Koenig was in the first place, and then he goes and betrays me like that.

"He just wants you at your best." I could sense her grinning over the phone.

"What about if I get in Wednesday night and leave Friday night? Is that good?"

"And risk driving in Black Friday traffic? You should leave Saturday."

"That like, triples the cost of my flight."

"Then leave Sunday."

"Mum."

"What? If you really want to be cost effective, you should fly out on Tuesday. And leave Monday. We would get you for an entire six days!"

"I have studying to do! Projects to finish!" I protested.

"Study on the plane." She said easily. "And I promise that we'll give you time to yourself while you're here."

"No you won't." I dismissed easily. "You'll keep dragging me to the movies that Dad didn't want to go to and Dad'll make me go with him to eat all of the Indian food that you hate and then you'll invite all of your friends over for dinner and parade me around like a show dog. I remember last Thanksgiving break and I was only forty-five minutes away then."

"Ezra," she used her soft, guilt-laden voice on me. "Please come home. I miss you." That broke me. She and Harry could never, ever meet, because together the two of them could break me down so easily. There was no home for firm, resolute Ezra, especially around guilt-tripping Marta Callil and drunk, cuddly Harry Styles.

"Fine." I sighed, conceding. "I'll work out the flight details and forward you the information, but you'll get me for at least five days. Are you satisfied?"

"Pleasantly so!" She said. "Now get to booking and I'll get to work. Talk to you later!"

"Bye, mom."

"Bye, Ezzie. Love you!"

"Love you too, ma."