The Transplant ✔️

11. Family Gathering

Jolie's POV:

"Jolie, get over here this minute!" I was convinced by my evil mother to go to dinner with the Boston's. I had no desire to spend my night with a bunch of arrogant men, but to make my mother happy, I was going to go through with it.

Deciding to go with the transplant was a struggle in itself, but now I was going to be in my donor's home? That's a totally different ballgame. Being stuck inside four walls with Jobe Boston was on the bottom of my list of things that I wanted to do.

I guess I shouldn't complain like a little brat. For one reason or another, I was getting a new kidney so dwelling on any of the unimportant facts serve no justice.

"I'm coming, gosh!" I opened my bedroom door, stepping out into the hallway and peaking through my brother's door.

"Emeric, you're lucky you don't have to come. For once, I wish I could sit here and sleep like you." I knew Emeric could not hear me, his earphones in both ears and his back against the bed. He was completely out of it, and boy, do I wish I was sleeping, also.

Feeling my stomach growl, I advanced towards the kitchen to grab a quick snack to eat. I didn't want to ruin our supper, so a small square of chocolate would have to suffice.

"Jolie, is that what you're wearing?" My mother, bless her heart, never walked out of the house wearing anything but fancy dresses or work attire. I preferred jeans, shirts I'm not afraid of spilling on, and comfortable footwear. Every now and then I don't mind dressing up, but this was not one of those times.

"Mia Drake, yes, this is what I'm wearing." Mom hated when I called her by a formal name and if I wasn't so old, she'd probably slap me.

"Get in the car, please." Instead of slapping me, she shook her head in annoyance.

I started walking out of the house, with mom following after.

"What's in your hand?" I asked, looking at the tin pan just below the length of her chestnut hair.

"I made a pecan pie, and I have a few fig tarts sitting on the passenger side in a ziploc. Be careful not to sit on them."

"I thought it was common courtesy to cook for the guests." I griped.

"It's a house full of boys; I'm sure there not much familiar with baking, honey." She laughed.

"Right, well let's get this done with."

I was bitter, I admit, but Jobe had crossed many thin lines, one being the insults that his friend made toward brother, and two being the constant self-absorbed behavior like he's better than me and everyone around him.

**

I sat on the fig tarts, regardless of being warned, and let's just say, the ziploc was open.

I'm not sure what was more maddening: meeting the Boston's with fig butt, my mother's lack of care to turn back around for a change of clothes, or my own bitterness for my own stupidity of sitting on the edibles.
I was careful walking into Jobe's home, hiding my heiny wherever I went. The housemaid requested to get me a new pair of pants when my mother blurted out my accident. Since the men were not present at the dinner table yet, I decided I could make a quick change.

I was escorted by the maid to a dressing room, only to be disappointed that there were only tiny girl clothes.

"Uhm, I can't fit any of these." My fat behind couldn't fit a six, much less a negative six pants!

"I'm sorry, miss. May I recommend some sweat pants." She points to the back of the master dressing room, and I noticed quite a few pairs of grey sweat pants.