The Connection

MM: merry christmas :)

AR: Thanks. Same to you.

MM: plans?

AR: Eat a ton of food, and then we always watch Rudolph before bed. Kinda lame. You?

MM: hand out presents to Allie n Mom. watch mike get shitfaced.

AR: I’m sorry.

MM: no worries. keep txting me. makes me feel better, tbh.

AR: As long as I’m not busy, I will.

MM: ok :)

________

“This is it. This is how I die.”

And Avery really believes it, too. This is nothing compared to Thanksgiving, where he ate three servings each of his mother’s special cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole and turkey… and four of mashed potatoes. But the weight on his stomach is still pretty bad. The oldest Reeves’ sibling is lying face down, long limbs sprawled across the couch in their living room. Stomach full to bursting with the impossible amount of fudge, peppermint bark, and cookies he’s been eating since this morning when his mother started baking.

“You’re gonna get fat.” Quinn remarks from her position on the floor, her back leaning against the couch Avery claimed first. Avery’s snort is muffled by the throw pillow the better part of his face is buried in.

“Hopefully.” Avery says, nudging Quinn’s head with his foot. She growls, raising one hand from her phone’s screen to swat his foot away. Quinn has oddly decided not to prim today. She, like their mother, father and himself, is wearing the traditional Reeve’s family Christmas Eve pajamas. She’s only wearing the bottoms, which are light purple, spotted with fat penguins in hats and scarves. On top she wears a thin white tank top and form fitting black hoodie. Her hair is tossed up in an artfully messy bun, but the rebellious strands that escape are slightly curly, but not overly so.

“You could stand to put on a few pounds, too.” Avery says, turning to face the back of his sister’s head. She snorts, her thumbs tying out a hurried message to someone. And at this point, with Quinn’s string of friends from Student Council, Photography club, the Soccer team and the others that her charming personality draw in, Avery has no idea who. Quinn snorts, thumbs twittering even faster.

“Who’re you texting, anyway? You’ve been on your phone all day.” Avery huffs.

“Oh, like you haven’t?” She says pointedly, throwing a look over her shoulder. Avery, true to his word, has kept both Kat and Quinn up to date with the conversations he’s been having with Max. He left out details of course. Like on most weekends, when he receives text messages that are slightly more flirtatious, even grabbled beyond belief. In one, he recalls, a flush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with the heat of the fireplace, Max had told Avery that he met this girl from a neighboring town at a house party one of his teammates threw. She had come on to Max, but Max pushed her away. When Avery jokingly asked him why, after all Max has never had a hard time with girls. Max texted back surprisingly fast

eyes. but they aernt the rite blue. 2 light. not liek urs.

Avery read the grabbled message over and over, a new wave of heat flooding his cheeks and warming his insides every time he read the last part. After a minute, he squashed any warmth washing over him like a gentle tide, and simply pinned Max’s text on the fact that he was plastered. It meant nothing to Max, and therefore shouldn’t mean anything to him, either. He plugged in his phone and tucked himself into his nest of blankets, turning away from his phone for the night. When he woke up that next morning, he had a few more autocorrected into hell text messages from Max. Most of them where about the hangover he would have. And that he really hates hangovers. One, sent about two hours after the initial rush of messages was short and almost too clear.

miss u, Av.

“Is it a boy?” Avery questions sweetly, ignoring Quinn’s very accurate remark. Quinn scoffs, but the back of her neck flushes bright pink.

“No. Don’t be stupid. Avery.” She mutters, hunching her shoulders to hide the glowing pink screen of her phone. Avery laughs, moving up on his hands and knees despite the rolling, too-full pain in his stomach. He carefully rests his chin on Quinn’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know Patrick was a girl’s name.” Avery smirks, peering over Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn yanks her phone away, jamming her sharp elbow into Avery’s laughing face. Avery falls on top of his spitting sister. He’s only slightly heavier than she is, and he unabashedly uses it to his advantage.

“Avery! Get off of me!” Quinn cries flailing in earnest against her brother’s arms pinning her own to her sides, and his hand reaching for her phone.

“Just let me see!” Avery laughs, dodging a knee to the groin.

“Don’t you want to see if Quinn’s texting a boy, Dad?” Avery throws over his shoulder to his father. Mr. Reeves, clad in a pair red and white plaid pants and a dark blue Milton University hoodie, sits in the frayed leather armchair that has stayed in the corner of their living room forever, looks up from his newspaper. He raises a heavy dark eyebrow at his squabbling children, before rustling his newspaper back into shape and returning to the column his was reading.

“I find I’m not as concerned with tormenting your sister as you are, Avery.” He remarks dully. Avery laughs harder, inching closer to Quinn’s white knuckled grip on her phone.

“Avery! I swear to God!” Quinn screeches, her hair totally falling out of the studied mess and into the full on sex hair messiness that both siblings inherited from their father.

“Give it here, then!” Avery pants still smiling but struggling to keep Quinn pinned down, and avoid the heat seeking missiles she calls knees.

“Avery William Reeves! Get off your sister!” Mrs. Reeve’s cries, uncharacteristically loud standing in the doorway, a bowl of cookie dough cradled in her arms, pointing a wooden spoon at her son. Avery looks up grinning widely, but in that moment Quinn’s knee finally meets its mark. The wind is knocked so forcefully out of Avery’s lungs; he collapses with a strangled grunt. He rolls off his sister, gracelessly holding himself and rolling on the floor in agony.

“HA!” Quinn cheers nastily, smirking down at her curled brother.

“Really, Will?” Their mother’s voice sounds exasperated as she stares at her husband with a quirked eyebrow. She pays almost no mind to Avery, dying on the plush beige carpet of their living room. Or to Quinn, who obviously cannot just take the prize of rendering her brother incapable of having kids, but has claimed his spot on the sofa, as well. Their father sighs, the papery crinkle of his newspaper folding in on its self.

“I was reading…” He says guiltily, shifting in his armchair. Mrs. Reeves sighs heavily, the puff of air blowing her bangs out of her pretty face. Their mother makes a sound in the back of her throat that sounds half frustrated half amused.

“Hey, it wouldn’t be Christmas without a little domestic violence, right?” William grins, rising from his chair. He steps over his son in order to meet his wife. Annie looks up at him, the hard line of her mouth cracking around the edges in the face of her husband’s absolutely not okay sense of humor.

“You’re insufferable.” Annie chides, smiling softly. The oven beeps loudly, and she retreats into the kitchen. But not before yelling at her son;

“Avery! Quit rolling on the carpet and come here! I need someone to put the kisses in the peanut butter blossoms!”

________

“You want a Mike’s, princess?”

Avery rolls his eyes, but holds out his hand, anyway. Kat smirks at him, digging into the back of her fridge. She extracts two bottles and hands one to Avery. The glass is icy and already turning slippery with condensation in the warmth of Kat’s kitchen. He grabs the hem of his shirt and wrapping it around the jagged top and twisting it off. He takes a gulp, wincing slightly at the tang of the lemonade as well as the sharp bite of alcohol.

“Hungry?” Kat questions, wiping the back of her mouth and setting her mostly full bottle on the counter behind her.

“I’m always hungry.” Avery says. And it’s true, he is. Kat snickers.

“I think Mom made some of those cocktail wieners you like. And we’ve got some cheese and crackers. And…” Kat says, rummaging in her fridge, “Oh, hell yeah. We’ve got cheesecake.” She cheers, holding the plastic container with half a cheesecake in it. Avery rolls his eyes, but smiles at his best friend anyway.

“When did you say your parents will be back?” Avery asks, taking another drink, this one is less abrasive. Kat shrugs, digging through her cabinet for a sauce pot.

“Probably all night. They usually drink too much, so they just sleep in my aunt’s spare room.” She says, lighting a flame under the sauce pot and dumping in the slightly gelatinous mess of barbeque sauce and Lil’ Smokies.

“Why? Are you scared someone’s going to catch you being a lush?” Kat adds with a smirk.

“You’re the one corrupting me. I came over here expecting a nice, alcohol free New Year’s Eve. But obviously, you had other ideas.” Avery quips, raising an eyebrow at his best friend.

“You have to drink on New Year’s Eve. It’s a rule.” Kay remarks, a note of ‘duh’ in her tone. Avery again rolls his eyes, but takes another drink, anyway. They lapse, like two people that have been friends for the better part of their lives do, into a comfortable silence only marred by Avery’s occasionally quips about how Kat looks like a housewife, standing over the stove, tasting, adding spices and stirring. Kat rolls her eyes, and retaliates by shoving his lanky frame out of the way as she makes her way to the living room, balancing a tray of cheese and crackers in one hand, and carrying the steaming pot of cocktail wieners in the other.

“Bring my drink, bitch.” She calls over her shoulder.

“Not your bitch.” Avery scoffs, but follows her, anyway, her drink in his hand.

Kat shoves the lace table runner unceremoniously off the coffee table, setting their New Year’s Eve feast on the chipped walnut surface. Avery is slightly more cautious, setting their bottles on two cork coasters. They bicker, like always, over what movie to watch. And no, they refuse to watch the Live in Times Square bullshit.

“The music is gross.” Kat always says. And Avery has to agree. Besides, he finds the slew of celebrities’ guests that chat vapidly about their love lives or their newest movie or whatever, dreadfully boring. As Kat rapidly flips channels, Avery piles a paper plate with half the sticky sweet cocktail wieners, and almost a whole sleeve of crackers.

“Holy shit—“

“No!” Avery groans around a mouthful of cracker and sharp cheddar cheese. The massive screen in front of them shows a hundred twinkling boats crossing a pitch black lake to an enormous candle lit castle. The softly haunting sounds of the Hedwig’s Theme screams through Kat’s living room.

“Shut up! It’s my house!” Kat scowls, stacking a piece of Colby jack on a Triscut, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen this movie? And the other seven?” Avery grimaces, taking a long pull from his bottle. Kat rolls her eyes.

“It’s the occupational hazard of being my best friend. You knew what you signed up for.” Kat remarks drily.

“But it’s the first one! It’s not even a good one!” Avery cries, only to have a Triscut thrown at his face.

“I will not have you blaspheme in this house!” Kat cries louder, “Now, shut up! Harry’s about to be sorted!”

Avery groans, but hey, what can he do? So, he shuts up, eats more crackers and drinks more spiked lemonade. And even though he won’t admit it to Kat, he does kind of enjoy these movies. He likes fantasies and likes stories where the hero is downtrodden, but excels in life, despite all their hardships.

“Jesus, Ron. That’s no way to treat your wife.” Kat laughs at the screen.

But Avery maintains that he (and Kat) have seen these movies far too many times for their own good.

“I’m going to get another Mike’s, you want anything?” Avery asks standing up from the couch. Kat shakes her head, eyes glued to Harry’s first Quidditch match.

“I’m good.”

Avery shrugs, but head into the kitchen anyway. He’s bent over, digging through the massive amounts of holiday leftovers in the Wright’s fridge when he hears the tinny sound of Kat’s phone. A new bottle in hand, he shuts the fridge and walks over to the counter where Kat left her phone. He knows he shouldn’t. But the alcohol is making his brain a little fuzzy, and hey, Kat has never had a problem going through his phone, right? He cast a look over his shoulder, before entering in the all even numbered passcode to Kat’s phone.

1 New Message.
Wheels.

What the hell? Avery grins, only Kat would name someone in her phone Wheels. He opens the text message and almost spits out a mouthful of lemonade.

You know. There’s a really good dinner uptown that serves the best hangover breakfast. Id be happy to drive your hungover ass there tomorrow. At 1? ;)

“Hey, Kat!” Avery giggles, walking back into the living room.

“What?” Kat answers, stuffing a cracker into her mouth.

“I didn’t realize you had a suitor.” Avery giggles harder, plopping on the creaking couch. Kat raises an eyebrow.

“Was your drink spiked with acid? ‘Cause your just making things up, now.”

“No, stupid,” Avery rolls his eyes, tossing Kat’s phone into her lap, “Who the hell is Wheels? Better yet, why the fuck did you name a contact Wheels?”

Kat’s face pales a bit, and she narrows her mossy green eyes at him. She doesn’t respond right away, unlocking her phone and going straight to her messages. She opens the newest message on her phone and reads it quickly, only stopping to glare heavily at Avery.

“So?”

“So what?” Kat snaps, her cheeks regaining all the color that they had lost, and then some.

“Who’s this Wheels guy?” Avery asks, spearing a Lil’ Smokie and popping it into his mouth. Kat’s face turned an even brighter shade of pink that makes her hair appear darker.

“Wheels was his idea, not mine.” Kat mumbles.

“And he is…?” Avery presses mouth still full. Kat sighs heavily

“Cooper.”

Avery stops chewing briefly to stare at his best friend’s bright pink face. Okay, that’s not unusual, right? They made the Connection, so it only makes sense that Cooper would ask her out on a date.

“So tell him you’ll meet him.”

“Nope.” Kat answers quickly, stacking a piece of cheese on a cracker with a blank look on her pink face.

“Why not?” Avery scoffs, “You like him. He’s asking you on a date. I don’t see what’s wrong.” Avery presses.

“Because I’m me. Jesus, Avy. He’s joking; he’d never ask me out seriously.” Kat says drily, chomping on the cracker-cheese tower she’s made. Avery rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Oh. It’s a Kat Self Loathing Thing, then.” Avery replies dully. He can see Kat bristle, like the burgundy hair currently pulled into a messy ponytail will stand tall any minute now.

“Shut up, Avery. I don’t want to talk about it.” Kat hisses, turning her attention back to the movie.

“But why? You’re not making sense! Kat, just—“

“No! No, Avery. Seriously. Now, shut up. It’s back on.” Kat growls. Avery slumps on the couch, the cries of Soul Mates and Connection and He’s had a crush on you since middle school! And you’re just being stubborn! die on his tongue.

“Fine.” He says instead, frustrated. He makes a mental note to get Cooper’s number from his stupid best friend’s phone. Fine, she can be stubborn if she wants.

But Avery’s not going to let her be miserable.