These Are the Fast Times

Victoria

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Awkward barely begins to cover how I feel spending Thanksgiving at the Barakats’ in Maryland.

I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat of Jack’s car, half-wishing Lila had taken up Jack’s invitation to tag along.

She’d refused- she’ll be with Butcher in Chicago.

I didn’t try to convince her otherwise. She deserves a break and to see our friends. And I figured meeting Jack’s family for the first time would be awkward enough without Lila sulking in the background.

So Lila’s on a flight back while I’m stuck in a few hours’ drive with Jack.

Jack drives like he lives- rarely looking back.

Or paying too much attention to what’s in front of him, for that matter.

I’m used to it by now.

He’s talking about something and switching tracks on the cd player and glancing over at me to read my expressions every few minutes.

It was nice of him to drive up to New York just to pick me up then turn right back around to go back to Maryland, though.

He didn’t have to- I could have taken a train or bus.

It makes me feel worse for not wanting to meet his family.

Because then what does that mean about us?

I know we’re serious. That’s obvious.

What I want to know is how we became serious without my realizing it.

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Thanksgiving dinner comes and passes easily and without incident.

It’s weird. His parents love me, his siblings love me, and so do his bandmates.

So I shouldn’t feel this odd.

A wave of relief crashes over me when we finally leave his parents’ house for the apartment he shares with Alex.

“Everyone’s already gone out,” he informs me, after reading a text from his phone. “Do you want to meet up with them?”

“What do you want to do?” I ask. I really don’t care either way. Part of me just wants to stay home with him, maybe mess around before Alex gets back, but the other half needs a drink after the day I’ve had.

“Let’s watch a movie,” he suggests, not telling me which one before getting up to turn on the tv.

I groan and roll my eyes when the opening credits appear.

I should’ve known he’d make me watch Home Alone with him for the millionth time.

I don’t notice I’ve started to fall asleep until Jack’s head falls onto my shoulder.

“Jack.” I attempt to nudge him awake. “Jack. You’re falling asleep and the movie’s not over.”

“Start it over,” he mumbles against my shoulder. I roll my eyes.

“I am not sitting through another hour of Home Alone.” He says something incoherent and I roll my eyes again as he starts to snore.

I don’t know if love is the right word, but I have some kind of feeling as I fall asleep next to him, his favorite movie I think is dumb playing in the background.