Six o'clock came around rather fast but the preparation made it seem like hell: miserable and eternal. The tie I was talked into wearing was stupid and I had no reason to wear shoes. Hello? I lived here. I looked nice to the mirror, though. Wearing black, semi-skinny jeans, a light blue buttoned dress top and a loose white tie I looked like a back up GUESS model.

I'd never admit it…ever—but I kind of liked Mom's soirees. I liked looking important and fashionable. And looking at myself as the sun's dying rays streamed through my window, reflecting off my irises and making ardent shades of brown, I was…proud to be Paul Lucas' son.

Yes. Proud.

He was such a successful man, no matter how many beers he drank. He remained professional when he had to be and made it. People looked up to him and envied him in the privacy of their homes…their less-expensive, less-decorated, less-photographed-for-the-paper homes. Men would give my mother a long ogle every time we went to the park when I was young. They'd smirk and then friend—or whoever was nearby—would lean over and whisper. After hearing the secret the watcher's face fell in sadness and disgust. By the time I was eleven, I realized the secret was always that she was married…to Paul the Rich Alcoholic. Regardless of what people said, he had landed every man's dream. The American dream: money, recognition, and a beautiful woman to have and to hold. I was proud of him and thankful to be his offspring. I honestly couldn't imagine myself average. Being an average citizen in an average town, with an average mother. I was lucky and I owed it all to my dad….even if he was a complete jack*ss

I sighed thoughtfully, cocked my head to the left and gazed at the dresser. Now, which watch would Paul wear? The Rolex?...Or the Kolbar?

The door opened behind me and I disregarded it.

"Kolbar," I chose.

I hear an attracted whistle and decided to see by mirror. Miley.

"You look handsome."

I turned 360 to see her full on, and damn, Demi's little black cocktail dress sang duets with her body. The chest area was a little big but other than that, wow. Her hair was straightened paper flat, parted slightly to the left with a loose, but neat bun in the back. The number was finished off with black heels she'd bought at the mall. She was stunning. And she was mine for the night.

"You look beautiful," I said breathlessly. "and thanks." I remembered.

"You're very welcome."

The moment I took a breath there was the sound of the front door opening. Loud squeals and Hello, darlings erupted under us.

Miley hesitated, unsure of what to do at this point. You could tell it had been a while since she'd been to an oversized family function, and the last time…well, you know what happened. "Sh…Should we go down now?"

"No," I said quickly. I walked over to the radio and turned up the volume to its usual twenty percent. While the static subsided I shut the door behind Miley and led her over to the bed, my hand on the nape of her back. "Now, we wait."

I sat down beside her standing body and she sat, too. She crossed one leg over the other for safety.

Letting some air some air out through my nose, I tried not to think about between those legs. A black thong maybe. Maybe…not? I grabbed my phone to distract myself and started a game of Free Cell.

Ten minutes passed and Miley was on the bed, on her knees, watching the game. "Nick,"

"Mmh,"

"What are we waiting for?"

I looked at my watch. Just in time. "Wait for it."

"Wha—?"

"Nicholaaaas!" My mother called. These parties were a routine.

Her head twisted over my shoulder and she looked at me in surprise. I laughed. Those blue eyes were gonna kill me one day. I got off the bed and gave Miley a hand off next. We walked into the hallway and Miley stopped herself at the stairs. "Should I walk beside you or…"

"Uh, behind if that's okay. I don't wanna be asked about this just yet."

"Good idea." She said, moving so I could make the first step down.

I was surprised and thankful she'd understood "this". I didn't even know what this was.

I continued down at my party-pace (aka snail-pace) and Miley followed at a perfect distance behind: close enough to make it seem like she was my date, but far enough to not look clingy. The last thing I wanted was a discussion about serious relationships with a Fletching.

And even though the gathering was in as full of a force as it could be, I felt like we were attracting attention. Miley's heels killed me with every step. Down seventeen wood stairs is where the true discomfort began. Heads turned from all angles: the tunnel, the kitchen, the living room and dining area…

I spotted Mom gesturing me from the kitchen. "Say hello," she mouthed.

I huffed and reluctantly went to the intersection of the three rooms, a nervous Miley right at my tail, and said "Hello, everyone."

"Oh, it's the younger one," called a female Fletching loudly.

The guests "Ooh"-ed like I was art.

I was just surprised she was able to exclaim with such a facelift. I would've guessed it was Antoinette's mother if I cared enough. Her eyes were just an easy a brown. She was paler than Antoinette but her lips pouted just as big. I frowned. She was sitting in Dad's chair.

"How's Harvard, boy?" she spoke again.

"Ahhhh,"

I squinted, irked at the sudden fascination in me. "Fine," I answered flatly.

"Only fine?" a male Fletching came, sitting on the arm of Dad's chair. I co-thought of the scene Dad would want to cause if he saw such a thing. Two people on his chair. Mr. Fletching sat slightly slouched due to his age. He wore a grey sweater-vest and his glasses—though they fit just fine—always sat on the bridge of his nose when he spoke. They went even lower when he asked questions just so he could steal your soul with his icy-coloured eyes when you answered.

The whole house went quiet, seeing I'd been caught with a poor answer.

I stiffened. No going back now. "Yes," I said, as solidly as I could. "Fine."

Mr. Fletching took a slurp from his mug, moved it from his face carefully and a smile crept onto his face. "A man who sticks to his word," he said tightly and paused in thought.

The house stayed still as wood, awaiting the verdict. Who was this guy?

"…I like that."

The whole spot breathed with me, with the exception of Miss Miley, who was suppressing laughter over the whole situation. The party went back to normal and Miley reached up to my ear.

"That's what happens with rich people when a kid says fine?" she asked, trying to control her amusement.

I nodded once, a bit offended.

"Ha. …Pricks."

"Hey," I warned softly, and started guiding her to kitchen.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm just wondering what the infamous Jantoinette is like. Is your brother anything like you?"

"No." I answered, shaking my head. I laughed to myself at the reality. "Nothing. At all."

Once in the kitchen, she propped her elbows on the counter and her head on her fists. She wondered, gazing at the chatting adults ahead.

"He's not anything like them either." I turned to my mother. "Where are they?"

"Their plane landed at 6; they'll be here by about six-thirty. I told you this morning after you got back from church, remember?"

"Oh yeah." I didn't.

Mom stepped to the left and Miley caught her eye. She stopped and looked her down and up and down again. She locked eyes with Miley. A smile. I relaxed.

"Hi,"

Miley smiled weakly in response, blood in her cheeks. "Hi."

"Demi's friend, right?"

"Uh, yes."

"Pleasure to have you. Your frosted Danishes look fantastic. Thank you for the help." She wiped her hands on her apron. "I sure need it around here when Paul's working."

"...It's Sunday."

I glared at Miley, telling her to not start this with my eyes. I took her with me to the kitchen table to give my mother space and we sat down again. Only this time, Miley sat her bum on the same chair as me. We lacked space.

She stood and re-sat on my left knee.

Oh. I continued my game of Free Cell.

Several minutes passed the smell of seasoned chicken circulated the main floor. Then the smell of casserole, brown rice, fresh vegetables, and lasagna.

I made a noise.

"You are such a guy." Miley teased. "Moaning over food like that."

I smirked. "You should know…it's not just the food." I let my hand graze over Miley's thigh ever so slowly.

"Oh," Miley eyes grew and she smiled. "I guess I should get up then." She did. "Wouldn't want you all excited when your brother comes."

I snorted and gave my watch another look. Six-fifty, it read.

"Ugh, gosh," came Mom, massaging her temples. "Where is Paul?" she muttered to herself, "I told him to go at five for exactly this reason. I knew he'd end up somewhere else."

Our guests had already begun eyeing the food and drooling. Some of the Fletchings had pulled out their phones to text and find out what was going on. What was a welcome back party without the people coming back? Just wel...party?

My frustrated mother sighed, pacing. "Damn. The one time I ask him to do something."

I swivelled my head. "Should we start without them?" I asked.

Just then the lock to the front door popped and the door itself creaked open. And there came in Joe with Antoinette at his heel. They both looked annoyed and exhausted.

Dad, I thought, standing up

The whole party had cheered and the couple smiled faintly. "Hi," they said at once.

Sounding—and looking—like I did when I entered their party, they followed my track to the kitchen and Joe leaned over my Mom's ear and told her, "Dad's in the backseat."

I stood there and erased every thought I had of being proud of my father.

"Where's Frank?" Mom asked suddenly frantic.

"The car, too. But don't worry, Dad is out."

Mom rolled her brown eyes, huffed, and stormed out to the driveway.

The door slammed shut and Jantoinette's eyes travelled the room. Finally Joe eyes met mine.

"Hey, you." He said like he always did. We weren't ones for sappy…but we did hug...for a long time.

He pulled away and gave me a slap on the back to Guy things up.

Ow! I winced.

"Oh my God!" He said and checked out my face from ten different angles. "Is that stubble?"

I covered my face with my hands, already going red. "No," I moaned.

He and Antoinette laughed and aww-ed. Lowering my hands, I looked at them completely. Joe, in his Le Monde Tactile t-shirt, skinny jeans and an obvious last-minute tie, got a haircut with a bad fade. And Antoinette, in a shiny grey-brown dress, had nothing different about her. She never did. She was 25 and still looked the age she was they met.

"And who's this little beauty?" Joe asked seeing Miley.

"Miley," she answered. She extended her hand for a shake.

"Ahh. Enchanté." He crooned and kissed her hand gracefully.

"'Kay," she replied.

Mom returned with Frankie holding her hand and Dad stumbling behind her, wearing sunglasses. I would have laughed if it wasn't so outright embarrassing and just plain pathetic.

Us Lucases always seemed to give the Fletchings something to look at.

"Okay," Ma said with a sigh. "Let's eat!"

- x.0. x -

An elderly male Fletching smiles, lifting his fork up and swinging it around for emphasize. "…The guy says, 'Sir, your helicopter only goes 182 MPH'. I say, 'Yeah, 'till I am behind the wheel!'"

The dining room explodes with laughter and the Fletching repeats the punch line a good four times before finally eating what's on his fork.

"So. Paul. How's the business going? You planning on having Harvey here take over?"

My eyes narrowed. I bit my tongue to halt an outburst.

Dad opened his mouth to talk but Joe was quicker.

"I sure don't know," Joe said, faking niceness and dumb too obviously. "Hey, Nick!" he yelled from the other side of the table. "Do you want to take over Dad's business?"

He was so annoying, but I loved him for this. Asking me what I wanted to do with my life. Calling me Nick…not son or boy or Harvey. I also hated him then, too. Putting me on the spot like this was evil.

I twiddled my thumbs. "Well, umm, see, I don't know. I mean, think about it. I'll be done school by the time I'm twenty and by then Dad'll be 48. That's not at all time to retire. Especially nowadays. Putting work on hiatus or passing it to someone as inexperienced as I am—and will be without experience in secondary first—is extremely risky. Now I try my absolute best in academics and making my father proud, but I won't even consider such a task until I'm sure I am ready."

Nods arose at the table, understanding and actually taking all the crap I'd just spewed.

I smiled knowing the discussion was over as soon as it started and Dad couldn't protest a thing.

Dinner continued for another 6 or 7 minutes and the fiancés at the end wouldn't stop giving each other looks and argumentative whispers. So much so, I couldn't keep up in the footsie game I had going beneath the table. Miley was winning.

Soon their faces showed they'd come to an agreement (that Joe wasn't really happy with) and even though it was relatively quiet around, Antoinette tapped a glass with her spoon. "Everybody," she called childlike.

The table slowed down.

"Joe and I have an announcement." She told us.

We continued to eat. None of Jantoinette's "announcements" ever required full attention, no matter how bad she wanted it. They were always no-brainers. "Joe told me he loves me," "Joe is moving in," "Joe and I are officially professional photographers," and so on.

Antoinette looked at Joe lovingly and bit her lip. "Weeeell," she mused and released. "We eloped."

Mouths fell open, utensils were dropped, everyone rendered speechless.

I knew it!

Antoinette giggled lightheartedly at the group and hung her head. "You know...it's not a big deal."

"Yes it is!" her mother bursted. "How could you get married behind our backs?"

"Well, I mean, it was a last minute thing." she defended. "We'd been wanting to be married for years now. It just made sense to do it without all the drama. Our friend S did a great job—"

"You're doing it again." her father told her straight up. "You're wedding again. I will not accept the fact my only daughter got married in a dirty French motel."

"It was not dirty!"

"So you admit it was a motel!"

Joe sat looking sick to his stomach. He was watching our parents, too lost in the argument. You could tell Mom and Dad were upset, too, but not like the Fletchings. Even Miley was wildly uncomfortable. We had locked ankles and exchanged looks of discomfort.

"I am so sorry." I'd mouthed to her. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

She nodded understandingly.

"Can you not yell in front of the children?" Mom asked, overwhelmed by the night. An hour and a half into the party and she'd done it all: cooked, cleaned, powered herself, got Frankie out of the car with a passed-out but dangerous drunk, made the passed-out, dangerous drunk look somewhat presentable, and now she was referee in a debate between her new daughter-in-law and the daughter's father. The argument had escalated again to Mr. Fletching just yelling at Antoinette Lucas like she was eight.

I stole a glance at Frank beside Miley and he looked plain frightened. Eyes wide, jaw loose and all.

Mr. Fletching apologized, shoving the last bit of food he had into his mouth.

"Look," My brother spoke up. "I am so sorry this happened. I had no idea this would spark such a problem."

The Fletching clan all scoffed and Joe bowed his head back in position.

He played with his hands. "But—if you really want—we'll do it the right way."

"Mhmm, fabulous." Mrs. Fletching gushed, already on cloud nine.

"Good choice, son." Dad inserted his first full sentence of the night.

"Indeed," injected Mr. Fletching. He slapped Dad's arm beside him and winked. "And he's my son now."

The air was swallowed by laughter within milliseconds.

I wasn't sure if Joe was happy or upset by this. The half smile was off-putting. So was Miley's.

I didn't feel like eating anymore. Everything felt more faked and forced than ever. Joe was talked into remarrying a woman he seemed to have a lack of interest in for the past few months or so. Frankie looked like unicorn came trotting by the window and had been giving him nasty looks all night. Dad was just...typical Dad, Mom was afraid to do anything but ask people if they wanted pie later, and—if so—heat some up. I was a mess, dating back to last night, and Miley was just uncomfortable.

But none of us addressed our issues. The group ushered themselves into the living room once again and I got a movie going. I sat on the floor with Miley in my lap—comfortable at last with some ice cream and cake. She took my hand and stroked it with her thumb after listening to me breathe like I was suppressing demons for a while. She looked at me, troubled. "Relax," she whispered. "It's all over. ...Today is over."

Her smooth whispering did me little help. She started spoon-feeding me ice cream. The cool liquid melted my anxiety and anger—those of which burned in my mouth before, out to pry my lips open and thrust out a scream. You wouldn't believe the wonders that metal spoon did on my tongue. Everything was just right as I swallowed and I gave Miley satisfaction with a smile and "Aah"-ing for more.

- x. 0. x -

I grunted as I hit Miley's bed, spread my arms out and shut my eyes. "What a day."

"It's after one. Yesterday is yesterday."

"Except I'm gonna be asked about yesterday." I told Miley, yawning. "Joe and I both. I have to think of reason for all that sh-t I said at the table. I have to work for him. It's the whole reason I'm going to Harvard."

She groaned, annoyed with me to a high extent. "What do you want to do? Really. No bullsh*t."

"That." I answered, growing sleepy. I didn't want another 1 am discussion with Miley. Not tonight.

"Nick," she snapped, dead serious.

"Oh, I don't know. An electrician."

"What did you wanna be when you were little?" she asked another question, crawled into the bed and laid horizontal with me. Her voice was growing tired, too.

I blinked to stay awake. "Uhhh...Baseball playing firefighter."

She yawned and snuggled into me. We laid quiet. "Cool." she said.

"Uh-huh,"

And I was out.