Hard to accept the end of a story that won the villain against heroes.~Toba Beta
Dedicated to the wonderful and always lovely, flower94123 for her crazy awesome comments and lovely votes. Thanks for the support!
Siena
So how many people actually like their families? I mean, sure, we love them and everything, but do we like them? I know at least, when I was younger, I would spend most of my time huddle up in my room because I didn't want to interact with them. We weren't exactly the Tanners. My philosophy is that because we choose our friends, we love and like them. But since we can't chose our family, we love them and are forced to stick by them. Our family's kinda forced to love us, our friends choose to. I think that's my philosophy. Or maybe I got that off a sentimental Tumblr post.
For many people, spending the holidays with their family is something of a beauty. They love staying at their childhood home with their siblings, singing sickening Christmas carols and telling each other stories about their life away from home. Why would you do that when the same thing can be achieved with an email or text? Then you can also go back to what you were doing.
Waking up the next morning, I felt premonition of a sense of dread. Or maybe it was just common sense, since we were going home today, and I got to spend the entire day there, along with having to leave really late at night because we had to eat dinner. Yay!
I hate spending the holidays at home. They just never appealed to me in general. The caroling, the small town spirit, enough lights to strangle a Santa Claus twenty-nine times. Wow, do I sound like a bitch or what. I can't help it. I was just never a very enthusiastic person when it came to holidays in Myers Park, New York.
Yep, that's right. I live in the most picturesque little town on the East Coast. I want to gag. This town wasn't like all those dramatic ones you see on TV, like Gatlin. (A/N: Reference anyone?)
No, this town was even worse. People could get out if they wanted, many just didn't choose to. Yep, that's right. People chose to stay here with their seven kids and two dogs and grills where they cooked hot dogs every Fourth of July and elderly people still knitted. Ugh, I want to throw up just thinking about it.
Growing up in a place like this, I never really saw the appeal of a small town, and I was pretty much the only one who didn't. Calli had the same attitude as me after she moved here from San Francisco, even though her parents loved it, but she was only here for senior year, and Dylan and Jake had lived their whole lives here.
I was the child in my family who couldn't wait to get away, probably why I left Myers Park right after graduation. Best decision ever. Coming back was painful.
Just looking out on Main Street, (we have a Main Street, that should tell you how cliche we are) I felt boredeom piling up in me. New York was different, like coming up for fresh air after being stuffed in a stuffy room for 15 years. Here in Myers Park, there were a few chain businesses, but it was mainly home operated business. We had a stationery store. Who the fuck has a stationary store anymore?
While driving, we passed pet salons, hair places, and insurance places, all of which I had never heard of before. I wrinkled my nose in disgust and stared out the window, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
Dylan glanced over at me while driving. I was still half asleep, since we had to leave New York by 6 to get here by 9, so he took the wheel. "Not feeling homesick?"
"I'm feeling homesick for the home I actually like." I muttered, staring in contempt at all the stores. What a sugar town.
"You couldn't avoid your mother forever. You know how Rose is."
"Trust me, she's so much better to you." I murmured, so softly he couldn't hear me. Charlotte heard me speaking, but decided it was nothing and burrowed down further into my lap. Strangely enough, Charlotte seemed dt be working like a therapy dog for me. As long as I had her in the car, my claustrophobia wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. All I had to do was focus on the dog.
After being absent for the majority of my life, my mother had decided she wanted to turn her life around, a few months too late. She had gone through this phase, where she was the perfect suburban wife, before falling back to the person she really was.
Only one thing changed. She and my father seemed determined to reconnect with their kids, and as a result I suffered weekly conversations with both of them. And she was harping on me to come to dinner this Christmas, since I already avoided Thanksgiving.
Dylan's parents, Lydia and Samuel, both were great people. They were like my secondary parents, and I fought with them just as much as I did with my real parents, but they always seemed to be more understanding. (While writing their names, I had to physically force my hand to write something other then Stiles)
"Here we are." Dylan said softly, pulling up in front of our houses. They were side-by-side, and built the same way. I got out and stared at them hopelessly. They looked so picture-perfect, so fake.
"Siena!" My mother said, rushing out and giving me a huge hug. "You're here!" She still had her lab coat on and her stethoscope around her neck, evidence that she had come home from the office and just fell asleep.
"Hey mom." I stood stiffly. I didn't like hugs too much, unless they were with- never mind. "How's Dad? Where is he?"
"Your father's trying to cook, but we all know how that goes." She smoothed down her jacket and took off her stethoscope, tucking it into her pocket. "Dylan." She gave him a hug too, but this one was reciprocated tightly. "How are you? Keeping Siena in line?"
He laughed and stepped away. "Of course." Just then, the door to the house on the right opened and a young boy, about fifteen, stepped out and rushed towards us.
"Hey Michael!" Dylan greeted his younger brother. "How's life."
"You gotta save me." He pleaded. "This town is so fake. I can't stand it."
You know how I said I was pretty much the only person in this town who wanted to get out? There was one exception. Michael, Dylan's younger brother, felt the same way I did.
"Hey Michael." I greeted, giving him a high-five. "Nice to see you."
Behind Michael walked out his mother, who was a stunning beauty. She had all of Dylan's features except his eyes, which his dad gave him.
"Lydia!" I greeted. I hugged her tightly. Lydia was really the only other person besides my sister and Dylan that I was ok hugging, and that's because she smelled like what dreams were made out of.
"Siena." She smelled like lavender and honey. "Dylan behaving?"
I smirked. "No."
"She's lying." He butted in.
"Who's this?" She asked, referring to the puppy, snoring contently in my arms.
I smiled for the first time that morning. "Dylan's Christmas present to me. Her name is Charlotte. Don't worry, she's completely house-broken."
"Oh she's adorable." Lydia cooed, stroking her hands over the lumbering puppy.
"At least you can do one thing right." Michael singgered.
Dylan glared at him. "Shut up."
"Oh you two must be famished." My mother said. "We'll get you steeled then you can have lunch. After that, it's time for us to go to the park and have fun!" She jumped up and down and clapped her hands, acting like a little kid. I forced a smile onto my face and shuffled inside, Wiping my feet on the carpet and taking off my shoes.
"When does Alessia get here?" I asked.
"You sister should be arriving at about lunch. Work held her up." My mother came over to me and helped me out of my jacket.
"I can do it myself." I said, wrenching it out of her grip. Hurt flashed across her expression, and I felt a stab of guilt. But she pushed it aside and continued talking. "I need your help with dinner today, are you free?" She clambered into the kitchen, where my father was staring puzzlingly at the pages of the cookbook.
"Hey." I greeted my father, who looked up. His face broke out into a wide smile. "Siena!" he came around the counter and shook my hand. "How are you? How's school?"
"Fine for both." I answered. "Mom, are you sure you want me to help with the cooking? Dylan will tell you the last time I cooked I nearly burnt the place down."
"It's fine." She waved. Just then, Charlotte yipped at my heels, drawing attention from my parents.
"Oh wow." My dad said. He had always been an avid lover of dogs and all animals. "She's the cutest thing. When did you get her?"
"Dylan got her for me." I explained. "He knew I wanted one, so this was his Christmas present to me."
"I see." My father said, standing up slowly. "Nice of him to do so." Something in his tone was off, but I pushed it aside. It probably wasn't a big deal.
"Rose, you are a fantastic cook, and so is Lydia," My father said, going to stand behind my mother and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Shouldn't you two try and cook this together?"
"We've already decided that. We're meeting at 10." My mother said, giggling as my father snuggled his face into her neck. "Matt, stop."
I watched my parents. Married for 25 years this year and still as much in love as ever. Was that really possible. I mean, my parents should be proof, but I still wasn't a huge believer.
"Umm, I'm going to take Charlotte upstairs." I picked up the dog and held her close, walking up the stairs carefully. My parents were in their own little world, like they always were around one another.
I placed Charlotte onto my bed, and she immediately snuggled her head in, falling asleep. I sat down on my bed next to her and stared around my room, taking in my sanctuary for fifteen years. The walls were painted a deep red and the bedspread was black and gray. Obviously, I had an affinity for the darker colors in our rainbows. I picked up the small figurine I had on my desk, the proudest moment, I had.
When I was five, I began to dance. Dancing is a grueling and tough sport, and I danced for hours on end, until my feet started to bleed. I was a ballerina, and that was the creativity that I allowed myself, being stifled by hours of homework. If I wanted, I could have continued professionally, but I didn't want to. I wanted to become a lawyer.
I set the figure down on the desk and trotted back downstairs. Lydia and Dylan had come in the back and were standing around the table, doing some fancy knife work that was totally lost on me. I went to stand by Dylan. "Why is it you all are so talented at making something other than a sandwich and I have trouble making that?" I muttered in his ear.
He smiled. "I don't know. A ton of hours watching The Food Network?"
I laughed and grabbed an apron from the rack, tying it around my waist. "Ok. What should I do?" My mother looked up. "Umm, why don't you get started on washing the vegetables, and then putting them in that large pot over there." She pointed to a large black pot sitting next to the stove on the counter. I nodded. Good. That was probably the only job I could pull off without messing it up completely.
We are worked and chatted for a few hours, until the dinner was completed around 2, stopping for lunch. Layla and Alessia swung by and helped us, then had to leave to go pick a few things up for their apartment. "Hey, when are we headed to the park?" Dylan asked my mother. She glanced at her watch. "I would say around 5. I'm going upstairs to take a nap. I was up all night at the hospital and I'm exhausted."
"Your dad's hung up at work, so I promised to help Michael with his lacrosse practice." My father said to Dylan, waving goodbye and exiting through the back. His mother mentioned that she had to take care of some business and left the house, leaving just me and Dylan in the kitchen.
I stared at all the food on the table, none of which I helped to make. "What are you thinking about?" Dylan said, crossing his arms and standing next to me.
"I can't cook, and since the rest of you can, I need to learn." I was determined to succeed. That's the thing about me. I have to be good at everything I do, otherwise I got very mad.
"Alright then. I'll teach you." Dylan said, going over to the fridge and pulling out a few more ingredients.
"And who's going to eat what I cook?" I asked, walking over to him. "We've made everything."
He shrugged. "We could always use a pie, plus, I need someone to help me cut the apples."
"Ok Dean Winchester." I smirked, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the bag of apples.
"All right, the first we need to do is make the crust and cut the apples, so I'll help you with the crust first, then we'll move onto the apples." He said.
"So you wanted to make sure the crust is just right, and to do that, all the ingredients need to be very, very cold." Dylan brought out the flour from the freezer and placed it on the kitchen counter. He turned around and started preheating the oven.
"All right. Next we measure out everything and pour it in." Once we did that correctly, we rlet the dough sit for one hour.
"So this needs to sit," he said, grabbing a few things from the pantry. "So we can cut the apples now.
I took an apple and began slicing it, before Dylan grabbed the knife and the fruit away. "What are you doing?"
"Umm, cutting the apple?" I replied, confused.
"No no no. You cut small pieces. Here, I'll show you." He placed his hands over mine and cut the apple, his arms brushing mine. "You cut through the fruit, let the blade do the work." he murmured in my ear.
My breath caught in my throat, and I kept my face focused downward. His arms were circling my body, pressing me into the counter, and I tried not to react in any other way.
"There." He said, letting go of me and stepping back. "Perfect." I started breathing again and cut the apple faster, finishing it within two minutes. I finished all the fruits and placed them in the dough, which he had rolled out and laced into the pan.
When we finally got the pie into the oven, it was 4;30, and almost time to go to the park. I collapsed on the couch, exhausted. "You know, no matter what I do, you're always going to be more talented than me." I murmured, disoriented from exhaustion.
"What are you talking about?" He sat down next to me and began to play with my hair, which I had let tumble down my back.
"You're the one who can cook and play the guitar amazingly and you're so nice to people. Everyone likes you." I stared up at the ceiling when suddenly his face appeared above me.
"You're an idiot, Siena. Top of the class, an accomplished dancer, plus you always say what's on your mind. I wish I could do that."
I laughed. "No, you really don't. It gets you into a lot of trouble."
Just then, someone walked into the room. "Oh. sorry guys." I lifted my head off Dylan's lap and took a look at the person. It was Layla, walking backwards and out of the room. "I just wanted to tell you guys that we're all getting ready to leave for the park. Dylan, Dad said he'll meet us there." She nodded at him.
"Thanks Layla." I called, as she was scurrying away.
"Man, I'm so tired." I said. "I don't want to go to the park."
"Well, we have to walk Charlotte, so we might as well." He got up and grabbed her stuff from the door. I walked up and gently woke up the sleeping puppy, who was in the same position that I had left her in. "Come on girl. It's time for your walk." At this she yipped happily and jumped off the bed into my arms.
I opened the door to my room and carried her down the steps, setting her down on the ground and latching her collar on. I braced myself for another time of full interaction, and this time, I would definitely have to face my parents. Yippee.
"Ready?" My mom said, poking her head.
"As I'll ever be." I muttered. I stepped outside and closed the door. Unfortunately, I wasn't watching where I was going, and I slipped, nearly falling down the steps. A pair of arms caught me from behind and set me straight.
"You ok?" Dylan asked, taking a hold of Charlotte's leash.
'Yeah." I was slightly shaken, but didn't let it show, and brushed off my jacket, composing myself. I took the leash from him. "Let's go."
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Holy shit guys, I am so tired and sleep deprived it's insane. I'm so sorry if this chapter is incredibly crappy, my body is crying right now because of all the typing and my fingers are starting to convulse. Blech that's' all I can say today so have a nice day. Oh, please check out my short story, Letters in the Back of the Library! it'd mean so much!
*signing off like Lilly Singh*
Don't forget to vote, comment, and hit that recommend button! Please tell me about the spelling and grammar mistakes!
Love from a musical obsessed high schooler!
~Vi