GAME OVER ━━ Lip Gallagher

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

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Game Over
chapter forty two

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                    THERE WAS MOMENTS WHERE SHE REGRETTED GETTING IN THE MIDDLE OF GALLAGHER DRAMA. This was one of them. She had to suck it up. She had to stop wallowing in her own self pity and get up. She needed to go back to school, which was a big reason why she even went to the Gallagher household. She used the spare key to open the back door, only to be greeted by the two people she never expected to see in the same room together ever again. "Phoebe!" Frank cheered as the girl walked in, hand frozen on the doorknob. Her eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise. "Did Hell freeze over?" she suddenly asked, fingers twisting the knob once more. The sound of the latchbolt sliding in and out proved that this was real life instead of a dream. "Wow. Are those pancakes?" The batter was a little too syrupy for her, but it smelled amazing regardless.

          "Come in. Come eat breakfast." Frank waved her forward, but Monica only eyed her. Phoebe was sure the blonde was still mad at her for what happened before. "I can't," she sighed, though she'd love to sit down and dig in with a glass of orange juice. "Is Ian up yet? We're supposed to walk to school together." Frank shook his head, hair whipping around his face. She glanced toward Monica for a moment before setting her bag onto one of the chairs. "It smells good," she admitted, taking a few tentative steps toward the cooking station. "Lip?" Her head picked up at the sound of Fiona's voice, shock becoming evident on her face. "Shit," she whispered, hurriedly grabbing her bag, only resulting in it tumping the chair over onto its back. "Shit," she cursed again, one hand flying to her forehead with a smack. "Good morning, sweetheart!"

          Phoebe pulled her backpack closer to her chest and was quick to run when Fiona snapped at her. "Don't you move," she warned the younger girl. The brunette released a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging. She had been avoiding Fiona for days since Lip landed on their couch. "We don't have any money." Frank navigated through the kitchen with a bottle of beer in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other. Phoebe stood next to the washing machine and glanced between the family members. "Mimosa, anyone?" Frank offered, already pouring himself a glass of the liquids mixed. Yes, please, thought Phoebe. The tension was sliced through by the ringing of Fiona's phone. "Stay." She pointed toward the young girl before turning her back,
answering the phone.

          "Pancake?" Monica turned to Phoebe. Her face was impassive. Phoebe's fingers tightened around her backpack, wide eyes staring back at the woman. "Yes, please," she responded, her voice small, nervous. Monica plated one of the finished ones and poured a bit of syrup over it before holding it out for the brunette. "You need some meat on your bones." Phoebe stared at the plate for a moment before crossing the room to take it from her hands. "Thank you." Phoebe took the fork she was handed next and perched herself beside the washing machine. It smelled so sweet, filling her senses with a sense of calm familiarity. "Okay, well how much is that gonna cost?" She took her first bite and hummed, pleased with the sugary taste of the syrup.

          Her head whipped over toward Fiona curiously. Her attitude had changed drastically, her tone sad. "I–I have to call you back with an answer. Thank you." She sighed, her glassy eyes warm with tears. Monica shifted on her feet. Frank looked guilty of something. The tension had returned, thicker than it had ever been before. "Grammy died?" Phoebe choked on the bite she was swallowing in surprise. Grammy wasn't the nicest lady. She almost killed Carl, and she left the house smelling like a meth lab for weeks, but she was still their family. The waver in Fiona's voice was enough evidence that the death was a surprise and not a good one. "Honey, I am so sorry," Monica said, rounding the counter where she resided. She was quick to reach Fiona's side, but the younger woman backed away in distaste.