Chapter 26

What was a pregnant woman to do when she was supposed to be eating healthy but was only craving unhealthy crap? That was the dilemma Clarke found herself in the next morning as she roamed around her kitchen, weighing her options. Sure, she had some yogurt and blueberries, but she also had some toaster pastries that were calling her name.

A knock on the front door delayed her decision. When she opened it, she found Bellamy's mom on the other side. "Hi, Aurora," she said.

"Hi. I hope I didn't wake you up."

"No, my bladder woke me up three hours ago." She'd tried to go back to bed, but it hadn't really worked. "Come on in," she said, stepping aside so Aurora could enter. "Bellamy's still asleep. He stayed up kind of late last night."

"That's actually why I came by," his mom said. "I wanted to see how he was doing. Octavia said you were going to talk to him."

She nodded. "Yeah. I did. He told me about . . . everything."

Aurora nodded, too, not saying anything for a moment. When she did speak, her voice was quiet. "It's not easy stuff for him to talk about," she said. "He hasn't even mentioned it to me for years. But I think all these athletic honors from the school . . . it just kind of brought it all back to the surface."

"For sure," Clarke agreed, and that was understandable. "I don't know why he felt like he had to keep it a secret, though."

"Well, he's ashamed," his mom explained. "He feels guilty."

Clarke looked down momentarily, then mumbled, "We all have things we regret."

"True," Aurora said, sighing. "I'm glad he told you. I had a feeling he would. He trusts you; he loves you. You're so good for him."

She's so awesome, Clarke thought, in awe of how unwaveringly encouraging this woman was. Nothing against her own mom, but Aurora was, in many ways, the kind of mother she was hoping to be. This woman had her son's back, no matter what. She didn't question his decisions; she just backed them. Still, it'd be natural for her to have some doubts, though, to be skeptical about things. "We've never really gotten to talk about . . . everything he's kind of signed on for with me," Clarke mumbled. "Are you okay with it?"

"Of course," Aurora assured her without hesitation. "Clarke, at the end of the day, I just want my son to be happy. And there's no one who makes him happier than you do. So baby or no baby, yes, the two of you have my absolute support."

Tears stung Clarke's eyes. One second, they were dry, and then all of a sudden they were just there, threatening to spill over. And they did; she couldn't hold them back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Aurora said. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"No, happy tears," Clarke clarified as she sniffled and wiped them away. She just wished her mother would say something like this. It'd make things easier. "Don't worry, I just cry at the drop of a hat these days," she said, embarrassed to be so damn emotional.

"I remember what that's like," Aurora said, reaching out to her. "Come here." She enveloped her in a hug, and Clarke laughed a little as she continued to cry. But at least the tears continued to be the happy kind.

...

Lexa sat down across from Bellamy with a sack from McDonalds in her hand. "Thanks for the lunch invite," she said. "Any excuse to skip class."

"You sound like my sister." He was pretty sure Octavia was skipping more classes than she was actually attending, but as long as she passed, that was what mattered. "I can't stay long," he said. "Gotta be back to work in twenty minutes."

Lexa took her food out of her sack—a Big Mac that looked bigger than her entire stomach—and took a huge chomp of it. "Clarke says you're working . . . construction, right?" she said.

"Yeah." Today was kind of rough. His back was killing him.

"Hmm. If I wasn't gay, I'd probably find that really hot."

Bellamy chuckled. Lexa was pretty cool. Hell, if she wasn't gay, he'd probably be into her. "You mind if I ask you something?" he said. Since time was short, he kind of had to cut straight to the chase of why he'd texted her and asked her to meet up with him.

"Go ahead," she invited.

He took a sip of his soda, then inquired, "How'd you get Clarke's mom to like you?"

Lexa laughed loudly in response. "I didn't."

"What?" They'd dated for a year, and . . . nothing?

"Well, I mean, she didn't dislike me," Lexa acknowledged. "She just never really . . . endorsed the relationship. But at least you don't have that same problem. I mean, you're a guy."

That didn't mean he automatically had her stamp of approval, though. "She's not exactly on the Bellamy Blake bandwagon, either," he said. "I think, no matter what, she still looks at me and sees the guy who . . . you know."

"Deflowered her daughter?" Lexa filled in.

"Ah, pretty much."

She cringed. "Yeah, that's probably a tough one to overcome. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, she didn't like Finn that much, either."

She didn't? Great. "That does make me feel better," he said, because even though he wasn't the greatest guy to ever exist, he felt like he had more to offer than Finn did.

"To be honest, I think Abby just has this picture in her head of who she wants Clarke to date," Lexa said. "And it's not you. Not me. Not Finn."

"Who the hell is it then?" It sounded to him like the woman was making herself impossible to please.

Lexa shrugged. "Probably that Wells kid."

"Wells?" he echoed. "Wells Jaha?" Wasn't he in the Ivy League now?

"Yeah. He's the guy Clarke dated in high school, right?"

"Her freshman year." He scoffed at that. "No chemistry." She'd definitely upgraded in the passion department when she'd hooked up with him.

"Right, but Clarke tells me he's this really accomplished guy nowadays," Lexa went on. "Already in grad school, at Brown of all places, has a great job, making lots of money . . ."

"So he's a wealthy, educated professional," Bellamy summarized. "Great. I'm not any of those things." The possibility of him ever going back to college was slim. Not impossible, but what had happened at UCF had kind of tainted the whole idea of it for him. He didn't make lots of money, and he didn't have an amazing job, so he'd probably never be as successful as Wells was. "If that's what Abby's looking for, then she's always gonna hate me."

"Not necessarily," Lexa said. "Think about it: You're basically volunteering to be the father of Clarke's child. Eventually she's gotta be impressed by that."

Stepping in with that baby had nothing to do with Abby and everything to do with Clarke. But if it painted him in a more favorable light in Abby's eyes, then so be it. "So what you're saying is . . . eventually she'll like me?" he said, wishing there was some kind of timeline so he knew how long that would take.

"Hopefully," Lexa said.

Hopefully? So she wasn't even saying it was guaranteed then. Lovely.

His lunch with Lexa actually did make him feel better, mostly because they stopped talking about Abby and ended up comparing oral sex techniques. And that was fun. Afterward, he went back to work, made it through the day, and swung by Eligius on his way home, because he knew Clarke was working until 7:00. When he walked in the bar, although he wasn't going to say anything to anyone, a few guys—old teammates, he recognized—at one of the corner tables saw him come in and hollered at him to get his attention.

"Hey, Blake, what the hell's wrong with you?" one of his former linemen, Dax, shouted at him. (Dax had gotten fat.) "You think you're too good for your hometown? Lookin' down on our awards and shit . . ."

It seemed like everyone had heard about the Hall of Fame ceremony, even if they hadn't attended it. Someone had asked him about it at the gas station today, too.

"Ignore them," Clarke said as she came up to him. She gave him a quick kiss and said, "Hey."

"Hey." Luckily, it was a lot easier to ignore Dax and those other guys when he had her to focus on.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Nothing. I just had an idea today."

"Ooh." Her whole face lit up with excitement. "Like a sexy roleplay idea?"

"No. Where's your mind at?"

"In the gutter, apparently," she mumbled. "What's your idea?"

It was something he'd been mulling over for a couple of days, but after talking with Lexa about how Abby would hopefully come to like him one day, he just figured they might as well go for it. "I think we should host our own Thanksgiving," he told her. "That way we don't have to split time between your mom and my mom."

Clarke made a face. "You want us to cook the meal. And invite everyone over?"

"Just your mom and Kane, my mom, Octavia." They could cook for six people. That wasn't too bad.

"That sounds like a lot more work," Clarke said, not so immediately keen on the idea.

"I know, but . . . I'm tryin' to get on your mom's good side," he admitted. "I'm trying to impress her." Hosting a holiday meal seemed like a step in the right direction, at the very least.

She thought about it for a few seconds, then decided, "Alright, let's do it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's just a meal," she said. "How hard can it be?"

...

Just a meal. How hard can it be? Yeah, right, Clarke thought as she and Bellamy spilled out the front door, kicking herself now for being so cocky. Those had been some famous last words, because a plume of smoke followed them outside, and they both gratefully breathed in some much-needed fresh air.

"Oh my god, what did we do wrong?" she wondered.

"I don't know," he said, coughing. "But we can't eat that turkey."

"Is it unsalvageable?"

"You ever seen Christmas Vacation?"

Was that one of the National Lampoon movies? "Yeah?"

"It's like that."

She pictured that scene where the turkey just popped open and was all hollowed out inside. The family in the film had tried to eat it, but they'd mostly just been gnawing away at bones. "What're we gonna do?" she fretted. "People are gonna be here in an hour." Why had she agreed to host this dinner again? Why had she ever assumed they could pull this off?

"It's okay," he said, whipping out his phone. As he tapped out a quick text, he said, "I told my mom to cook a backup turkey, just in case. I'll just have her bring it."

"Oh, good thinking." Now they just had to get rid of that smoke smell, and they'd be in good shape.

When Bellamy's mom learned of the turkey emergency, she high-tailed it over. She carried a big old roaster that looked pretty heavy, so Bellamy immediately rushed out to greet her and take it off her hands.

"Hey, Mom. Thanks for bringing this," he said.

"No problem."

Octavia came inside behind her mom and shivered, rubbing her arms through her jacket. "God, Bell, it's freezing in here."

He set the roaster on the stove and said, "That's cause we had to . . . air it out."

"Where's the disaster turkey?" his mom asked.

"Out in the trash," Clarke said. They'd covered it up with some other stuff, too, so that, if her mom for some reason looked in there, she wouldn't be able to see it. "Is it okay if we take full credit for this one?"

"Go right ahead," Aurora said.

"Thanks." Normally, she wasn't one to take credit for someone else's work, but this Thanksgiving meal was pretty important to Bellamy and to the impression he wanted to make, so a good turkey was a necessity.

"Why is there a piano bench at the table?" Octavia questioned.

"Because we don't have enough chairs," Bellamy told her. "So that's where you and I are gonna sit."

Yeah, the small table was another thing they hadn't really given much thought to until last night. Clarke had started freaking out and sobbing, because she'd thought they might have to eat in the living room, and her mom was so against eating on couches. But Bellamy had thought of bringing the piano bench down from upstairs, so that would work.

"I think I did okay on the green bean casserole," she said, showing it to Aurora, in search of her approval. She lifted a clump of it out, and it just dribbled off the spoon. "It's a little soupy, but it'll do."

"It'll thicken up," Aurora said.

"Mmm, the mashed potatoes look good," Octavia remarked as she walked past a bowl of fluffy, buttery white potatoes.

"They're store-bought," Clarke confessed, because who the hell honestly had time to sit around peeling potatoes anymore? "Microwaveable. Don't tell my mom."

"Oh, speak of the devil . . ." Bellamy muttered as another car pulled up out front. He went to the door, laughing nervously. "I'm just kidding, of course. You're mom's not the devil. She just hates me." Opening the door, he plastered a big, exaggerated grin on his face and exclaimed, "Happy Thanksgiving!" as Abby and Kane got out of the car.

"Aw, look at him," Clarke said. "He's trying so hard." Hopefully it wouldn't all be for naught.

"Did your mom say anything about the Hall of Fame dinner the other night?" Aurora asked her quietly as Octavia took to sampling the mashed potatoes.

"She asked me about it, but I just told her Bellamy and I talked and left it at that," Clarke replied. "It's none of her business." It wasn't that she didn't trust her mom, but there was always the chance that she'd tell Callie, and then Callie would tell everyone else, and suddenly the whole town would know about Bellamy's experience at UCF. Which he clearly didn't want.

When her mom came inside, she, like Octavia, had something to say about the temperature. "Oh, honey, it's so cold in here. What do you have it set on?"

It would warm up once they were able to keep the door shut for a while. "Mom, I'm pregnant," she said, using that as an excuse. "I have hot flashes."

Luckily, Aurora was there to help her out. "Abby, come look at this lovely turkey your daughter made," she said.

As her mom untied her scarf, she came into the kitchen and peered into the roaster at the beautifully-browned bird. "Clarke, I'm impressed," she said. "You did so well. Come here, honey." She hugged her and said, "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Clarke said to her, too. She mouthed a silent thank you to Aurora over her mom's shoulder, and Aurora just smiled at her and nodded.

Since the food was all cooked, they didn't waste any time getting to the dinner. Well, it was more of a lunch, actually. Clarke set the table exactly the way her mom had taught her to, and Bellamy, bless his heart, found a Thanksgiving playlist on Spotify for background music after he carved up the turkey. He kind of mangled the dark meat section, but it was all still edible. They all sat around the table, joined hands, and Kane said a prayer, and after that, it was time to dig in. Clarke tried to eat slowly, but all the food aromas had been driving her nuts all morning—with the exception of that burnt turkey—and she was so hungry. Despite trying to pace herself, she finished what was on her plate well before anyone else did, but since she had a valid excuse for eating so fast, she just shrugged and scooped herself some seconds.

"Mmm, these rolls are delicious," Kane praised.

"Bellamy picked them out," Clarke said, just to make sure he got credit.

"Good choice," Kane told him, and Clarke had to agree. Hell, she was already on her third roll, but if anyone asked, it was her second.

While everyone else started helping themselves to seconds, Octavia just folded up her napkin and set it atop her plate, apparently done, even though she still had some green bean casserole there. (It never really had thickened up the way Clarke had hoped.)

"What's the matter?" Aurora asked her daughter. "Are you not hungry?"

"No, just gotta save room," Octavia said, patting her flat stomach. "I'm going over to Lincoln's for Thanksgiving dinner. In fact . . ." She checked the time on her phone. "I should probably head out now."

"Oh, so we're not . . . we're not watching the Charlie Brown show like we've done every other year?" Aurora asked, sounding a little . . . disappointed.

"Sorry," Octavia apologized, getting up. "I promised him I'd be there. But thanks for having me, guys. Everything was really good. Especially that turkey." She grabbed her jacket off the coat rack, stepped into her warm, fuzzy boots, and said, "Later," as she walked out the door. It was a hasty exit, propelled, of course, by her desire to spend time with her boyfriend. Which was understandable, but Clarke thought Aurora looked a little sad.

"I'm sorry," Aurora apologized to the group. "I didn't know she was gonna be so . . . abrupt."

"Lincoln," Bellamy muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"It's hard when your children grow up," Abby empathized. "Sometimes they do things you don't approve of."

Clarke shot her a warning look. None of that. None of the subtle little jabs her mom was so good at. That wasn't allowed today.

"Oh, I approve of her boyfriend," Aurora clarified, "not that she needs my approval. She's an adult."

You hear that, Mom? Clarke wondered. Octavia was eighteen and dating a twenty-six year old, and yet Aurora was more accepting of that than Abby was of Bellamy.

"It's just tough to let her leave the nest," Aurora admitted. "She's my daughter."

Abby nodded knowingly and looked at Clarke as she said, "Daughters are special."

Dammit. When her mom said stuff like that, it was hard to be mad at her.

"So do you have any inclination on what you're having, Clarke?" Kane asked as he reached for another roll. "A girl or a boy?"

"I don't know," she said, still debating whether or not she wanted to find out. "I guess as long as it's healthy, that's all that matters." She felt like it was a boy, but Bellamy was still predicting a girl.

"We should do one of those gender reveal things," Kane proposed. "Isn't that all the rage?"

"Yeah. Maybe. That might be kind of fun." Admittedly, she'd looked up a couple things on Pinterest, and some of the gender reveal ideas were actually really cute.

"Back in my day," her mom said, "you just went in for an ultrasound and found out."

Aurora smiled and recalled, "I waited with Bellamy, let it be a surprise."

"You did?" Clarke said, seeing some appeal in that option, too.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I figured getting pregnant with him was a surprise to begin with, so why not let everything be that way?"

Part of her really liked the idea of not knowing, of just finding out when the baby actually entered the world. But logistically, knowing in advance would simplify things so much. That way she'd know what clothes to get, how to decorate the nursery . . . once there was an actual nursery to decorate.

"Clarke's pregnancy was surprising, too," her mom felt the need to pipe up, for some reason. "I sure didn't expect it."

And like I did? Clarke thought. Maybe her mom didn't mean anything by it, but just hearing her say that . . . she felt like she'd let her down, and nobody wanted to feel that way, especially not on a holiday like Thanksgiving.

"She's handled it pretty well, though," Bellamy said, reaching over to put his hand on top of hers and give it a squeeze.

She smiled at him and said, "I've had help." She'd meant it the other night out on the football field when she'd told him she wasn't sure what she and the baby would do without him. He'd been her rock ever since he'd come back to town, the one person she could rely on more than anyone else. And for that, she was very, very thankful.

...

Some people claimed it was a myth that turkey made people sleepy, but Bellamy believed it. After the pumpkin pie, which had been store-bought just like the mashed potatoes, everyone retired to the living room couches to just relax. They put on the Dallas Cowboys football game, which Bellamy had always found a way to tune into, even when he'd been living in other countries. It wasn't that he was a huge Cowboys fan or anything, but if they were playing, he usually rooted for them, because he liked their young quarterback and . . . well, he liked their cheerleaders.

Clarke's head was on his shoulder, and she was dozing, and his mom sat in the recliner, struggling to keep her eyes open, too. Abby definitely wasn't watching, because she'd taken to looking through some of the drawings in Clarke's sketchbook. There were probably some explicit ones in there, but . . . oh, well. She'd insisted.

That left him and Kane as the only two actually watching the game. He liked Kane. The guy was decent, pretty laid-back, which was miraculous considering who he was dating; and even though he didn't know anything about football, watching the game with him was pretty fun.

"What do you think here?" he said when the Cowboys faced a critical third down. "A pass play?"

"Run. Just watch," Bellamy predicted. They had eight yards to get, so most people would assume it'd be a short pass, but when he looked at the way the defense had set itself up, he just sensed an opportunity for the quarterback to run. And indeed, that was what happened. Just a quick cut to the side, and then straight up the middle of the first down.

"How'd you know that?" Kane asked.

"Because that's what I would do." He looked at those guys out on the screen, and he knew that he lacked the physical stature to be in the NFL. It'd probably been a pipe dream at best. But his instincts for the game were still good. He missed playing sometimes.

"I have to pee," Clarke sleepily announced as she pushed herself up from the couch. "Again." Eyes half-closed, she plodded into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door.

"Clarke's getting tired," Abby noted. "Maybe we should go."

"You guys can stay as long as you want," Bellamy offered, even though he was fine with it if Abby left. She'd actually been pretty nice to him today, but still . . . he wouldn't have to walk on eggshells if she wasn't there.

"I'll take you up on that offer," his mother said. "If you're willing to watch the Charlie Brown show with me this year."

"Sure," he said, figuring someone had to since Octavia had taken off.

"Come on, Marcus," Abby said, standing up and stretching, "let's go get our coats."

"Oh, right in the middle of the game?" He didn't stand up right away, but as she headed upstairs, he took that as his cue to follow. "Okay, then." Groaning, he got to his feet and headed up after her. Bellamy had put their coats up in the bedroom, because they hadn't had enough room on the coat rack.

When it was just him and his mom, he asked her, "How do you think I did today?" He felt good about it, but it'd benefit him to have another opinion.

"Perfect," his mom said. "How could Abby not be impressed?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll find a way." There was no way she could insult the turkey, because that thing had been damn succulent, and he'd seen her eat two of those rolls. If she found out the pumpkin pie wasn't homemade, that might be a strike against him, but how was she going to find out? His lips were sealed, and Clarke wouldn't say anything, either.

"Bellamy!" his girlfriend called from the bathroom suddenly. "My back hurts. Can you go get me my Tylenol? It's upstairs."

"Sure, Princess," he called back. That nickname got a giggle out of his mom, and he said, "What? That's what I call her," as he treaded upstairs.

As he neared the bedroom, he heard conversation, the quiet kind, but not exactly a whisper. It sounded like Abby and Kane were arguing about something, or at the very least having a heated exchange. He didn't exactly want to interrupt, and he wasn't really trying to linger outside the room and eavesdrop, but . . . it was hard not to.

"I don't understand, Abby."

"Just think about things from my point of view, okay? The boy gets my daughter, my grandchild, now even my house. If he's gonna be living here, the least he can do is pitch in with the rent."

The boy, he registered. She was talking about him. She didn't even think of him as a man; she thought of him as a boy.

"I don't think he's moved in yet," Kane said. He sounded a lot calmer than his girlfriend did.

"Yet," Abby emphasized. "Yet would be the key word there, Marcus. It's only a matter of time."

Well . . . she wasn't wrong.

"What do you have against him?" Kane asked her. It was a brave question, but he was probably one of the only people in the world who could get away with asking it.

"Nothing. It's just that . . ." Abby trailed off and sighed frustratedly. "Oh, you don't know what it's like when he and Clarke are together. You only know her as this typically responsible, mature girl, but when she's with him . . . she just doesn't think. She's so reckless, Marcus. She's . . . oh, she'ssoreckless."

"Well, she can't be reckless now," he pointed out. "She's a mother."

"And what does that make him then, the father?" Abby spat. "I just wonder, have they really thought about that? Because I don't think they have."

Bellamy frowned, disheartened to be hearing all of this. Clarke's mom had been nice to him today, sure, but her opinion of him hadn't changed.

"I think they're just being ruled by their hormones, just like they were back in high school," she went on, "and they're so caught up in being back together that they're not even thinking about what's gonna happen when things get hard. Because things do get hard in relationships, even the normal ones."

Normal? Now his relationship with Clarke wasn't normal? Bellamy had really had enough of listening to that, so he pushed open the door as a way to announce his presence. "She needs her Tylenol," he said, slinking through the bedroom, not even bothering to disguise the look of hurt he knew was on his face. He thought he saw a flash of remorse in Abby's eyes, like maybe she felt bad when she realized he'd likely heard all of that. But she didn't say she was sorry. Because she wasn't. The woman truly believed everything she was saying. She didn't think he and Clarke were gonna last.

Can't wait to prove you wrong, he thought as he flipped on the bathroom light and grabbed Clarke's medicine off the sink.

...

Clarke was faintly aware of Aurora leaving after that stupid Charlie Brown show. Faintly. A short time after her parents had left, though, she'd fallen asleep on the couch, and her head had ended up on Bellamy's lap. He was just as comfy as any pillow, so she dozed and murmured a goodbye as Aurora walked out the door. In the back of her mind, she knew that there were dishes in the washing machine that needed to be unloaded and put away, but she was too tired to bother with it, and she stayed right where she was. Bellamy didn't move, either. He seemed exhausted, too.

At some point, Clarke started talking in her sleep, to the point where she woke her own self up. She heard the words, "I'm drowning in Doritos," leaving her mouth as she stirred.

It took Bellamy a few seconds to respond, so maybe he'd been dozing, too. "What?"

Groggily, she sat up a bit, looking around the now empty living room, squinting against the bright light of the lamp. "Sorry," she said. "I was dreaming about food."

He rubbed her back and teased, "Didn't have enough of that today, huh?"

"No, I'm stuffed." She sat all the way up, staying close to him, and yawned. "You should've woken me up to say goodbye to your mom," she said. "She saved our asses today."

"Yeah, she did," he agreed.

Clarke hoped Aurora had at least taken the leftover turkey with her instead of leaving it for them. It was, after all, her own cooking. "Was my mom pretty nice to you overall, though?" she asked Bellamy, hoping her mom had been even halfway as amicable. "She didn't seem too bad."

"Yeah," he replied, though he didn't sound too convincing, "she was nice."

Clarke saw through that right away. "No, she wasn't." He was just trying to downplay any hostility so that it wouldn't bother her. "What'd she say?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Bellamy." She needed to know. She needed to know so she could talk to her mom, get her to be more accepting. Somehow.

"She just . . . she still doesn't like me," he said, sounding resigned to that fact.

She pouted, feeling bad for him. He was trying so hard all the time. All the time. "Well, that doesn't matter," she said. "I like you."

He smiled at her, but his eyes . . . his eyes looked a little sad. He could downplay it all he wanted, but Clarke knew he would have loved to have her mom's approval, to be able to have her over without feeling like he was being judged and scrutinized.

"In fact . . ." Climbing up onto his lap, she decided to make him feel better by getting his mind on something else entirely. "Let me show you how much I like you." She scrunched up the bottom of his shirt and stroked and caressed his abs, paying special attention to the happy trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans.

They'd always known how to make each other feel better.

...

Clarke was bored. Like so bored. Bored to tears. Well, not actual tears, but if she had to listen to her cousin Sicily (yes, she had a cousin named Sicily even though there wasn't a trace of Italian in her family's ancestry) . . . if she had to listen to her cousin Sicily talk politics for one more minute, she felt like she was going to scream. Her whole family—aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents—all had different views than she did. They didn't know that she found both men and women attractive, and she wasn't about to tell them, because it'd just upset every single one of them.

Thankfully, as Clarke sat in the living room on the couch with the only cousin who was close in age to her, Sicily changed the subject. "So what about you?" she asked. "Tell me what you've been up to." But before Clarke could even get a word out, Sicily blurted, "I heard your boyfriend lost the state championship."

Her boyfriend was the one who'd gotten them to that championship. Without him, they probably wouldn't have even made the playoffs. "Who'd you hear that from?" she asked.

"Your mom."

Oh, of course, Clarke thought bitterly. Her mom didn't exactly have the Rocket spirit. In fact, Clarke was pretty sure she was secretly happy that they hadn't won, that Bellamy had thrown that interception. As if one bad play was going to make Clarke have second thoughts about dating him. "The team lost," she corrected. "It wasn't his fault."

"That's not what she said." Sicily took a sip of her diet Coke through her straw. It was the loud, gurgling kind of sip that just drove Clarke up the wall. That coupled with the conversation was just too much, and she had to get up and walk away.

Her house was bustling with people, so it took her a minute to find her father. He was holed up in his study, apparently trying to evade the Thanksgiving festivities just like she was.

"Dad, how long are they gonna be here?" she whined. "They're driving me crazy."

"It's a holiday, Clarke," he said. "Everyone's going crazy. Just grin and bear it." As if taking his own advice, he plastered a fake smile on his face and headed back out into the main room.

Clarke groaned, slumping back against the wall. Last Thanksgiving hadn't been too bad, because it'd been their first year in this house, so everyone had mostly been interested in getting the grand tour and seeing the space. But now that they'd already seen it and the novelty had worn off, it seemed like a lot of people just wanted to sit around and gossip.

When her phone vibrated, she noticed a text from Bellamy. First thing all day she was truly thankful for.

Come outside, it read.

What? Bellamy was there? At her house on Thanksgiving? She'd assumed he'd be with his family today, but then again, maybe they didn't do a big meal. Maybe it was just him and his mom and his sister having their own Thanksgiving. Honestly, that sounded a lot more relaxing and chill than this.

She slipped out of her dad's office, deliberately walking with her head down, not making eye contact with anyone as she tried her best to be invisible and just slip outside without being noticed. Sicily called out to her, but she just ignored the girl and kept on walking, not even bothering to put on shoes before she went outside.

Bellamy's truck was parked out on the street, but he stood in the driveway near her uncle's brand new Lexus, waiting for her. The moment she saw him, she forgot all about how frustrating and annoying it was to have her family over, ran to him, and hugged him and kissed him. "What're you doing here?" she asked.

"My mom and O are in a food coma," he answered. "Figured I'd come see you."

"My hero," she said, sliding her hands down from his shoulders to his chest. "I was miserable in there."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, rubbing her back as he gave her another kiss. "So what're you thankful for this year, Clarke?"

It was an easy answer, one she didn't even have to think about. "You," she blurted. "Being with you."

He didn't echo that to her in response, but she saw it in the warm glow of his dark brown eyes that he was thankful for the exact same thing.

...

Bellamy groaned as Clarke sank down on top of his cock. They were both still halfway clothed, but she just hadn't been patient enough to get completely naked. "Oh, you like me a lot," he said as she began to move. "Don't you?"

More than anything, she thought as she bounced up and down, her belly rubbing against his abdomen as she leaned forward a bit. If it kept growing at this rate, she felt like it was going to get in the way of almost every position. But for now, she was just going to sit with him on the couch and ride him, while she still could.

Lowering his head to her shoulder, he pressed a kiss to her exposed skin and murmured, "I love you, Clarke."

"I love you, too," she whispered back breathily, holding onto his shoulders as she moved so she could keep her rhythm steady. She loved him enough to set off any hate he felt from her mom. The way she was acting towards him probably had more to do with the past than anything else. But Clarke didn't want him dwelling on that.