Maybe Scott is a Better Son Than I'll Ever Be

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A/N: this is not necessary to read, but I would appreciate it. It's a self-promo, so if you don't like those, feel free to skip to where the chapter starts, with the word "Christmas".

I love how much great feedback this story has been getting. I've been working really hard on it. However, I have also worked equally as hard on my stories Because I Met You, Unorthodox, and Taste. I would really love to see some more feedback on those stories as well. If you're looking for more Scomiche fanfiction, I would love to see you read those. Thank you so much!

Anyway, onto this exciting chapter of Scent :)

Christmas was like any other day for me this year. I mean, I usually don't do anything anyway, but this year was the first where I was disappointed that it didn't mean anything. I actually have a friend this year that I thought would've possibly invited me to a Christmas celebration (cough, Scott). However, that is not the case. I reminded myself numerous times that I would be going on a road trip with him soon enough, and that kept me going. So today is new Christmas. December 26th, the day Scott and Lindsey and I take on a four hour drive just to make awkward small talk with Mr. Grassi. Fantastic.

No, really, I think I'm tricking myself into not being excited because honestly, I'm really, really excited to spend this time with Scott, and even a little excited to see my dad again.

Scott insisted we take his car because Lindsey has her games already stuffed in the back, and plus, he begged to be the one to drive. I didn't put up too much of a fight. Consequently, I am now waiting for a text saying here.

It comes ten minutes after we had discussed he should arrive, but I get out any comments I have about that before I get into the car. He apologizes, but we're quickly on our way. Right away he starts finalizing plans with me for the pastry party. We had decided on the second saturday after the New Year rolls in. That's sneaking up on us, and Scott is beginning to panic. I took off the whole week starting January 8th to help him set up and prepare.
Since we have an ample amount of time on this utterly straight, mostly freeway drive, we run over the schedule a few times, making sure everything is in place. Lindsey listens to music while we do this, and when I glance back, I just know she's mouthing the words to Frozen.

I keep glancing back at her until she takes notice, removes an earbud, and says, "What?"

"I like your hair." She has it down and brushed so it frames her face.

She smiles widely and thanks me. But as I continue to look at her, something dawns on me. She still has a middle part. I promised her a long time ago that when she got her hair done that we'd get rid of it. I can't believe I forgot. That is priority number one when we get back home.

The drive goes pretty fast. At one point we're listening to Aerosmith's Dream On and I get so into it that I end up screeching at the end, then flopping lifeless when the song ends. I honestly live for Scott's amused face when I peek open my eyes. "You know, you sound just like Steven Tyler."

I grin and sit normally again. "I try."

But that's pretty much the only really exciting part of the drive. I'm content with just being in the same vicinity as Scott. Things seem to be going back to how they used to be little by little.


I direct Scott when we enter my hometown. Surprising myself, I know each road still and can easily guide him through the streets until we're right outside my dad's, and my old, house, right on the edge of the neighborhood and right before the forest hits.

Scott's tires crunch on the gravel of my driveway. He isn't used to unpaved roads, or at least that's what I infer from the scrunch of his face when he pulls in. I take a few deep breaths before getting out. Scott watches me to make sure I'm okay, make sure I'm not feeling incredibly sick (" vomiting sick" as he put it), and then, when he's somewhat convinced, gets out and grabs the coolers full of our future Christmas meal. He and Lindsey wait outside my door for me.

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