A/N: Thank you all for your kind words in relation to both my health and the story. They are very much appreciated. ^-^

For the Growth of the Flower of Love: You must sow the seed

Episode Four:

Two cupfuls, three cupfuls, four cupfuls…

The first friend I made when I stepped on American ground all those years ago was actually not Kristoff. It was a tanned-skin boy who had Latin blood running through his veins. Back then I was ten, Irish and exiled, and he was twelve, Puerto Rican and on his way to visit the island he had abandoned two years prior. Our friendship was not long-lasting, it began and ended within an hour of waiting for our flights to depart from Miami's airport. Still, I remember his name, kind off. Daniel…something (his surname had complicated R's that I cannot pronounce to this day), but more importantly I recall the truest saying anyone has ever shared with me on this lifetime:

"Al que no le gusta el caldo, le dan dos tazas".

Did you understand? Probably not because it's in Spanish. That's alright, I did not get it at first either (because it was in Spanish!) It took my newly made friend a few seconds of staring at my baffled face to realize he had done that thing that Puerto Ricans do where they mix languages (they call it Spanglish). Anyway, once he translated it I understood it as something like: "He who doesn't like soup, gets two cupfuls".

I know, it sounds better in Spanish.

However, that's not the point. The point is that, that was the way in which his grandma taught him to suck it up and deal with it. And so it was the way in which he told me to suck it up and deal with it. With what? Well back then it was with accepting the fact that moving from one side of the world to the other did not mean that I was going to escape catholic schooling—I had exchanged continents not parents, which meant I was still going to suffer through three more years of a religious junior high school—and to deal with it in the best possible way; that I had dealt with by being a bigger terror than Danny the Menace! (My parents were not very thrilled. Luckily they blamed the sudden change in environment for my rebellious phase).

I have to give it to Daniel. His advice has worked like a charm throughout all these years. It's helped me deal with hated catholic schools, annoying bullies, last minute assignments and even absent new episodes of my favorite animes. It's been so great, that if it helps me with today's atrocious hurdle I swear to tattoo it on my ribs. In Spanish! Or maybe I'll tattoo it on my forehead, so my mother can have an aneurysm every time she looks at me. Maybe then she'll finally pay attention to what comes out of my mouth; in complete utter contrast to what she's doing now.

I play a strange kind of miniature hockey with the pennies that dad always leaves on the kitchen counter by hitting one with the other over and over again. My mother is slaving away by the stove while dad is in the living room with the white devil, I mean, with Abner, talking about who knows what. Meanwhile, the white demon (Elsa) is waiting by the back porch, because every adult in this household insists that we need alone time to get to know each other better; as if we even wanted to. Nathan is…somewhere, I'm not really sure where, but I really wish I was with him right now (unless he's on the backyard stalking Elsa).

"Mom, its Saturday." I state, striking a penny particularly hard with the other.

"I know." She says cheerily, while stirring chicken broth.

"Do you? Do you really know?" I ask, my eyes squinting at her back.

"Yes!" She almost sings.

I roll my eyes and lean back on the red stool I'm sitting on, abandoning the pennies that have not served their purpose of distracting me from my predicament.

"Then why are the D'Acres here?" I ask, refusing to call them by their first names.

"Because it's Saturday." She counterattacks. "The real question however is, why are you referring to our guests by their last name?" She raises an eyebrow at me with a slight smirk to her lips as she abandons the stove to move towards the refrigerator. "I would have thought we were far over that."

"Then you would have thought wrong, Aileen Callaghan." I say drily, watching her take some square shaped cheese out of the fridge.

"Then we must fix that, don't you think, Anna Callaghan?" She mocks and takes a box of Ritz crackers from a shelf before moving to the counter I'm occupying.

With my cheek against the palm of my hand I watch her accommodate some cheese atop some crackers which she then places neatly on a porcelain plate. "No, not really."

"I disagree." She takes the tone of a congressman (she's definitely taunting me), and even shrugs with incredible nonchalance. It's evident she's enjoying my misery. "So let's change that shall we? How about we start with you taking this to your friend Elsa." She pushes the plate towards me and I frown at her not-subtle-at-all command, enough to ignore the fact that she just called that girl my friend.

"You want me to serve her too?" I ask disbelievingly. Seriously, not only do I have to spend half my weekend, my dear Saturday, with her but I have to wait on her every need as well?

"Yes. It's a good quality for a future wife to have, Anna." She nods, surely to herself because no one else in this room would ever think of agreeing with her.

I mean, what the fuck? That was the most…well I can't quite call it sexist because we are both girls, but it is definitely the most reactionary comment I have ever heard my mother utter, in my life, ever! And my thoughts show in my face. I think, or so I hope, because as if (and that shows in my face now too) am I going to become some Stepford wife to anyone, especially to Elsa!

I begin to shake my head in profound negative while I search my brain for a coherent way to put all the things I want to say about how wrong that statement is, and how I am definitely not going to be that girl, but my mother rushes to continue, "Oh come on Anna, don't be like that. It's not like Elsa won't do the same for you once you stop ignoring her."

"I don't ignore her!" I argue, although we all know that's not completely true. But is not completely false either! I don't outright ignore her if she talks to me, I just don't make an effort to talk to her in the first place (or to be in a close vicinity). I don't know if it's because she's shy or because of our rocky start, but either way, in my professional opinion it is not ignoring her if she does not start a conversation… right?

"You don't talk to her." She says humorlessly.

"Because we are not friends!" Obviously, and we probably will never be friends thanks to our wonderful parents; not that I'm crying the loss, but the blame is still theirs.

"And I really don't understand why!" My mother raises her hands in real inquiry. Which, seriously? She must be playing. "Elsa is such a nice girl. She's wonderfully well mannered…" Here comes the gush.

"Uh-huh." I barely comment. Partly because I've heard all of this before but mostly because when she starts on her Elsa-rants there's really no stopping her. It's like she's trying to sell her to me (see the pattern?) and maybe if Elsa had been a Snickers bar it would have made my mother an excellent saleswoman, but she's not and therefore, I ain't buying!

"And she's so pretty!"

"Yeah, sure." I inject and hold tighter to my metaphorical umbrella. I'm not sure if she's listening to anything besides her own voice though.

"And she's rich, but that's not very important."

"No, of course not." I shake my head with a pseudo-solemn expression. Internally, I want to gag at this Elsa-fest. Yes, the girl is polite (too much I think), and beautiful (I mean average), and rich (at least her dad is), but enough is enough. No need to drill it to my head. It's not going to change my mind, I'm not marrying her and they can't make me!

"Anna..." Mom's tone drops to one of reprimand as she notices that I'm just playing along.

However, I think I've heard enough. Quickly picking up the plate of cookies and cheese I get off the stool and make my way out of the kitchen, "I'll take this to D'Acres now."

I ignore the sigh that follows me into the hallway, and I try hard, really hard, to open a portal to the Twilight Zone or into the movie "The Sixth Sense". Precisely into the scene of the eerily long hallway, because even with its two creepy kids I much prefer that end to this one. Sadly, my time-space manipulation powers have yet to develop, and way too soon I find myself on the back porch.

Elsa is sipping on an Iced-tea that mom brought us a while ago; before the woman decided that such a kindness should come from the princess's future wife instead of the owner of the house. The memory makes the annoyance of the day conglomerate in my chest again, but I catch it as its bubbling in my throat and try my best to expel it through my nose; the relief is minimum.

I move towards the bench and practically throw myself on it. My delicateness startles her Highness enough to make the ice cubes knock against the interior of the glass after the quiver of her shoulders. I almost laugh, almost.

Instead I mutter, "Here." while placing the cookie plate between us on the bench.

I see more than hear Elsa whisper a 'thank you', as my gaze is purposely glued to the wooden swings dad made for me and my brother when we first arrived at Florida; only Nathan truly plays with them now.

Then there's silence, so much silence that it makes me itch to look her way and find out what she's doing. Is she chewing? Because if she is that's the most fucking delicate chewing I've ever not heard in my life. Instead of finding out though, I look at the suspicious black birds with murderous beady eyes that are scattered around my back yard.

That is my plan, to stare at birds and swings and recently cut grass for the rest of the afternoon. Unmoving and in silence. But it seems that Elsa, as always, has a different idea.

"We are going to have a lot of work this week." She says, forcing me to look her way and find out what the hell she's talking about? What strange and unwelcomed work is she speaking off?

"What?"

"On the next meeting." She explains, or she thinks she explains but quickly comes to the conclusion that her teaching skills need work if my blank expression is anything to go by. So she adds, "The school council meeting?"

"Oh!" I say, nodding mostly to myself as I remember that I am now a member of that thing they dare call a club. Such a drag. Luckily for me, I have no intention of actually attending. "You mean you are going to have a lot of work." I say while returning my stare to the backyard. The grass is moving softly with the gentle breeze and I'm hoping it will soon have a dozing effect on me.

"No." Her stern tone prevents me from entering La-la land. "I mean we, you are in the student council, are you not?"

"I shrug my shoulders and lower myself a bit more on the bench. "Not really, I only went that first day because I had to. I don't really plan on going through that torture again, much less for the whole semester." I scoff.

"You made a commitment." My eyebrows dip at her voice and when I turn to look at her there's a ghost of a frown on her brow. You have to skip behind the somewhat bitchy expression she's wearing to find it, but it's there.

"What are you talking about? This is high school! We still don't even know the meaning of that word!" My voice rises a little at her absurdity because really, commitment? I think she's taking this a little bit too seriously and if she wants to waste her high school life on such a boring thing like student council then fine, but I'm not jumping on that ride.

"Well I do, and I'm certain most of our classmates in the student council do as well." She states like she has talked to each of them personally and they have confirmed her judgment.

I roll my eyes at her, "Great, then what do you need me for?"

"Because you are the secretary Anna!" I don't ponder on the fact that that's the first time she has ever said my name, because I'm sure the skip of my heart is related to the suddenly giddy feelings I have at having made her lose her cool.

I bite my inner cheek to contain my amusement, and reply, "So? Some other poor bastard can write all the important discussions that will take place in those even more important meetings. It's not so hard a job."

There's a tightness behind her jaw and an incredulity behind her eyes that makes me wonder if this has never happened to her before, because it seems like she can't believe that someone is simply deciding to not do something just because they can. She's probably appalled by the fact that someone like me is her fiancé. Good, maybe that's the push she needs to get her father to call off this ridiculous engagement. I wait for her to short-circuit, but sadly the sparks never come. Instead she takes a subtle calming breath through her nose that composes her almost entirely. "You can't just drop your responsibilities on someone else Anna. You gave your word."

As if that meant anything. "And this is why we have written contracts now." I smirk, and try to hold it still when I see the changing emotions behind her eyes.

I'll admit that I am minutely frightened by the quick turn of her semblance. The irritation my sass has caused blows away her composure and I find myself wondering how quickly I can get off this bench before she strangles me like her eyes are implying she would love to do.

Thankfully for my throat (not that I wouldn't have put up a fight mind you) Nathan comes barging through the back door yelling about lunch, although he's standing two feet in front of us.

I straighten myself on the bench and ignore Elsa completely, let her fester on her rage on her own.

Leaning forward, I ruffle curvy auburn locks. "Why are you shouting in our faces squirt?"

He frowns, peeved at having me mess his perfect hair, which he only cares about now because the "pwetty" girl is here; I remember when I used to be the only girl he paid any attention to; I think I miss those times. I chuckle at him anyway, having a difficult time taking him seriously when any expression looks adorable on his round five year old face.

He's not mad for long though (he never is) and after splaying his palms over his head in an effort to fix them mess I've made, he proceeds to ignore me and give all of his attention to Elsa. He offers his hand to guide her inside the house, and it is then that I notice that Bipolar Princess has once again made an entrance. All traces of anger, irritation, annoyance and whatever else she had been feeling shortly before have disappeared. In its place there's a radiant smile that she bestows upon Nathan as she engulfs his chubby little hand and stands to follow him to lunch.

I too abandon the bench to trail after them, half my mind in my stomach grumbling in hunger while the other half is in my chest cavity compressing at the memory of a smile so rarely shown.

I'm not divided for long, for my stomach wins all of my attention when its growling intensifies to resemble Cerberus at the gate of Hades. It's probably Hell in there right now, considering how starving I am. The smell that comes from the front yard is not really helping in anything besides making me drool like the mythological three-headed dog.

I hurry to cross the foyer and exit into the front yard, where I find the picnic table dad made (most wood related furniture in our house was made by dad) set up with all the dishes mom had been making earlier. Suddenly I feel like its thanksgiving, with the pilgrims and the savages…remember the tale? I'm not sure if I would be a pilgrim because of my Irish looks, or a savage because of how I'm going to devour all that food in less than five seconds. I try to control myself though, it wouldn't be a good idea to make myself look like a pig in front of the entire neighborhood.

"Anna, finally! Here, help me set the table." Mom exclaims, acting as if I had left her waiting for hours on purpose; I did not even know I was needed. She hands me a pack of porcelain plates (high class plates for a picnic? What happened to the paper ones?) and motions to the table for me to distribute them.

I move to place six plates around the dishes that are already occupying most of the space of the tabletop, concentrating on only that and not on my drooling mouth and snarling stomach. There's a sizzling sound that reaches my right ear coming from where dad and Abner are supposedly cooking barbecue. My stomach really hopes they know what they are doing, although let's get real, I would eat anything no matter how burnt it is as long as it's drowned in barbecue sauce.

I place a plate in front of Elsa who gives me a quick glance with a smile that's clearly not for me, but for Nathan who has been glued to the sit beside her and is currently monopolizing the conversation about…what the hell is he even talking about? Naruto's amazing ability to kick Santa Clause's butt? Eehh…okay, whatever, I agree, but I can't even fathom how he got to that point in the conversation. Five year olds. It's hilarious to see Elsa awkwardly nod at him as if she knew exactly what he meant.

Shaking my head at her predicament. I turn to mom, "Why are we eating out here?"

"Because it's such a beautiful day!" Mom's smile is almost as bright as the sun.

I coincide with her, it is after all as she says, a very beautiful day. The sun is luminous but not blindingly so, and the atmosphere is warm but not heated. There are tens of clouds about the sky, but not one is gray. The sky is blue, so blue. A lighter shade, like my eyes, on its highest point by the sun, and darker but still a very bright hue, nearer to the horizon; I look over to whose eyes it reminds me of; Elsa's, with their mysterious obscurity.

The day is just so pretty that even the grass seems greener, and so I say no more and simply move to help mom finish setting napkins and utensils on the table, and calling to the men who are still conversing by the grill.

The content feeling the day has shared with me lasts but a short second, up until the moment where I'm shoved almost on top of Elsa's lap. Mom and dad and Abner have deposited their rears on the other side of the table, looking over at us almost like the judging panel of Miss Universe, except their eyes are twinkling like happy, mischievous squirrels, so I guess it's more like the judges of Belleza Latina or Next Top Model or some gossipy shit like that. Mom has even asked Nathan to move over to their side, even though they have even less space than I do over here, but the boy won't budge, which means that I'm left feeling like a sardine. I wonder if it would be better to move a millimeter and just fall on my ass to the ground. At least there I will have space to breathe deeply; it's not like the ground is a horrible place to eat anyway, dogs do it all the time!

That probably won't go well with my parents though, so I squirm a little and subtly nudge Elsa's arm, which is pressed so closely to mine that is almost like I have an extra appendage. Only that I can clearly tell the difference between what's my body and what's not just from how soft Elsa's skin is. I look over at her as I push, knowing she can't really move or Nathan will be the one falling on his little butt, and I smirk at finding her so uncomfortable. It is funny to me because for all the awkwardness I may be feeling now, I know Elsa is feeling ten times worse; I've noticed she has a thing against touching people. I nudge her again, brushing my arm against hers. I must admit she feels rather nice, all velvety skin and warmth (not that I'm paying attention to such details!). Warmth that is, oddly enough, increasing at an alarming rate. I gaze up at her curiously, and she, sensing my stare, spares me the quickest glance before nailing her eyes to the table, tense and unmoving. But even stranger, is the flush that has appeared from the bottom of her neck all the way up to her crown.

"Elsa dear, are you alright?" Mom asks the only question that's in my mind right now.

"Y-yes!" She stutters, and I'm once again reminded of what a weird girl she is.

"Are you sure honey? You are looking rather red." Her father concerns himself.

"Yes. It must be the sun." She rains a smile on everyone in general.

"We could move inside if it's too much for you. Your complexion is probably not used to it." Dad suggests.

"No, no, please, it's such a nice day out. Don't worry about me, I'll get used to it soon enough." Elsa assures, but the slightly more reddish tone of her cheeks says otherwise. Her neck has returned to its normal coloration, and so everyone believes the same will occur to the rest of her face soon enough and we all move onto a different topic. I'm pretty sure it's that last action of the group that finally normalizes Elsa's pigmentation, her arm no longer feeling heated, but now just simply smooth, as I brush against her in my intent to reach for a chicken drumstick.

My hand is instantly slapped away and I feel both rebuffed and pained. "Hey! What the – ?"

"Aren't you forgetting something Anna?" Dad says, looking at me expectantly. Nathan giggles behind Elsa.

"Uh...may I please have some food?" I guess, having no idea what the hell he's talking about.

He stares at me, dissatisfied. "No, Anna. We have to pray."

What? Since when? We aren't that religious! "But we didn't pray last time!"

His eyes squint. "That's because Abner and Elsa had very limited time."

Yeah right, he just forgot.

I look to mom who simply shrugs, (she has no idea what this is about either) before going along with it by placing her hands in a sign of prayer. I roll my eyes at the absurdity, clearly dad just want to impress the guest (do the D'Acres even go to church?). Don't get me wrong, is not that I'm ungrateful, is just that thanking God for having food that others don't have seems kind of wrong to me. Why were we the lucky ones?

Anyway, no time or mental capacity (needs food) to get into theology right now. Elsa and Abner close their eyes in solemn respect and I follow suit by putting my hands together and waiting on someone to say what's routine 'Thank you God, Bless this food, Help those in need, blah, blah'.

Then, finally, we dig in.

Maybe saying thanks it's a good idea, because this food taste a million times better than it usually does; either that or I was starving to death without knowing it.

"I hadn't had the opportunity to see it the first time we visited, but this neighborhood is quite lovely." My ears say that Abner spoke, my eyes say that this mashed potatoes with eggs look mighty appetizing, my mouth says that we should find out if the eyes are trust worthy.

"It is, isn't it?" Dad replies, proud enough tone that one would think the neighborhood belonged to him.

"And we got it on such a low price considering how quaint it is." Mom adds.

And on the conversation goes, with a nice flow and cheeriness, and an even nicer absence of my mental presence. My side of the bench is actually rather silent, all of us indulging on our food and nothing more. Even Nathan is deeply concentrating on his pile of rice, chicken and peas.

My serene encapsulated self is taken from the wonderful world or delicious tastes when a question is thrown our way.

"So how did your first week of school went, girls?" Dad asks, always dad. It must be his mission to push me into things I don't want to do or talk about.

I mumble something that may or may not have sounded like "fwaine" and leave it at that.

But to my misfortune, Elsa, who has chosen now to remember how to use her vocal chords, has quite a few things to say about her first week in High School.

"It actually went very well. Anna and I have even joined the Student Council." Elsa explains, a civil smile on her mouth but a gleam on her eyes I can catch even from looking at the side of her face. Oh, I see what she's doing, but like hell am I going to just let her recruit my parents into forcing me to attend! It won't be that easy!

Or maybe it will.

I hurry to deny it, to say it was a mistake, that I changed my mind, that I really tried to get into that club but last night I received an e-mail from the school's counselor saying they didn't need me (a bit much? Hardly believable?), but no later than Elsa had finished saying 'council; mom's delighted voice rang, "Really?"

And then dad added, "Are you serious? Anna? Our Anna, has joined the student council?"

Elsa nods, her eyes slightly wider at the incredulous reaction she received, "Yes, I've managed to become the president. Somehow." The somehow is that no one wanted that stupid job! "And Anna here is now the secretary."

"The secretary!" Mom shouts. She's fawning herself with her hand as if she is about to faint; Drama Queen, now I know who I got it from. No but really, I think she's about to have a heart attack from the excitement. Relax mom, it's just a stupid position as a secretary not as the Governor of Florida.

"I am seriously impressed Elsa." Dad says looking utterly astounded. "What a great influence you have been already. I seriously can't believe you got Anna's gears moving!"

My gears did not need moving, thank you very much!

"Yes, Anna had never before been interested in that kind of school activity…or any kind of school activity." Mom says, seeming to try and come up with a time of my scholar life in which I was involved in a sport or club or festival.

She's going to come up empty, because I never was, and still am not, interested in it. I have so much better things to do and ugh! This bitch! Abner is looking at his daughter like he's proud, proud of what? The only thing his precious little princess did was raise the standards I've worked so hard on keeping low! Oh I just know the pleased expression on my parent's face is just going to force me to stay in that ridiculous student council as the stupid secretary. Fuck!

I repeat, this bitch.

Thoroughly annoyed, I roll my eyes and level a glare on Elsa, let her have all of my irritation. That's the plan, to burn her mentally with my glare. And yet when I look at her I feel like I'm kicking a wounded puppy. Elsa is once again blushing furiously, embarrassment radiating off her body like from a nuclear weapon. She seems to want to say something, probably in hopes of making them stop, but the adults don't notice, too occupied with being amazed, dropping compliments and reaching their own conclusion about what this small, irrelevant event means in the grand scale of our lives.

"What have I always said? A good couple is that which helps each other improve." Abner says, arms crossed over his proud inflated chest, like he was right, like he is always right. My parents nod in acquiesce with his words, as if they had been having a conversation about this just last night.

I place an elbow on the table and rest my head on my hand while simultaneously rolling my eyes. How vexing even their interactions are. Granted, it's the kind of annoyance that is more irksome than maddening. Maybe that's why I can't really be angry at Elsa anymore, even though this is all her fault. She's the one paying the brunt though; she initiated this conversation with her hidden agenda of fucking up my life, and now she must bear the consequences of a turned tortilla.

"You are right. This is going to be a great marriage." Dad says, clapping the taller man on the shoulder.

I block them out and concentrate on Elsa. She wrings her hands under the table, looking from her father to my parents and back again. She looks like she's searching for a crevice, a minutely stop in their continuous conversation to inject something. What that may be I have no longer a glimpse of an idea.

It should give me some kind of retribution, the fact that she's under so much discomfort, and yet what I feel is closer to pity. It's evident that she's not used to being the center of such scrutiny, much less in a teasing manner. And so I feel this bothersome need to put her at ease. Must be the hero in me.

I think that like before, a change in topic should be sufficient. I look to my parents and hear no loophole from which to enter their conversation. Changing tactics, I look around the yard for some unusual event. Nothing, this neighborhood is so uneventful that I've never read anything about it on the local newspaper. However, there's something that shouldn't be happening right at the table. And though I will feel bad about ratting my little brother out for the next five minutes, I am comforted in knowing he has the memory of a goldfish when it comes anger and grudges.

"Nathan, what are you doing?" I ask, loud enough that my voice carries over the rest and captures all of their attention.

All eyes are on the tiny little bud of a boy who has been frozen, with a dear-in-headlights expression on his face, in his deed of subtly passing his peas over into Elsa's plate.

Mom is quick to admonish, scolding Nathan on his behavior and making him shape-shift from a dear into a sad little puppy; I can imagine the bended ears over his head and everything. Mom has made him retake the peas he managed to deposit on Elsa's plate and threatened to give him another spoonful of them if he did something like that again. He says he's sorry and proceeds to swallow one small pea with a painful grimace.

The occurrence makes everyone at the table laugh, everyone except Nathan of course. Even Elsa, who is now at ease, cannot hold in some of her laughter. A melodious, yet contained sound that she covers behind delicate fingers. Her smile is radiant however, a little more than the one she had given Nathan earlier on the day. I feel a squeeze of my heart at the rarity, one which perhaps it's not as rare as I think, and I wonder what the fuck are all these feelings about.

These are seriously too many emotions for a Saturday.

I tear my eyes from her pale face, try and find a blank space to look at, one which my mind can copy. What I find though is my mother giving me a strange look that I can't comprehend. It's a mixture of a gentle smirk and a playful glare. It feels somewhat knowing. But knowing of what? I frown confusedly as the smirk transforms into a mischievous smile.

With that strange gaze still rooted in me, mom turns her head slightly to speak to the rest of the adults at the table, "What do you think if we plan the girl's first date?"

Her smirk widens into a big happy smile and I fix her with a big unhappy glare. How dare she propose such a thing!

"I think that's a great idea honey." Dad replies. Of course he would think so.

"Yes, it is quite overdue." Abner smiles at us.

"Well, where would you like to go on your first date girls?" First. The word sounds like there will be many of them. Oh, the torture.

"How about the movies!" Mom suggest. She's a cinephile.

"Or the fair." Dad likes rigged games, or to waste money, who can tell.

"That would be so romantic!" Mom adds, and I'm pretty sure she's imagining a scene from one of her favorite pulp fiction movie.

There must be an illness in this family, one that Elsa, although not directly related by blood, has already caught. The dear-in-head-lights disease, which obviously as the name says, gives you that kind of expression. Nathan had it first, now Elsa, albeit hers is much more controlled. Still, she's staring at everyone in silence. A muteness she keeps even as dad inquires: "Well, any comments? Preferences?"

Comments? Yes, many, although none that you want to hear. Preferences? Masculine, even if everyone laughs in my face for whatever unknown reason.

In the end I find myself less shocked or anxious than Elsa, but with just as much to say. So I keep my tongue in my mouth, which once again gives Abner D'Acres the belief that he has free reign over our lives.

"It's alright. I know the perfect place for your first date. And don't you worry girls, it's on me!" He shines his winning smile upon us.

Dad is grateful, mom is swooning, Nathan is pouting over his peas and couldn't really care less, Elsa is smiling tightly and I…well I sigh, and resign myself to this date.

I have lost, for now, and will have to deal with this somehow, but I'll stick to the saying Daniel taught me.

Even if these two cupfuls of doom are too tough a soup to swallow.

To be continued…

A/N: I know it took forever, but please do leave a review if you enjoyed it and/or have any constructive criticism to give. Thank you for reading! ^-^