TWENTY-FIVE

A/N: This is another long one. 3900 words. 29 pages on doc vers.

♥Lucille♥

Kiara and I stand from where we were seated at the table, about to re-enter the kitchen to get a plate of food when Dad walks into the dining room. He is holding a bowl of presumably cool water, his burnt hand inside.

Quite literally every year since I was a kid we've hosted thanksgiving, my Dad as the leading chef. And quite literally every other year, he ends up burning or cutting or injuring himself some way. You'd think after 18 years he'd be a little more careful.

"Can you two round everyone up?" he asks. "Preferably the children last since I'm pretty sure they just want the chicken nuggets and they'd be in the way."

We agree and head out of the dining room. It won't be a hard task since the upstairs is off limits due to The Panda Incident.

"And that is?" Kiara asks when I tell her.

"A nine years ago, the evil little brats that are my little cousins snuck into my room and destroyed my prized panda stuffed animal. Like scissors to all her fabric and everything. A part of me died that day.." I explain.

"Wow. I'm assuming the part that died was your ability to not care about small things?" She teases as we're about to enter the living room.

"Oh shut up." I shove her arm playfully.

The adults are chatting amongst themselves. Unlike actual Thanksgiving, they don't have a football game to watch. Thank god.

"Dinners ready!" I call, and almost simultaneously, they all get up.

As I lead Kiara down into the study, which is often used for a calmer hangout zone—more so, to take a break from my mom's lively family when they're here—I also tell her of The Fruit Punch Incident.

"We also used to have carpet in the bedrooms upstairs, however a couple years ago fruit punch was spilled—intentionally—onto the carpets in my room, my parent's room, and just about every room upstairs." Also onto Louis' old bed sheets. I'd never seen my dad so angry.

"Your cousins are actually diabolical."

"They really are..." I agree "Both incidents were technically committed by both sides of the family, but I'm pretty sure it was my mom's who came up with the plan. Just wait until you hear about The Tradition. They're all insane."

We enter the study. It's a warm atmosphere and much quieter than the rest of the house right now. It's just my dad's sister, Morgan, and brother, Marcus. They're a couple years younger than him and twins. They'd be my aunt and uncle, but I just call them by name

They're a lot like my dad, so I'm definitely fond of them. I'm also about 90% sure Morgan is a lesbian, but she hasn't said anything to anyone. I'll have to get Kiara's take. I'm sure she has a stronger lesbiandar than me.

"Hey, dinners ready." I inform them.

Marcus stands with a stretch from where he sat on the small sofa. "Alright." he says, and then leaves the study.

Morgan stays put. "I'll be out there in a few minutes. I like waiting until the kitchen isn't chaos." She explains.

"Fair." I agree. When Mom's side comes to Thanksgiving, it gets pretty cutthroat when it comes to preparing your plate. Having gotten used to this, my dad's family is just as intense when it's just them. "I don't think you met Kiara yet, right?" I was able to briefly introduce Kiara to Marcus earlier, but I think Morgan has been in here the whole time.

"Nah. Nice to meet you..." She says to Kiara with a nod. "She's your girlfriend, right..?"

"Yeah." Kiara responds for the both of us. "Nice to meet you as well..." They are both very awkward. Dorks.

"Well we still gotta get the kiddos, so we're gonna take care of that." I say and then we leave Morgan be.

Kiara and I head back down the hall, going to my second living room. We generally refer to it as the "family room" because that's where we actually have movie nights, but same difference.

"Is she gay?" Kiara asks.

"Who? Morgan?"

"Yeah. I got queer vibes." She explains.

"I totally agree! She hasn't said anything but the closet is glass..."

We gather up the kids, sending them to their table. The younger kids go straight to their seats as their parents have already prepared their plates, the older ones getting in line.

Kiara and I get to sit with the adults, which is going to be an experience to say the very least. Especially since Grandpa Jared is here this year... I don't know why dad invited him back.

I'm feeling stressed. Stressed and overwhelmed. An awful mix of emotions, I know. I blame my entire extended paternal family, and my mother. Why did she feel the need to bring up him earlier? I've gone a solid six months without thinking about him and now I've been hit with a massive wave of memories, emotions, trauma, and grief.

But I focus on the task at hand—making it through dinner. I don't even have a reason to be upset. It was eight years ago. It is what it is. I am fine. We're all fine..

Kiara and I finally get our plates together. We're one of the last people but there is still so much food left. Everyone is generally expected to take some leftovers. Dad always makes an excessive amount. Just in case he says, yet I'm always left wondering in case of what?!

We take our seats at the dining table, sitting side by side. Unfortunately, though, there is chaos around the table. People who have decided to sit at complete opposite ends of the table are shouting to talk to each other, Grandpa is trying to make everything political (this is why we stopped inviting him), Great Aunt Cherri is making everything emotional by bringing up the memories, Claire's parents are arguing over who's to blame for Claire being a bitch. They didn't explicitly call her a bitch, but you know.

"You know, I don't know why they legalized gay marriage. Because marriage is stupid. No one should be married." All heads seem to turn to Grandpa Jared, who has just spouted these words for all to hear. The heads then turn to Kiara and I.

Dad is glaring at his father. "Dad, I don't think that's necessary."

"Boy, don't use that tone with me. Also, listen, listen, listen—hear me out." For some reason everyone seems to pipe down to hear this. "It's not that I think the fa—gays should't be allowed to marry," My dad's glare sharpens at Grandpa's near slip-up. "I don't think anyone should marry. We should just abolish the concept of marriage! If people are in love, they're in love, why must they slam a certificate on it? And imagine the divorce rates! There would be none!"

There's a silence over the table. I don't like how he kinda has a point... Especially considering he almost said a slur just now.

"Dad, you agreed you wouldn't bring up politics, your opinions on queer people, nor chickens." My dad sighs. "Also, I think you're just mad my mother left 40 years ago."

Kiara seems to be eating this up... I suppose my family drama is interesting...

"I... Well, yes." Grandpa Jared admits. "But my point still stands."

Dad rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh. "Alright..."

Conversation starts up again, just as chaotic as before. Kiara seems overwhelmed. To be fair, I am too.

"If we eat fast we can go hide in my room until it's time for The Tradition." I whisper to her, nudging her in the side with my elbow.

"Which is..?" She asks.

"You'll see... You will certainly see..." I say with a sigh. The Tradition originates from my mom's family. And it is probably about the stupidest thing ever.

We quickly finish our dinners, snagging a couple cookies from where the desserts were hidden in the pantry. We slip up to my room, shutting and locking the door to keep out any evil cousins that may decide to sneak their way up here.

"You're family... It's huge." Kiara sighs. "Neither of my parents even have siblings. My dad's parents still live in Hawaii, and my mom's are dead."

"Wow... Your Thanksgivings must be quite depressing."

"We didn't really celebrate or anything." She explains. "We'd just enjoy the long weekend off from school. Though, last year I went to Deven's for dinner. Their tíos are pretty great."

"Doesn't tíos mean uncles?" I ask with my minimal Spanish knowledge. "Do they have two?"

"Nah. Tíos also applies to an Aunt and Uncle. That'd be sick though."

I have more questions, but I don't ask. For one, they're all probably none of my business. But I'm also exhausted and feeling like crap for many reasons.

I roll onto my stomach on my bed, sighing.

"You okay?" Kiara nudges me from where she's sitting back against the wall beside me on the mattress.

"Yeah." Lie. "You saw it. My family is restless." Technically true.

"What... Sorry to ask—but what was your mom talking about earlier..? The three kids thing?" Kiara asks me.

I was expecting this question eventually. Kiara isn't stupid. "So we're doing this now I see..." I let out another heavy sigh. I roll onto my back again. "In short, I used to have an older brother. He was four years older than me, but he killed himself eight years ago." I admit straight-faced, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oh. Shit." She's quiet.

I take a deep breath. "It's fine, obviously it was years ago, and we don't really talk about it. My mom, obviously, is a major oversharer, but my dad hasn't... I don't think he's even said his name since it happened. He can't even sit through a movie with even mentions of family death in it... Quinn was like 5, so she doesn't even remember him at all. But, when I started showing signs of anxiety—and depression, but that's to be expected—a year or so afterward, my parents got me into therapy. It's really helped—which is why I was pushing for you to do it too! I've been with the same therapist for seven years and it's been really, really good. But... Yeah. It sucks" I ramble.

"I... I don't even know what to say, I'm sorry."

"It's fine..! I guess I was just taken aback when she brought it up." I shrug, but my throat is tightening slightly.

"I'm guessing you guys don't celebrate the anniversary or anything?" Kiara assumes.

I swallow. It's a little hard to do with the lump forming. "Nah..." I mutter.

"Do you wish that you did? Rather than just pretending it didn't happen, or brushing it off?"

"It probably would've made things easier... It's a little late now though." Maybe eight or seven or even six years ago, talking about it would've been better. Not just with my therapist, I mean. But now, I don't think it would matter. The wound has healed mostly. Just the occasional ache when I hear his name, or when the anniversary does roll around.

Like I said, we never talked about him on the anniversary. But we all knew what day it was. A distinct tenseness in the air of this house.

"That's not what I asked, but I'll accept the answer..." Kiara sighs too. And then we sit in silence for a while. I don't let any tears fall from my eyes. I just lay there and breathe.

"Hey." Kiara draws my attention back. "Please don't be afraid to share whatever other trauma you have from your childhood. I know the goods about you, but I want to know about those things too. Like, only a couple weeks ago you told me about that storm, I'm only just finding out your childhood best friend is a homophobic dickhead—sorry—and now there's this. I also didn't even know you had a cat!"

"That's fair..." I think about it for a moment. "I guess there really isn't much else. I was bullied a lot in high school... Probably where the glossophobia started..."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not now anyway."

"Okay. Anything else?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so... How about you though? What trauma are you hiding from me?"

"I don't have much other than my parents." Kiara pauses for a moment. "I can't actually think of anything..." She admits.

"Lucky you—Well no, not lucky—but I'm glad things aren't even more awful."

Her hands interlock with mine. "I'm here for you." She says.

"You better be."

♥♥♥

It's time for the stupidest thing my family has ever done. The Tradition.

We're all out on the deck, freezing our asses off. The Tradition is basically a fucking snowball fight. We're split into two teams and then we go to opposing sides of our massive, treeless backyard. And then we throw snowballs at the other side.

It was made up by my mom's parents for her and her siblings to play when they were kids. But my mom never stopped, and she is very persuasive so now everyone participates.

Now, you can go inside at any point in time, your team will just hate you.

Eventually, there's generally only one person left standing, or a truce is called. If a single person wins, their whole team gets money and shit. If a truce is called, no one gets money. My dad likes to call truces.

"Is this ethical..? Safe..?" Kiara asks, shivering. She's the only one not participating, but she's been left in charge of my one-year old twin cousins.

"Nope."

"This seems like a hurtful Canadian stereotype."

"Nah. Just my weird ass mother."

This year, unless I become severely injured, I will not give up. This does also mean I will be facing my mother. I usually end up on Dad's team, and Mom is always her own team. Also, Mom does not give up easily. She's more competitive than I am.

As teams are being assigned, some of the older family members are already going inside. Chickens.

As expected, I'm on Dad's team, who is playing despite his already burned hand. We've got a lot of the kids on our side, which is good because they actually see the fun in it. They've got the energy. Unfortunately, my mother will not go easy on them.

Kiara gives the countdown from the deck, "THREE... TWO... ONE... BEGIN!"

Most people are bending down, balling up snow. Some are already making their way back inside. Ugh.

In the corner of my eye, I see my cousin, Valerie, hiding a rock in her snowball. "Val! No rocks!" I yell just as I am pelted in the face with a very icy-cold snowball. I turn and see my mother as the culprit. Typical. "MA!"

"HAHA!" She laughs loudly. Thankfully, there's an opening to throw one straight at her chest. I get her right where her heart would be if she had one.

It's utter chaos. Most of the crowd has given up, but all of my immediate family and a few others are going strong.

"Give up, Mom! I'm not going in until I'm bleeding or my fingers are falling off." I need to win. I want to impress Kiara. I know she probably thinks this whole thing is stupid—and don't get me wrong, it is—but I still want to do this.

My mom doesn't relent.

Eventually, Quinn gives up. So does Dad and everyone else. It's me versus my mom, as expected.

"You know what?" My mom asks. "You know what, Lucille?"

"What..?" I pause, putting my arm down, dropping the snowball I had been about to throw.

"I am proud of you." Oh?

"For..?" I prompt.

"This. This right here. Your utter and absolute stubbornness and competitiveness... It's beautiful. My mother would've been so proud. If only she could see you now..." Mom shakes her head.

"She isn't dead?"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" My mother yells. She's so weird. "Anyway, I forfeit! Lucille Maria Belanger," She says our last name with the heavy accent and technically correct pronunciation. "My dearest daughter..."

"This is excessive." I mutter.

"Sh. I give you the honor of being the winner of this year's Tradition." She falls back, landing in the snow with a grunt. This is the kind of moment in movies where everyone would be clapping and cheering, but there is literal silence other than the quiet chatter of those talking on the deck.

"Get up, Ma. You're gonna get frostbite." I help her up and anticlimactically make my way back up onto the deck and inside.

Everyone is in here, shivering in the towels they've wrapped themselves in. Thankfully, we have a total of 9 showers, 8 blow-dryers, 52 towels, and an amazing heating system.

"Yeah, this doesn't in any way seem healthy." Kiara mutters, glancing around. She's still holding my baby cousins, swaddled up in blankets and sweaters.

"Oh it's not." My mom agrees as she passes by us.

"Wow."

♥♥♥

It's nearly 8 PM now. I've just finished grabbing a very hot shower. Kiara got one too. Everyone has gone home now. We're up in my room, but we can still tell how much quieter it is.

I'm sitting up in front of her on my bed as she french braids my hair. I'm in grey sweatpants and a pink tanktop, Kiara's black zip-up over my arms as well. She's in pajama pants with stars on it, plus a dark red pullover.

There's a knock at the door. I call for them to come in. It's my dad.

"Hey, just thought I would offer up mandatory movie night?"

"Oh! Yeah, we'll be down soon." We used to have movie nights nearly every weekend.

"Good. And uh," He glances to Kiara. "Eh, nevermind. Try to be down in ten." And then he goes off, shutting the door behind him.

"Mandatory movie night?" Kiara asks.

"It's not actually mandatory, that's just what we call it because it used to be required for us all to do as a family back when we were kids. The name just stuck." I suppose we have fancy titles for a lot of things in this household.

"Your brother too..?" Kiara figures.

"Yeah... But let's not get all sad again!" I hop up as she's finished with my hair. I zip up the sweatshirt a bit. It smells like her... "Let's go watch a shitty comedy movie. Or horror. It's always one or the other. Or even both."

We go downstairs to the family room. My parent's sit side-by-side on one end of our L-shaped couch, Quinn in the recliner. We take our seats on the other end of the couch, my head leaning into Kiara's shoulder.

We'll get snacks later into the movie, we agree, and then put on the movie. It's a thriller.

♥♥♥

Around halfway through the movie, Kiara gets up for another soda. My mom pauses the movie as Kiara heads into the kitchen. She's already becoming more comfortable here. I'm glad.

I see my dad get up too, heading into the kitchen behind her. I know he wouldn't threaten her or anything like that—that's Mom's thing—but I decide to follow too.

I head down the hallway and stall outside the door, just to hear if they're talking. I know I'm nosy, but I care a lot about my girlfriend.

"Uh, Kiara," I hear my dad say. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure..? What's up?" Kiara asks. I hear the fridge shut, and the sound of a soda can opening.

"Well, Lucille told me about your parents—she didn't go into detail..! But I just want to make sure you know you always have a place here." Oh. Fuck, I love my dad. I don't know what I was expecting to hear, but it should have been this.

"I... Thank you." Kiara mutters emotionally.

"And... Sorry—is your mother's name Annabel..?" He asks.

"Yeah... Why?"

"I got a call from an Annabel Okalani." Dad explains.

"Oh. Shit. What did she—"

"Nothing extreme, really." My dad reassures her. "She said you had blocked her number and was trying to get in contact with you. Clearly, she was grasping for straws by calling me... I hung up since it's none of my business, but I thought you should know."

"Right." She sounds sad. "Thank you, Connor."

He chuckles slightly. "I would say you can call me Dad, but maybe it's a little too soon for that..."

"Probably." She agrees, letting out a small laugh as well.

I return to the couch, feeling really good. This makes me really happy... Obviously, Kiara's mother still trying to get into contact sucks. But everything else is good. Really good.

♥♥♥

I rant on and on about random little things as we lie together in my bed once again. Kiara's head is resting on my chest—which very much took me by surprise when she did it. It's nice though.

I talk about my classes, Claire's goods and bads, a bit about my late brother, my parents, everything. And I'm pretty sure she's hearing every word. That's something I love about her. She's such a good listener...

But I'm getting tired, my voice becoming a little raspy as well. "We should get some sleep..." I mutter.

There's no response. Oh. Maybe she has just been asleep.

"You awake?" I ask quietly.

"I love you." Kiara says abruptly.

"I—WHAT?!"

Kiara tilts her head up to look at me, smirking. "I love you... I know it's random, but I do... You're funny and dorky and pretty and a bit of a spoiled brat but I don't care. You're a major weirdo, but in a fun way, and my life is better because of you. And I know this is all a bunch of stupid rambling, and you probably think it's because I'm exhausted, but it's not. I've had these words stuck inside my mouth for way too long. I love you. Whether you're Princess Bubblegum or a least weasel, it's true."

I have no idea where this is coming from. And why I'm crying. "I... Holy shit."

"Are you going to say it back? Or will I have to wait for that...?"

"God, you're so random..." Another tear rolls down my cheek. She wipes it away for me. "I... I love you too, dumbass."

"I love you more..." She teases.

"I am not going down that spiral with you." I say firmly, though followed by a sniffle.

"Darn..." She sits up, wiping the tears from my face again. She doesn't remove her hands and she plants a short kiss on my lips. And then she hugs me.

I never though I would get to have this. Anything like this. I've had few good friendships, no matter how social I tried to be. I've tried to date, and it's never worked out. But now I have this. Now I have her.

I've had my moments, and she's stayed. She's had her moments, and I've stayed. We're both messes sometimes, but I'm realizing that doesn't matter as much as I thought it did.

She loves me. She really loves me. And I can say with full confidence I love her too.

Yeah, a few months ago I hated her. And maybe we've come impossibly far in this time. But I know this is real. And this will last. It better.

I think 212 will be my lucky number for a long time. It's the room we met. It's my first home away from home. It's her first home away from home. And it's our first home as one.

What are the odds? The odds of two gay girls thrown in a room together. The odds of two polar opposites finding sanctuary in one another. The odds have got to be slim. But, clearly, not zero.

A/N: Woah. This is the last chapter, technically. BUT DON'T FRET! We have an epilogue for some final closure, some fluffiness, and the official end!