Getting Chased

Chapter 19

I check my smile in the mirror before we embark on the long drive to my dad's house. Pulling my cheeks back as far as they can go to accommodate a large grin looks so false a frown immediately takes its place. I give up after a couple more attempts, slumping against my bathroom wall. Two dresses sit in front of me, splayed across my sink counter. One looks classic Thanksgiving- maroon with cute flowers, while the other looks girly and frilly.

I hold them each against my body, criticizing both. The maroon one is beautiful, but it makes me look childish. The frilly pink one is the only other thing I have for the occasion, and it brings out the -wow- brown in my eyes.

I shimmy into the first to test it as two sharp taps hit the bathroom door.

"Ava, I know you already did your hair and makeup. What are you doing?" Sam's voice filters through the door. "We have to leave in fifteen minutes, okay?"

We rented a car for this specific occasion, since we have to drive to my dad's house. I shout an okay to Sam, listening as his footsteps get farther away. I shut my eyes, resting my head.

I don't know what entity in the sky was on my side when it delivered Sam to me on a greasy subway seat, but I'm forever grateful. He is what I'm thankful for today.

He is the only reason my cupboards are empty, he is the only reason I smile on a daily basis. Without Sam, I would be facing this anxiety inducing day all alone, but he's here with me. The feeling that he's not going anywhere is comfort in itself.

I walk out of the bathroom in my pink dress, arms above my head. When I reach the living room, my arms are up and I'm modeling the outfit. Sam presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh.

My arms fall to my sides. "What?"

He tries to tell me I look great, but the look on my face is clearly saying 'No BS tolerated' because he stops midsentence.

"It's a little... ballerina?" He tilts his head, observing the poofy tulle skirt, the slightly puffed shoulders. I pirouette and saunter back to the bathroom, replacing it with the maroon dress, tying the strings in the back.

I spin around the livingroom for him, and he applauds, egging me on. I stop dancing before I begin to sweat. "So?"

Sam nods. "It's perfect. You're beautiful."

He says it very matter-of-fact, like it's not really a compliment. I grin, slipping my feet into two inch heels so I can still run away when my dad inevitably chases me with a shovel for being a bad kid.

Sam asked me several times if he's allowed to be snotty to my "wad of sweaty, poop wiped socks of a Dad" today. I denied him on all accounts. As much as my dad sucks, it's Thanksgiving. Why not just keep the peace?

He also asked if we should visit my mom, but I assured him that she'd already be too drunk to know what day it is, let alone the holiday.

Sam leads me to the rental car, an old -I mean old- blue jeep. I sit in the passenger seat, lost in listening to Sam singing goofily along with the radio. He gasps as an old Taylor Swift song hits the station, turning it up.

"I used to hear this every day at work for a month. I used to hate it; guess I miss it now."

I smile and belt out the lyrics to Our Song with him, shouting it out of my window. I didn't even know I knew the words to that song. I laugh at Sam's dance moves, keeping my eyes on the road because he hasn't driven in years, due to the available public transportation.

I admire him from my seat, sunlight slanting onto his unfairly handsome features. If I had to think about it, he may not be the prettiest guy I've ever seen, but he's up there. My adoration toward him might cloud my judgment, but I like him.