Umbrellas

☂ soirées, blue jazz, and finger sandwiches

     (Does their extended family breed like rabbits?)

     "No, but Jamie is the one that had his sweet sixteen-"

     To Hudson's extreme discomfort, he finds out that his worst prediction about the party has come true: Aspen's parents are exactly like her. As in, they find the vaguest connections between topics and jump at the chance to connect them.

     (Like seriously, the entire thing started because Hudson wore this goddamn shirt in the first place. That shirt really sucks. He never liked it much anyway.)

     Aspen makes a sound in the back of her throat that sounds like something between a grunt and a groan. This goes unnoticed by everyone in the room except Hudson.

     "But last year-"

     "No, it was two years that-"

     Kill. Me. Now.

     Just when he is about to curl into an eternal ball of misery, his saviour comes in the least expected of forms; in the form of Aspen McKinley, which is pretty ironic considering that she is now both the root and solution to all of his problems.

     "Okay, well, um, we'd better get going then. Better introduce him to everyone else before we eat and all," Aspen says, cutting off her mom's engrossing tale about the pinstripe polo shirt.

     Aspen's mother blinks owlishly at her daughter's remark. "Oh dear, I rambled, didn't I?" she asks.

     Aspen grunts again, and hurriedly tugs Hudson's sleeve so that they can leave.

     "Well, go on and introduce him-"

     "Especially to Uncle Joe, he's a riot!" Mr. McKinley suggests.

     "Yes, you'd love his jokes because-"

     "But some aren't age appropriate-"

     "Alright, we're going!" Aspen half sings under her breath, grinning and speedwalking away.

     Aspen's dad grabs his hand and shakes it firmly again before he has the change to escape. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Hudson!" he says, even though they've hardly uttered two words to each other.

     Still, Hudson finds himself responding, "Um, you too," just for the sake of being polite as Aspen grabs his other hand and drags him out. He feels partially relieved for a moment, and then he remembers that she is whisking him away to introduce him to other people, which promptly makes him sad again.

     Really sad.

     He expects to be bombarded with more zealous handshakes and overly wide smiles, which is why he is pleasantly surprised when Aspen simply sits him down at the large main table without introducing him to anyone else. She looks like an odd mix of worn and vaguely resigned, like her parent's ramblings are always expected yet still fearfully dreaded.

     "Sorry about that," she says, her breath slightly winded. "My mom just really loves anecdotes. About shirts."

     After a moment, she adds, "Or anything, really."

     He lets out a strangled laugh. "It was interesting, though."

     (Not really, but Hudson has enough sense to be vaguely courteous.)

     Aspen looks at him wearily, and he has the eerie feeling that she can once again tell through his transparent lies. "Just about as interesting as watching paint dry," she says after a moment.