Saving Sawyer | ✓

Chapter 07 | Only Weirdos Like Mushroom Pizza

“Okay, well, hurry up, because I think that we’re leaving pretty soon,” I reply, standing up and walking over to my closet, pulling it open.

“You know, you’re really lucky that my parents are vegetarians and are refusing to make a tradition dinner tonight,” She tells me with a sigh.

“Yeah, your parents are weird people,” I chuckle. I don’t say that because they’re vegetarians though (that’s pretty cool) but they really are weird.

“I know,” Aspen sigh dramatically. “I’ve been thinking about getting emancipated but then I’d have to get a job and working isn’t really for me.”

“Yep, I do recall those two weeks that you interned with me at the hospital,” I laugh at the memory of when I got her a job and she kinda sucked.

“Okay, you know what? It was three weeks and what kind of person doesn’t freak out when a man with a gunshot wound to the face comes in?”

“A person who can handle a crisis,” I reply with another laugh as I sift through my closet and pull out a dress to wear.

“Oh whatever,” Aspen replies. “I’m going to get my doughnut and maybe make out with the beautiful boy in your kitchen.”

“You do that,” I call after her as she leaves my bedroom, closing the door.

In case you’re wondering where exactly we’re going, it’s Worcester. Worcester is this really big city that’s almost exactly an hour away from my home here in Andover. That’s where my paternal grandparents live and today is Thanksgiving, so my mother feels the need to force Beckett and me to accompany her in having Thanksgiving dinner with them. Like you just learned, Aspen’s parents are vegetarians, which means that they’re not going to be making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and stuffing and all that kind of stuff (according to Aspen, they make like, tofu) so that’s why she’s coming with us. Brett is riding down there with us too, which annoys me but apparently, he’s Beckett’s new best friend.

I really don’t even want to go down there to see them, mostly because of the fact that they’re my paternal grandparents, which means that they’re my father’s parents. I just already know that it’s going to be really extremely awkward since my parents are separated and whatnot. Not to mention the fact that my dad is incarcerated, so he obviously won’t be there. Then there’s the fact that neither Beckett nor I have seen our grandparents since we were eighteen and fourteen, respectively, which is only going to add to the awkwardness. My mother is really serious about it though and I don’t think that it’s that she wants to go and visit them, I think it’s just that she’s being lazy and doesn’t wanna cook dinner.

I get out of my pajamas then (it’s like, 5 o’clock in the afternoon but I didn’t get changed out of my pajamas earlier today because I wasn’t really planning on doing anything at all except for painting Flynn until my mother so rudely ambushed me with this dumb overnight trip to Worcester) and then step into the dress, pulling it on.

I was all for wearing just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to my grandparents’ house but my mom told that that wouldn’t be appropriate for a Thanksgiving dinner, which isn’t true at all. This dress is really pretty though, so I don’t mind too much, having to wear it. It’s sleeveless with a pleated neckline and the top of it is an off white color, while the skirt part of the dress is a vibrant, solid mint color with tiny white polka dots printed across and lastly, there’s a thick black band thing around my midsection.

Once I have the dress on and zipped, I take a pair of suede, mint-colored platform shoes out of my closet and then plop down on my bed, slipping them on. They’re pretty classy shoes, I think and they’re platform, which means that I won’t want to cut my own feet off tonight with a machete from the pain that comes with wearing high heels for extended periods of time. I run my fingers through my hair a few times because I really don’t plan on actually brushing it or anything like that for two reasons. One, I’m about to sit in a car for an hour, so it’d be kind of stupid to get it all dolled up when I already know I’m probably gonna fall asleep like I always do on car rides longer than forty-five minutes. And two, it’s not like we’re going to see anyone I particularly care about impressing.