Adolescent Development and Human Memory

It turns out, being a therapist is no joke.

Britta loves it; don't take this the wrong way. She's loved it ever since her 101 lecture at Greendale and despite the fact that everyone used to tell her she would be bad at it. She knew they were making fun of her; teasing and poking fun at her desire to help people at any cost, so she never took them seriously. But each time a patient relapsed, each time she failed to break down the emotional barriers of someone she was supposed to be helping, the comments would creep back into her mind. Don't worry, she'll be bad at it. Britta, you're going to make a terrible therapist.

And above it all, Jeff's voice: I was wrong. I think you'll make a very good therapist.

It has its ups and downs, being a therapist. Britta loves that she's helping people through their emotional and psychological problems, since she's had so many of her own in the past. She loves her office; the mahogany desk and great glass window that overlooks the lake, the plush couch and leather arm chair, the glossy pictures of her two children, their smiling faces brightening even her darkest days. She dislikes the people who seem to never recover, though. Those who reject her methods of psychological help and instead use their allotted hour to complain about their lives. She had had three of those clients just today and, following them, a woman who had had a violent mental breakdown.

All in all, it had been an awful day.

Thankfully, it's Friday, which means a nice, relaxing two days at home before her sessions with these same clients on Monday. She pulls into the driveway of their modest-sized home and immediately smiles at the notion of relaxation. She's ready for dinner, drinks, and a nice, quiet evening at home. Her feet are killing her as she walks up the front sidewalk, struggles under her briefcase and case studies, and pushes the front door open. Britta's expecting the warm smell of dinner cooking, the calm serenity of her kids doing homework, or just silence, because they seem to always have plans.

But instead, there's a heated argument between her son and daughter emanating from the kitchen.

"But you promised!"

"Well now I'm unpromising. This is way too important."

"You said you wanted to see this movie and so do me and Jill!"

"I do, but the movie's going to be there for weeks. Nick and I have better plans."

"Mom's not going let you. You promised me!"

"Dad already said I could go, so too bad for you!"

Britta sighs and drops her things by her shoes, slipping them off painfully as she reluctantly heads into the kitchen. Where is Jeff, and why isn't he handling this? She's been handling people's problems all day; she has no interest in continuing to do so with her children who more or less never get along. The moment she enters the kitchen, both children immediately snap their attention to her and begin talking at once. Ten-year-old Audrey is seated at the kitchen counter, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, her hair curled around her delicate face and utterly disappointed. Fourteen-year-old Mason is standing beside her, mannerisms so painfully Jeff in all ways possible.

"Mom!" Audrey shrieks, near tears. "Mason promised that he and Nick would take me and Jill to see a movie and now he says we can't go!"

"Mom," Mason defends himself. "Tonight's homecoming and Nick and I are going to that. Dad already said I could go!"

Britta stares at both of them, her face blank. "Where's your father?"

"He went to get a pizza," Audrey answered her. "Don't change the subject, Mom! Mason promised! He promised!"

"I understand," Britta tells her and turns to her son. "Can you please explain this to me, Mase?"

"Nick and I wanted to go see that new Will Smith movie," Mason explains. "And apparently, Audrey and Jill wanted to see it too, so I said they could come with us. I never promised her!"

"Yes you did!" Audrey is quick to disagree. "I remember, because I asked you if you really meant it and you said, 'Yes, I promise, Audrey! You can come!' You promised me!"

"Anyway," Mason continues, ignoring his sister's outburst. "Tonight's the homecoming game and Nick said we should go to that instead."

"Who cares about a dumb old football game?" Audrey complains. "This is a Will Smith movie!"

"Wait, isn't this movie rated R?" Britta cuts in, but Audrey shakes her head.

"PG-13, Mom," She's quick to correct. "Come on, Mase!"

"It's just a movie!" Mason argues back. "And Steph's not going to be at the movie, Audrey!"

Audrey's face immediately changes. "Ohhh I get it now! Fine, go to the football game with your girlfriend!"

"Okay, now you've totally lost me," Britta frowns. "Who's Steph? What's going on?"

"Stephanie Johnson," Audrey clarifies as if that helps any. "I didn't know that's why you wanted to go the game! Because it's going to be cold, so you'll get to snuggle with her under that comfy Greendale blanket. And then it'll lead to something more-"

"Shut up, Audrey," Mason growls at her and then turns to Britta. "So, can I go? Because Dad already said I could, but I figured you should know."

"Sure, fine," Britta says. "But honestly, what is going on?"

"Stephanie Johnson is the girl he has a huuuuuge crush on, Mom!" Audrey grins. "And she's gonna be there tonight, with Nick and his friends. That's why he wants to go to the game, Mom. Mason doesn't even like football!"

Britta nods understandingly and looks at her son, who blushes and shrugs. "Guilty as charged, Ma."

Britta rolls her eyes. "If you're not your father's son, I don't know who you are."

Right on cue, there's the sound of a car door outside and it isn't long before Jeff's entered the house, kicking off his shoes and ambling into the kitchen, pizza in tow. He greets Britta warmly with a kiss and turns to his children, doing a double take at the sight of his daughter's face. Audrey pouts at him. "Dad, this is all your fault!"

"Me?" He immediately glances at Mason, who chuckles, and Britta, who shrugs, before turning back to Audrey. "What did I do?"

"You told Mason he could go to homecoming and we were supposed to go to a movie!" Audrey frowns. "We already had plans, Dad!"

"Audrey, I'm sorry!" Jeff apologizes immediately. "I didn't know you had plans. But you can still go to the movies, if you want. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Audrey sighs dramatically, taking a piece of pizza for herself and sitting down at the kitchen table as the rest of her family does the same. "Who am I supposed to go with now? You?"

Jeff stares at her. "Why not?"

She giggles and says, as if it's obvious, "You're my Dad!"

"You're not cool anymore, old man," Britta teases and Jeff glares at her, saying nothing for the rest of the meal.

Later on, Audrey calls her friend Jill and they rearrange their plans with a sleepover and movie marathon at Jill's house. They pick her up at six thirty, about a half hour before Mason decides he needs to leave for the game. He spends fifteen minutes deciding which shirt to wear and ends up just wearing the same one he wore to school that day, spruced up with a bit of cologne and his chestnut hair sitting just right (in his eyes, of course, no matter how many times Britta tells him he needs a haircut). He throws a sweatshirt over his button-up, because it's mid-October and near freezing at night, and then asks if he can borrow the giant fleece Greendale throw.

Jeff tells him no. He doesn't want the blanket with the anus symbol representing their family.

(Britta actually thinks it's because she and Jeff had sex under that blanket during their study group's camping trip and, really, who would their kids knowing that?)

She sneaks it in the car for her son, anyway.

They both get in the car, Mason clambering in the backseat, as Jeff drives to the high school. He's slowing for a red light when he makes eye contact with his son in the rearview mirror. "So Stephanie, huh? What's she like?"

Mason plays it cool. "She's alright, you know. Nice eyes. Nice hair. Nice body."

"Nice personality?" Britta asks and her husband and son roll their eyes.

"Only you would ask that, Mom," Mason says, turning to look out the window.

Britta scoffs. "Hey, it's important! I want to make sure I raised you right, kid."

"Yes, Mother. Her personality is oh so charming," Mason says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but a grin splitting his face.

Jeff laughs. "You're growing up just the way I expected."

"Maybe a little too fast," Britta says, nostalgic. "Remember when I first told you I was pregnant? You were so freaked out."

"I was not," Jeff insists and Britta scoffs.

"Um, you told me I was full of shit," Britta laughs. "You thought I was making it up to get back at you for making fun of me!"

Jeff looks at her, shocked. "Seriously?"

"You did. You really did."

It's been a year since their graduation from Greendale, and yet the study group can't seem to part from one another. They had become such an insufferable family, a group of people so bonded to one another that there is no way they could possibly let go of their relationships to one another. They had all graduated with degrees worth more than what they'd expected and went on to get jobs and build relationships with others and themselves.

Shirley had remarried Andre and gotten back into a life together, Annie had moved into her health care management master's program, Troy and Abed had taken their ideas for a screenplay to a publisher, Pierce had gotten together with a woman named Krystallin (which sounds like a drug and they all put shots in at her name), and Jeff and Britta had first tried a relationship, then moved in together, and then gotten married.

It was fast and unexpected for those around them, but for Jeff and Britta, it was always going to happen.

What does come as a surprise to her is how quickly she gets pregnant. It's not like they're trying- well, they're not exactly not trying, either- but after only a few weeks, Britta finds herself staring at a positive pregnancy test and driving to her gynecologist immediately to confirm it. She then spends the entire day trying to figure out a way to tell Jeff. She could do the silly Full House thing and buy a bunch of baby food (i.e. baby carrots, baby corn, baby back ribs), but she isn't feeling food right now. She considers buying a cheesy screened onesie and leaving it somewhere obvious for him to find, but she isn't even sure where to find one of those.

In the end, she just tells him straight up. And he reacts just as she'd always expected he would.

"You're shitting me."

Britta stares at him. "Why would I do that?"

"That's what we do," He tells her. "Look, I'm sorry I made fun of you or whatever you're pissed about, but this isn't funny. Can you imagine me as a father?"

"I'm going to have to, aren't I?" She asks him. "I'm not making this up!"

She retreats to their bedroom, reentering the kitchen and brandishing the pregnancy test she took so long ago. "Does this look fake to you?"

"You are seriously waving a stick covered in your own urine in my face?" Jeff asks and Britta frowns.

"I thought you would be at least a little happy," She says quietly. "All those times we used to talk about kids… I don't know. I thought you wanted them. I always did."

"I did," He tells her, grabbing her hand so she looks at him. "I do. It's just that wanting them and having them are two different things."

"I know," She sighs. "What do we do?"

"Well first, we're going to throw that away, because that's disgusting," Jeff tells her, motioning towards the pregnancy test, which Britta throws away promptly, smirking. "Then, we're going to go to Barnes and Noble and buy every last pregnancy book they have in the store, because we're going to be prepared."

Britta grins. "Sounds like a plan. Still love me?"

"Always," He grins back, kissing her. "Me too?"

"Of course." She answers. "Barnes and Noble?"

"Let's do it."

"Great, thanks Dad," Mason jokes. "Glad to know you didn't want me."

"Hey!" Jeff barks at his son. "I never said that! Wait until you find out your wife is pregnant and then we'll talk."

"Is it really that scary?" Mason asks. "It's just a baby. How much work is it really?"

Both Jeff and Britta let out exasperated sounds. Britta says, "Mase, you have no idea."

"Seriously?" He chuckles. "You feed it, diaper it, and play with it. What's so hard about that?"

"You have to make all the right decisions," Britta lists. "Which brand of diapers to use, which daycare to trust, which brand of food won't give your baby diarrhea…"

"Please tell me that was Audrey," Mason pleads but his parents both shake their heads.

"No, by the time we had Audrey, we knew which brand to use," Jeff chuckles and Mason looks mortified.

"Ew," He gags and then says, "But there has to be easy stuff to decide too… Like names! That's easy. Picking a name you both like wasn't hard, was it?"

Sharing a glance, Jeff and Britta share matching sighs. "Yeah, right."

"Well, I wanted to name you Matthew…" Jeff trails off and Britta rolls her eyes.

"Oh, don't start with me."

Twenty-one hours of labor is possibly the worst thing Britta has ever experienced.

Is it worth it, now, that she's holding their newborn son? Of course. Would she like to do it again? Probably not. Maybe in a couple years when she forgets how every contraction stabbed through her stomach and burned like wildfire. Maybe when she forgets waiting, wasting away, in a hospital bed alone for half of it because Jeff was stuck in traffic. Maybe when it slips her mind how she had been dying of hunger and all they gave her was a Styrofoam cup of ice chips. Maybe. But until then, she'd like to not think about it. She would like to enjoy these moments with her son and not remember what labor felt like (it felt just like every said it would- horrible constipation mixed with the worst menstrual cramps you can picture).

So now, as she cradles their newborn, Britta runs a hand down his smooth cheek and says, "I want to name him Mason."

"Mason?" Jeff questions, immediately shaking his head. "No. We're not naming our son after a Kardashian."

Britta insists, "He looks like a Mason."

"He looks like a child who doesn't want to be named Mason," Jeff disagrees, watching as their son yawns and hiccups before closing his eyes. "And what about nicknames? You can't nickname 'Mason'!"

"We could call him Masy…"

"… Sounds like an overpriced department store…"

"…Or Mase…"

"… Sounds like a defense mechanism against rapists and kidnappers…"

Britta smirks. "Well okay, baby-naming police. Let's hear your great ideas."

"I like Matthew. Nice strong, masculine name." Jeff offers and this time, Britta yawns.

"Meh. Too common." She says. "He'll go to school with six other Matthews."

"Yeah, because he won't run into any Masons," Jeff's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "He needs a strong name… Like Hunter. What about Hunter?"

"Ugh!"

"What's wrong with Hunter? It's classic, it's got an old-timey feel-"

"I'm not naming my son after a profession," Britta states adamantly. "No Hunter, no Fisher, no Booker, no Killer-"

"Killer?" Jeff laughs, glancing toward the cup on the side table. "Was there something other than ice chips in that cup, because you are off your rocker…"

"I haven't eaten in fourteen hours. Trust me; it was just the ice chips." She thinks for a moment and then asks, "What do you think of Lucas?"

"Reminds me too much of your serial-killer-ex-boyfriend," Jeff negates. "Michael?"

"Male version of Michelle?" Britta asks in incredulity. "I'd say the probability of that happening is not looking very good."

"You're too picky. I like Matthew."

"Well, I like Mason."

There's a pause in the argument before Jeff produces a quarter from his pocket and suggests, "… Flip for it?"

"That's ridiculous…" Britta trails off, but then realizes it really can't hurt. They have to figure out a name for their son somehow. "Okay."

"Call it."

"Heads."

Jeff catches the quarter and immediately curses. "Damn it."

"Yes! Welcome to the world, Mason." Britta grins triumphantly, cooing to their son. "You're so gorgeous, Mason. Mason, you're the perfect little boy. Mason-"

"We get it. His name is Mason!"

"Just wanted to be sure you knew."

"Hold on!" Mason shouts. "You flipped a coin to name me?"

Britta looks at her son over her shoulder, apologetically. "It was the only thing we could think of, Mase."

"Wow, that's… That's just great," He laughs. "Way to be original."

"See? He's proud of his father for thinking of it," Jeff states, immediately taking credit. "Just hypothetically, though, Mason or Matthew? Which do you like better?"

"Dad, there's six Matthews in my class," Mason laughs. "And only two Masons. Sorry, but Mom wins on this one."

Britta shoots Jeff a triumphant grin. "Suck it."

"Whatever," He frowns. "At least I never lost the kid."

Mason stops laughing. "You lost me?"

"No!" Britta insists and glares at Jeff. "I never lost you, Mase. We were playing hide and seek-"

"And you won," Jeff chuckles as Britta's glare deepens.

Mason Everett Winger is a teenager trapped in a toddler's body.

His mother learns this the hard way.

At three years old, Mason has already turned into the moody, argumentative, and "I'm-going-to-sulk-if-I-don't-get-what-I-want" boy that Jeff and Britta hadn't thought they'd have to deal with until he was at least twelve or thirteen. But he likes to play tricks on his parents, he likes to bargain and banter with them, and he's the most manipulative toddler either of them has ever encountered. But this is a given, right? There's no way a child coming from both Jeff and Britta's gene pool wouldn't turn out like this.

His favorite game, at the tender age of three, is hide-and-seek, and so on a chilly Saturday morning in late January, when Mason begs his mother to play, she has no choice but to oblige. It's a fairly simple enough game; they count to thirty, because that's as high as he's gotten so far, and then they spend forever searching for the other. Britta tries to hide in obvious places to not confuse him and Mason has three spots he always chooses- her closet, the pantry, and under the coffee table in the living room. When he decides he's bored, he usually comes to find her to tell her so.

This time, however, is different.

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight," Britta counts, seated at the kitchen counter, her eyes closed. "Twenty-nine, thirty! Ready or not, here I come!"

Jeff's due home any minute from his convention in Phoenix, Britta notes as she passes the clock in the hallway. She peers into the living room and checks under the coffee table, but her son isn't there. Back through the kitchen, she slowly cracks the pantry door open- and by this point, Mason would usually be giggling uncontrollably- but there's silence and food behind the door, no Mason. So, Britta traipses upstairs, tiptoes into their bedroom, and yanks open the closet door, yelling, "Got'cha!"

But Mason is nowhere to be found.

"Oh, switching it up on me, Mase?" Britta calls but gets no response. She pads down the hall towards his bedroom, but not before double and triple checking their bedroom for any sign of their son. It's useless- he isn't there. In fact, he isn't anywhere. She searches under his bed, in his closet, behind his bookcase, and even in the dresser drawer he can still fit in, and her son still remains completely hidden. She checks the upstairs bathroom, the master bathroom, the guest room and yet, there is no Mason.

Now she's starting to panic. Britta calms herself and heads back downstairs, searching the dining room, the formal living room, the family room and the kitchen twice and then three times. Mason isn't in any of these locations and she's starting to freak out, yanking open the front door and looking up and down the street, around their yard, and in her bitchy neighbor's yard. Where could he possibly be? And why was it so impossible to find him when usually it was so easy? She used to pretend to struggle with finding him just to make him laugh. But right now, Mason isn't laughing.

And Britta isn't pretending.

"Masy, I can't find you. I give up!" She shouts, just as Jeff pulls into the driveway, departs his car, and begins to come up the front walkway. "Daddy's home, Mason! Come say hi! The game's over!"

"What game?" Jeff asks as he enters the house, shaking snow off his boots and coat. Britta looks immediately apprehensive.

"I can't find Mason," She tells him honestly and he smirks.

"Great, I leave you for three days and you lose our kid? You're not going to win Mother of the Year," Jeff's joking and she knows he's joking, but still pain and hurt instantly fill her.

"Oh my God, I lost him! What are we going to do?" She begins and Jeff's teasing face drops immediately. "I can't find him. What if he's gone? What if something's happened? Oh my God, I can't even be trusted with my own son! What's going to happen to him? Or me? What-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," He stops her. "I was joking with you. You seriously can't find him?"

She shakes her head miserably and Jeff asks, "Well when was the last time you saw him?"

"When he found me in the kitchen," She answers. "He told me it was my turn and then I covered my eyes and counted to thirty…"

"And did you hear the front or back door open?"

"No," Britta frowns.

"Okay," Jeff concludes. "Then he's going to be here somewhere. Are you sure you checked every room?"

"Yes! Multiple times!" Britta moans. "Oh my God. We're going to have to call the police. This is horrific."

"Call off the search, Officer," Jeff says, motioning towards the top of the stairs where their son is descending, a sock stuck to his sweater as he rubs his eyes. "I think I found your runaway."

"Momma," Mason says, his voice thick. "What happened? I was hiding and you didn't come find me."

"Masy," Britta says and immediately engulfs her son onto her lap. "You scared me! Where were you?"

"In the laundry chute," Mason answers and Britta's eyes widen.

"How did you get there?"

"I jumped," Mason shrugs. "Does this mean I win?"

Britta says nothing and Jeff smirks. "I don't think we'll be playing hide-and-seek for a long time."

Mason's laughing hysterically. "I could fit in the laundry chute?"

"Yeah and to this day, I don't know how you managed to stay in there without me knowing," Britta shakes her head, a smile on her face. "We didn't play hide-and-seek again until Audrey came around and by that time, you were so over that game, you used to purposely not hide just so you'd lose."

"That's hilarious," Mason grins as Jeff pulls to a stop outside of the football field. "Well this is my stop, but please tell me there are more stories like this for later?"

"Oh there are more where that came from, trust us," Jeff answers. "Enjoy your game and we'll tell you later about the time you decided to run away from home."

"Oh God," Mason smiles. "Sounds like a plan."

"Remember to treat Stephanie the way you want to be treated," Britta tells him and Mason rolls his eyes.

"I know, Mom. With respect, loyalty, and honesty," He recites. "Nothing's going to happen. We're just watching football, honestly."

"Okay," Britta smiles at him as he gets out of the car. "Have fun."

"Thanks," He smiles back and shuts the car door, already getting lost in the crowd.

Jeff pulls an illegal U-turn and drives back down the road they had just recently been on as Britta sighs. "I already miss him."

"Britta, he just left."

"No, I mean, remember how little and cute he was?" She asks and Jeff nods slowly. "I mean, he's still cute, but he was tiny. Now he's a man. It's weird."

"I know," Jeff agrees. "He's fourteen. A teenager. I can't believe how fast time flies."

"And Audrey will be in middle school next year?" Britta questions disbelievingly. "That can't be true. Where did my little baby go?"

"They're old," Jeff counters and then whines a little. "We're old."

Britta glances at him sharply. "Oh God, don't say that."

"We are."

She lets this sink in for a moment. "Great. It's not long before we'll start getting wrinkles and grey hair and need hip replacements… Oh God, we'll end up like Pierce!"

Jeff nearly stops the car in panic. "We will not end up like Pierce!"

"We need to do something young," Britta says as they're halfway home. "We need to go get drunk or make pot brownies or something. I feel like I'm sixty-five."

"I've got a better idea," Jeff growls, making a sharp turn into an abandoned parking lot and throwing the car in park. "Sex in the car sound viable to you?"

Britta grins, already climbing in the back seat. "I like the way you think, Winger."

The windows gradually attain a slow-rolling steam as Jeff and Britta make-out like teenagers in the backseat. Britta smirks- a habit she picked up from him, of course- as he breaks the kiss to strip off her jacket and she begins to work the button on his jeans. "Me talking about old people turns you on? That's kind of gross."

"You in general turn me on," He tells her, tearing off her shirt and unclasping her bra. "Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," She decides, depriving him of his own shirt. "We really are being nostalgic tonight, huh? Sex in the back of your car?"

"Not the first time, won't be the last," Jeff says shortly once they're both naked and claims her mouth again. "Now stop talking."

He pretty effectively shuts her up and through all of the kissing and the groping and the moaning, they're praying there aren't teenagers who have the same idea in mind out there and, if there are, they're praying they find a different location. It feels even more nostalgic, now, that they're thinking of those horny teenagers. Back at Greendale, when Jeff and Britta would have sex in his car, they spent a lot of their time hoping the other members of their study group wouldn't find them. Now, they're hoping passersby and drunken teenagers are smart enough to know when to stay away.

Things are much different, now, but that's obvious. They've been together for so long and they've been through so much that it would be hard for things not to be different between them. Britta's friends had always made fun of her for this, calling her thoughts so "manly," but she had always expected sex to get a little boring after a while, once you'd been sleeping with the same person for years on end. She'd expected for things to get routine and unoriginal, but that isn't the case for her and Jeff. For them, things are always the same and are always different. And yeah that's a paradox, but who really cares? It makes sense and it works and in the end, that's all that really matters.

They're curled up in the backseat, afterwards, using their clothes as blankets because, yeah, they're college sophomores again and are in no hurry to dress and move on with their evening. Jeff traces an indecipherable pattern on Britta's arm and tells her, "I still love you, even if you're getting old."

She scrunches her nose and turns to look at him. "Me? You're older than me, buddy, so that's your problem."

"Semantics. Either way," He grins in that way that tells Britta he's going to say something stupid, uncharacteristically romantic, or both. "You will forever be the hot blonde from Spanish class to me."

Britta smiles because she finds that strangely endearing. "Thank you. And you may be a smug doofus, but… Eh, I'll put up with it."

"Good thing, kitten, because you promised me forever," Jeff sighs and Britta nods slowly. "You think anyone cares we're here?"

Britta lifts her head to look out the window and frowns. "No. This place has been out of business for years."

Jeff chances a glance out at his surroundings and does a double take. It's the abandoned building where their old favorite bar, The Red Door/L-Street, once stood as a booming business. He sighs. "I used to love that place."

"Yeah," Britta says. "Too bad we managed to make it, but they didn't."

"Go figure," Jeff says. "I could use a drink right about now."

"Hey," She pokes him in the side. "Was I that bad?"

He makes an indignant noise. "Perry, you have never been bad a day in your life."

"Likewise," She responds and he grins knowingly. See? Smug doofus. Her phone jingles from her purse under the glove compartment and she shifts uncomfortably. "Can we go now? I need a shower before we have to pick Mason up again."

"That cannot be him already," Jeff states as they slip on their clothing awkwardly but fluidly. "Football games last for hours."

She checks her phone once they've situated themselves in the front seat and Jeff's driving again, this time the destination is their home. "It's him. He says the rest of his childhood stories will have to wait until tomorrow and wants to know if he can stay over at Nick's tonight."

"Hmm, tough decision," Jeff says sarcastically. "A moody teenager stuck sulking at home if we say no or an empty house all to ourselves if we say yes?"

Britta picks up on this immediately and texts her son back, finger flying. "Have a great time, Mase."

Jeff cannot stop the grin from forming on his face. But, he realizes, he's been grinning an awful lot ever since he realized he was in love with Britta Perry.

It might've been a crazy fifteen years, but he's ready and prepared for fifteen more.

Okay this is the story idea I had, the one I talked about at the end of "Oceanography." I literally wrote this all day and now it's 1:18 in the morning and I apologize if there are grammar mistakes, I'll fix them later. I need to sleep lol. Thanks for reading and in advance for reviewing! It's greatly appreciated!