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"Look, whatever you do, please, do not, under any kind of circumstance, analyze anything anyone says," David "Gordo" Gordon pleaded with his parents as he put different cooking utensils into a bag.
His father, Howard Gordon, smiled fondly at his only son. "But some people might be very interested in understanding why they say some things."
Gordo shook his head, it was entirely too early on the holiday morning to be having this conversation. Well, nine thirty wasn't exactly early, but had he been given a choice, he would not be out of bed.
Heaving a sigh, Gordo grabbed a bag and followed his father. "But some people like to be able to have a regular conversation without it being analyzed."
"Our son is feeling restricted by our professions as psychologists and he is suffering from the adolescent fear that we, as his parental units, will embarrass him," his mother Roberta stated.
"See! You've already started and I'm used to it!" Gordo exclaimed.
"David, calm down," Roberta stated. "We won't analyze anyone."
"Thank you, because you have no idea how annoying it is!"
"Gordo!" Howard exclaimed, falling back into the nickname. When his parents used his given name, it usually when they wanted to have an edge.
"What?" he laughed, following both his parents back into the house. "Okay, if you weren't a psychologist, would you like for someone to tell you that even a normal sentence meant that you were repressing years of anger?"
"Usually it takes several sentences to discover if someone is repressing anger," Howard smiled.
Gordo rolled his eyes as he grabbed another bag. He gave up arguing, his parents wouldn't analyze anyone because he had asked them not to, but he was not going to get off the hook easily and he would be better off letting the argument drop.
After putting the bag into the trunk, he jogged back into the house, and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He glanced at the mess of ebony curls on his head, he knew it was useless to fight with them because in the end the curls would win. He needed to get them cut to a tamable length, but he hadn't felt like dealing with the hassle.
He glanced down at his khakis and plain royal blue button down shirt. He knew he shouldn't go to Lizzie's house already wearing his good clothes for dinner. One, with Lizzie's klutz moments, the outfit would be in constant danger all day, and secondly the girls would not let him live this outfit down.
He smiled as he thought of his best friends.
Miranda and her rebellious ways. Her long black hair offset her bronzed skin perfectly. Her large brown eyes always sparkling with laughter. She always looked for adventure, and often that sense of adventure would lead him and Lizzie into some unusual situations.
Lizzie, what all could he say to describe that girl. Blonde, beautiful, the perfect picture of Californian beach babe. She was kind, considerate, playful, he shook his head to stop himself. He was not going to think about her like that right now. Not when he had to spend the rest of the day with her and everyone around.
He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Gordo?" his mother called.
'Great,' he thought. 'That tone doesn't sound good.'
He walked into the kitchen and smiled at his mother. "Yes?"
"Do you think Jo will mind if I make a cranberry pie?"
"I don't see why not," Gordo replied slowly. Here was the part he had been dreading. His family being Jewish had different ideas than the other adults of what a traditional Thanksgiving Day meal would be. He had no idea how to address this issue to his parents without making the problem he had hoped could some how be avoided seem more prevalent than it really was.
Gordo walked out to the car, and leaned against it. His mind going back to Lizzie. He couldn't hold out on his feelings for her forever. He could, no he would, find a moment alone with her today and tell her. It was a promise to himself. He either did it tonight, or he gave up, he would ask out the first girl he came across on Friday. It didn't matter if that girl was Kate Sanders or even Miranda. If he didn't tell Lizzie, it would be over.
Sighing, Gordo opened the backdoor to the silver Chrysler as he watched his parents come out of the house carrying paper bags. What had they gotten themselves into?