Chapter Text
I met - them - in my Sophomore year of high school.
February 21, 2005
"And you are officially discharged," smiled Amy. Her face seemed brighter with that smile even with the tears that lined her lash line. "Give me a hug, sweetie!"
Her arms spread open wide and engulfed me in her embrace before I could say anything; there was no way I could help but tense for a moment - no matter how much therapy I have had, this is one of the few things I think I will never be able to get over. Instinctively, I still wrapped my arms around the larger woman. This was Amy. A good nurse and an even better friend after my time here. I felt the small droplets of water and deep and moist breath before I saw her tears. "Hey," I try to comfort her in a small voice. "I'll be fine, I'm just going to be a four-hour drive away. You have my number, Dad's, everything you need to contact me if you want." She laughs at this.
"I'm not crying because I'm sad, sweets. I'm crying 'cause now you can finally get out of here... you can live your life as a regular kid." Her dark-skinned hand went to my cheek and I fell into it. My eyes started to water as I give her the biggest smile I could manage.
"You didn't think you could leave without saying goodbye to us, did you?" I looked behind me to see two of the most important people who had been integral in my recovery.
There was Lin, a beautiful Korean woman with small eyes and a heart-shaped face, her black hair put up in its normal bun. She was my therapist for the last 5 years, and her mighty little tester for her CNA license.
Then there was Scott, with dark brown hair and a beard; was my physical therapist, his hands tightly grasping the small box in his hand. "A 'glad you got better’ gift. From all of us," he tells me, placing the lilac purple box in my hand. I sniffle a bit, balancing the box in one hand to use the other to wipe my nose.
"Go on, open it!" laughed Lin, her dark brown eyes filled with tears, tissues gripped tightly in her hands. With a little help, I sat down in a chair and carefully opened the present to only be welcomed by the box of a camera. A small Sony Cyber-Shot. I gasped looking at them, even more, tears in my eyes if possible.
"You guys," My voice raises an octave or two, tears coming to my eyes. I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth - no more embarrassing noises from me. Soon enough, the three that were my primary care takers for the last five years were around me with a gaggle of arms.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, but it was for quite some time - till a throat was cleared and I looked up to the sound that attracted our small cluster’s attention.
"It's time to go, my dear," Amy announces in a croaky voice. A wheelchair is placed in front of me from a hallway aside of the main hall of Seattle Children’s Hospital. One I have had the (dis)pleasure of using for the four years I've been in this town, but this time there were balloons tied to the arms of the chair with congratulations written on them. I wobble over to it, a smile on my face.
In front of me is my 'godfather'. Though it hadn't taken long till my admission and the paternity test to come back to verify that I was biologically his. My dad's name is Charlie, Charlie Swan. He’s a police officer - a sheriff to be exact in some dreary old town in the middle of nowhere Washington - four hours or so from Seattle.
How he found me - at least from my knowledge - was that he got a random call from some Florida Hospital claiming the child that was admitted had him for the next of kin and wanted to know if he wished to claim me or make me a ward of the state. So, this late-twenty-something-year-old man comes out from the woodwork of nowhere Washington and meets me with my estranged Uncle and Aunt in tow.
It didn’t take long to put two and two together. Dad both looked so similar to me and yet so different at the same time. His skin was a light fair color, paler than I ever have been or ever will be. But to me, that’s where the dissimilarities end. I had his eyes, a chocolate brown compared to that of my biological mother’s black eyes. I got his nose - though more feminine. And we had the same lip shape - a pale pink tinged both of our lips. We both had a love for professional sports and listening to 80s rock. Our favorite foods were Italian dishes - anything with pasta was fair game. We became almost inseparable those first few months… hell those first few months.
I remember how tentative they were to treat me. How slowly their approach was and how it was such a breath of fresh air. I don't remember much of those early days, but I remember how these random people I hadn't known for the first 6 years of my life came to be my lifeline and family; before I had even known we were biologically related. The first time Charlie - Dad - had to leave felt like a bullet to the chest.
But it wasn't long till I was transferred to Seattle’s hospital. It had been hard for Dad to keep track, to keep up with me. Hospitals weren't built to care for severe malunions with infection after infection in both legs. The technology just wasn't there - at least not for children who are still growing. Maybe if this had happened in later adolescence or adulthood, it'd be easy peasy to treat. But not for a kid.
It wasn't till seven years ago that they finally placed me in Seattle's Children's Hospital for full-time care, where I was nothing but a 4-hour drive away instead of an 18-hour flight.
"Would you mind if I...?" Dad asks, pointing at the wheelchair. Amy moves so Dad can take the handlebars of the wheelchair, pushing me down the hallways. I see polite waves from other nurses and patients who have known me for my infamously long time spent here. Becoming a staple figure in so many of these other children's lives. I couldn't help but feel some sort of pride, and guilt for leaving while they stayed. Some will never be leaving these halls.
And such was the unfortunate reality of life.
Inside the elevator with my merry band of personal nursing assistants and father, we all huddled around the expressive chair, the balloons rubbing amongst themselves at the gentle motions the elevator made going to the ground floor. "So, Gwen," Scott asks, his voice higher pitched from excitement. "What's the first thing you plan to do when you get home?"
Without missing a beat, I reply, "Sleeping in my queen-size bed. Screw these twin-sized death machines - it's like they want you to fall off them."
Laughter emitted from the group, but Amy responds in kind. "That's why I'm always putting the railings up." Another wave of laughter is spread throughout the group, even Dad gives a few snorts before we finally get to the bottom floor. I couldn't help but continue to palm at the new camera. Here's to hoping to get a better feel for this digital than I ever will with my Polaroid (film costs a lot of money, and my father doesn’t rake in the big bucks as a small shot officer. Not much moo-la to go around).
I couldn't help but feel the excitement and exhilaration at the sight of the Forks Police Cruiser sitting at the curb - lights flashing and other nurses standing to the side, holding signs congratulating me for my departure - many of them I knew from my years here, some of the people crowded together I hardly recognized. Despite all of this, despite everything, the prospect of leaving this facility for what would hopefully be the rest of my life left me so happy, but still overwhelmed with trepidation. There would not be someone at every moment of the day, helping me when needed. There wouldn't be someone to remind me to really "stretch those hamstrings, Gwen!". No, it would just be me, my father, and the only part of my family I dared speak with that sat on the reservation of La Push. I had scheduled appointments with a physical therapist for next week till 3 months out but the majority of my therapy would be done by me. Both mentally and physically.
Decidedly, at that moment, I would shut and lock those thoughts away. Focus on the now. Focus on the present. And I waved at the other nurses, thanking them and giving hugs every few, the tenseness in my shoulders never leaving me.
Eventually, Dad helped me clamber into his cruiser, closing the passenger side door and handing the hospital-issued wheelchair to Amy. I waved specifically at the three. Lin was crying now, smiling her bright white teeth at me while Amy and Scott waved at me from her sides. The driver's side door opened and closed, a new shift of weight moving the car the slightest bit. "To Forks, we go," huffed the officer, pulling out from the front doors of the hospital. I kept waving, and waving, and waving, till we were out of sight.
Not till I turned right in my seat, did I feel a droplet of water in the palm of my hand where it sat in my lap, that I realized I was crying. Crying tears of triumph. That some lowly kid they were determined to destroy under their terrorizing thumb was better - was thriving while they rotted away. Taking the sleeve of the hoodie I wore, I dabbed at my eyes, still sniffling. "Dad, tell me about home again?"
His mustache upturned a bit, eyes crinkling and the dark brown orbs sparkling at the idea. "You'll love it there Gwen, there's lots of trees and grass, and we can make that swing in the backyard like we talked about. And we can go to the reservation, see your cousins, Uncle Billy, your aunts. Oh we can go back to First Beach again in a few weeks when it gets warmer out, look at the whirlpools again. Or maybe we can get some better pictures with that fancy new camera of yours." I couldn't help but lay my head back and just watch the old man babble on about the things we could do, the places he'll take me to in the next year. While he spoke, my own eyes that mirrored his own wandered, though my ears listened as intently as I had first heard him speak so passionately years ago. Looking at the lush green that reminded me of pamphlets to luxurious forests. I wasn't going to be living in a city any longer, I wouldn't be moving from one hospital to the next.
I was finally going to be a normal teenager.
Well, as normal as you can get by being the new kid in small-town Forks, Washington. And when I say small, I mean more of a village than a small town. Forks only had a population barely above three thousand. Less than three hundred kids in the public school alone. Even the school in the Children's hospital had more than that! But, I was going to a regular public school. No one was going to have a respirator or IV drips, class wouldn’t be halted randomly for a child having a heart attack.
I would be entering a world so different from my own.
Sleep came easy at my father's words, lulling me to ease as much as a lullaby would a child before I had even known it. It wasn't till Dad shook me with a light touch on my shoulder and mirth in his eyes. "Gwen, sweetie, we're here." Blinking the sleep from my eyes took me but a mere - yet extraordinary - long minute. Hastily unbuckling my seatbelt, I all but launch myself out of the car feeling the weight of both my legs.
It was a two-story house. A home built for a family to begin back in the 60s. It had two bedrooms and a bathroom on the top floor, the necessities of a living room, laundry, and kitchen rested downstairs, just as I had remembered it. It was old, outdated, and on the smaller side compared to the houses next door. I had only been here a handful of times in my short life, but now... I was here, all the time. Never leaving this worn and musty home.
It was perfect.
With some help and a steady hand, I was able to get up the stairs and open the two front doors. Dad must have cleaned before I came home, instead of the musky scent I had previously known this place to have last year, it had that clean citrus smell with a faint oily scent. No doubt from Dad's cleaning of both the house and guns he had in the locked case.
The brown walls were decorated with pictures, some of Dad when he went fishing with some uncles like Billy, Harry, Quil, and Waylon. Other pictures are of Bella, my half-sister (it still feels weird just thinking about it). But the majority? The majority of them were the days he was with me. Anywhere from him and I out shopping (with a nurse present) and some of us in my hospital room, posing for a picture, bunny ears being the most prominent occurrence, adding to the other photos of other family members in them.
Though my ultimate favorite by far would have to be the ‘baby’ picture he had of me. I was nestled in his arms - one of the first times I truly felt safe - and he was smiling, so wide it looked like his face would permanently stay that way. He was happy and I think... I was too.
I wanted to decorate this house with that feeling of warmth that my father emitted. He’s the only one who made me feel wholly safe. And I could live a hundred years and never be able to emote just how much everything he’s done for me has made me feel.
Past the pictures, I couldn’t help the smile on my face to stretch as wide as it could till we get to the kitchen/dining room. Giving an exasperated sigh that was more dramatic than anything, I flopped into the wooden dining chair waiting for Dad to set down the handful of bags he had grabbed in addition to me.
"So, till you are a hundred percent able to get up and down stairs." Dad trails off, laying the toiletry bag to the side of my overly large suitcase. I’d suppose he brought that in before waking me. The thoughts were short-lived once he began to move over to the wooden staircase and flipped some kind of switch on the wall. I leaned a bit to get a better look at whatever was making the grating noise.
Down came a beige chair, slightly worn but not for worse of wear. It creaked on the way down, showing its age as it descended from the track that lined the wall the stairs shared with the banister. A chair lift.
I shifted my eyes from the novelty, the thanks apparent in the disbelief of my head shaking. "You think of everything, don't you?" I should never underestimate the things he’ll do to keep me safe. I balance on my legs with no assistance to try and get to the chair.
“Hey now,” his arm wraps around my waist as we awkwardly maneuver to the cream-stitched chair. "Alright, you just gotta buckle this up, won't go anywhere otherwise," he explains, giving me the seat belt and helping me strap myself in at the waist. "And then," he pressed a little button on the arm of the chair, making it head upwards. "you are on your way!"
I laugh at his theatrics and he smiles back. Looking up the stairs in delight, I can see my room already. The hallway was decorated with small drawings I vaguely remember being there. At the top of the stairway, it jolts to a stop. Unbuckling myself and holding onto the wall in order to stand, my legs wobbly like a baby calf coming out of the womb for the first time. It takes less than two seconds before Dad's right next to me and helping me to the room on the left side of the house.
Mine. My bedroom. A room I'm not sharing with anyone and I can decorate it the way I want. I already had the color of the walls I wanted; I picked it out a long time ago when Dad got guardianship of me and decided that this would be my room after Grandpa Swan passed.
The light from the window reflects the light blue very nearly grey-colored walls. They were blank, just waiting for my own personal touches to be placed on them. I had a purple comforter -- my favorite color for a long time, and the infamous queen-sized mattress that I so desperately loved every time I visited.
There was a desk near the window where a pretty black laptop sat, a gift from Old Quil for my sixteenth birthday. Over to the right side of the desk was a bookcase filled with all of the literature I'd acquired, from manuals to manifestos to poems. And next to that is a small closet, one that could fit all of my clothes and then some. I would probably have to go shopping soon - look into some magazines to gather an idea for a style I’d like to emulate. Sweatpants and t-shirts wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't in front of other teenagers who were more than likely fashion savvy.
"How do you like it?" Dad knocked me out of my thinking, causing me to come back to the present.
"It's perfect," I breathed out. Moving to the bed with a stumble, bouncing lightly on it in a sitting position. My back then flopped on the bed, arms spreading out. "Definitely perfect." I smiled widely, picking my head up to see my dad there, the widest smile on his face.
"There is... just one more thing." He puts a finger up, walking to the desk. Opening one of the drawers, he pulls out a manilla folder and hands it to me.
I slowly sit up, grabbing the folder with hesitation. “It’s not going to be bad news… is it?” I begin to open it.
Dad grumbled, leaning on the doorframe and crossing his arms. “I think you’ll find it to be decent news at the very least.”
There was nothing to stop my stink eye at him before turning my gaze to the dozen pieces of paper held by the folder. Though, none of them mattered to me as much as the top piece of paper.
Reading aloud, "As of February 18th, 2005, the State of Washington and Federal Courts hereby accept the adoption of Gwendolyn Marie Abendorth to Charlie Dean Swan!" I nearly screech, looking up at the man; not completely sure if this was some form of a cruel joke or not.
"In the power of the state of Washington, I am now your legal parent. Both biologically and in terms of legality, sweetheart." I jumped up faster than I thought possible; arms going around his neck.
"Today's been the best day ever," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. I then let go and hit his chest. "The eighteenth?! It's been nearly a week!"
Dad laughs, arms tight around my shoulders as he helps me back to the bed. "You'll still be an Abendorth for a while yet, but we gor Swan on there. So, Gwendolyn Marie Abendorth-Swan, what will your first meal out of the hospital be?"
My answer was immediate and we were back in the car before we knew it..
I don't like people pushing my wheelchair, but it is fun when someone's running with it like the sheriff is to get out of the rain. I didn't mind one bit, the rain was something I rarely got to touch out of my controlled climate room. Using his police-issued jacket cladded back to open the door of the restaurant in order to get my chair in.
"Well, if it isn't the cutie herself!" exclaimed a woman. I turned to the noise, and a waitress with dark skin and curly hair make her way to us. "I haven't seen you since you were yay-high, Gwendolyn," she tells me placing her hand on her waist to emphasize my height. "Nice to see your doing better, sugar, Charlie has been talking about you ever since the doctors gave him the discharge date."
"Gwen, this is Cora, probably don't remember her, you were only ten years old." I can hear the smirk behind me if that was even possible.
"It's great to see you again, Cora."
"You must be famished, come on, let's get you a table." I'm pushed to a nearby table where a chair is taken from and placed to the side so it could just be the two of us. "Here are your menus, though I don't think we'll need them for Charlie," she says with a smile, giving an all-knowing look at him. "But I'll be back in five minutes, can I get you anything to drink?"
"Milk, please?" I smile, trying to be as polite as possible.
"Make that two," Dad says. She nods and heads back while I read over it. "Remember, soft food for just a bit longer."
I roll my eyes. "I know, I know. They did say try some hard ones, so I was thinking of a compromise." I look up at my menu to see dark brown eyes looking straight at me, a raised eyebrow in question. "What about waffles with butter on them, but!" I stop him from speaking. "I put some syrup on them to make it a bit soggy?"
He gives a sigh, closing his menu. "Alright, but if you can't eat it, we'll get you some broth to go, sound good?"
Dinner went off without a hitch, besides the bit where Waylon, another one of my egg donor’s ex-boyfriends – and one of my dad’s current best friends - came up to us to speak of his own accord.
“Well, if I wasn’t living and breathing, is this little Gwendolyn, Charlie?” Waylon was missing a tooth after hitting his head fixing up Harry’s house a few years ago. But it didn’t stop his charisma!
“Well indeed it is, Gwen, you remember Waylon?”
I smiled up at the older gentleman. “Hey, Way, I haven’t seen you for a while!”
He shook his head, the smile slipping and a look of shame overcoming him. “I’m sorry, sugar. Couldn’t get a moment away from work to make it out west for ya.”
Waving my hand at the words I reply, “Don’t worry about it. I’m surprised this lug was able to stand coming out every weekend and day off he got for seven years.” I gesture to my dad as he gives an indignant ‘hey’. “Hopefully we can figure out something. Maybe in a few months, we can all go on a fishing trip.”
Hands cradling his heart against his brown coat. “You’re gonna break many hearts around here, Gwen, I just know it. Well, I was just heading out, lumber yard called again.”
Dad’s brows furrow. “Everything good?”
“Yeah,” Waylon replied. “Just got a high turnover rate right now. So many goddamn hippies coming in and then leaving three months into the job. Did ya know I got a promotion? You’re looking at the Associate Manager of Development.”
“Great on ya, Way!” Dad reached to clap at his shoulder.
Waylon brushed him off. “Oh, don’t get too excited, Sheriff. I just get a bit more cash but a lot more to do. Slack to pick up. But besides that, not much different. Now, I really should head out - but I’ll catch ya’ll later!”
At Waylon’s departure and a round of goodbyes from other regulars here, Cora came back up to us with two glasses in hand. “Two milks, now, we ready to order?”
I look to dad with a waggle of my brows as he orders. “I’ll have my regular today, Cora, but no coffee. As for Gwen,” his eyes bored into mine before turning to the nice woman. “She’ll have the waffles, nothing on ‘em but some butter and extra syrup. And some chicken broth to go?”
“Right on it, Charlie.” She walked back over to the kitchen after taking our menus and I looked at my father with glee written on my face.
“I can’t wait,” I practically sing.
The wait for our food was filled with chatter about what we’ll do tomorrow, the paperwork we’ll need to fill out for school this week so I can start next week. A week to prepare for one of the most important things I’ve wanted to do for a long time.
When the food came out, I was able to eat at least half of the large Belgian waffle. I hadn’t expected it to be so big, but there it was. We got another takeout box for it, along with the broth to take home, still chatting about small things.
‘Do you wanna change anything in the house?’
‘The new tub should make it easier for you, you’ll still be able to have baths but just make sure it’s shut tight’
‘What kind of movie do you wanna watch tonight?’
‘When’s the next NHL game and who’s playing?’
Dad was the quieter of the two of us, more often than not. So I talked, and he listened. But when he did speak? I couldn’t help but take his word as gospel. The way his face lit up at the attention to his words and what he’s excited for?
We’ve both had hard lives. I’m just glad we now had each other to take care of.
As soon as we paid and said bye to everyone that still lingered in the diners, garnering hugs and kisses on the cheek with words of encouragement and congratulations we left the local diner.
The drive back was quiet besides the light static of the police scanner - not much crime in sleepy Forks, thankfully. It wasn’t till we made it to our block that I noticed anything suspicious. Cars were lining the street on both sides, some I recognized others I didn’t. But they hadn’t been here earlier, that’s for sure.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I question, looking from the cars to Dad - his face held a repressed smile, his mustache quirking up every now and again as we turned into our empty driveway.
“Suppose we should head in, huh?” I looked over to Dad at the words with narrowed eyes. His own eyes held a false innocence and mirth. Parking the car, he had already unbuckled and gotten out
"You're an ass, ya know that?" I half-yell after him, getting out of the car by myself and holding onto the frame of it.
He snorts at that, “Okay, only because it’s your day today I’m not going to get on you for cussing.” With that, he takes me by the arm again to help me up the stairs. “That’s what I forgot,” he mumbled under his breath as we get to the base of the porch.
“Forgot what?” I ask gripping the handle of the door.
“Ramp. Meant to put one in last month, completely forgot to put it in.”
Chuckling, I reply, “It’s in the garage right now, isn’t it?” I yank the storm door open and then the inside door, Dad’s arm still around my waist to help me up the last small step.
"WELCOME HOME!" a chorus of voices cheered. While I had a vague idea that there’d be other people I couldn’t help the scream I let out in surprise and my legs practically caving in on me. I could feel the deep belly laughter before I heard it come from me as everyone else started to try and surround me in order to help.
“I’m fine!” I called, waving off the hands of my aunties, uncles, and cousins. “I’m fine, you guys just scared the shit out of me!” This caused another round of laughter, and people to back up a bit. Dad had my right arm and Uncle Harry had my other, guiding me to the lazy boy that was still available - all other pieces of furniture were occupied probably more than should be on that sofa.
Next to me, a hand grasps my shoulder with shrouded laughter. “That’s an entrance if I’ve ever seen one. You good, kid?”
I nod my head, turning to my uncle. He hadn’t changed much since last I saw him - if at all. The most that may have changed was a few more lines added to his face, hair longer, and braids closer to his lap. His wheelchair was also decorated a bit more than the last time I had seen it. New beading was added to the handles and a blanket added to the back of the chair for comfort.
"Hey old man," I tease. "Aren’t I the trendsetter? I swear, I had that exact same model chair-" I tease, feeling the swat against my hip from the old man as I maneuver past in the oven-capacity filled living room. This tomfoolery causes some laughter to course through the room again.
I look around to see the familiar faces that have come to see me in recent times. Uncle Billy, of course, my egg donor’s brother but nothing like the woman either. It wasn’t till a few years ago he’d become as wheelchair-bound as I was due to his diabetes getting worse. His son, my cousin, sat on the sofa with some of the other hooligans. I looked at the young teen and see very few new details. Jacob’s ebony hair must have been recently cut because it was definitely longer the last time I saw it; instead of at the bottom of his ribs it was at his collarbone. His signature beanie atop his head.
Old Quil, Quil, and Joy were there (grandfather and grandson respectively). Old Quil wasn't afraid of his grey hair and let it grow long, braiding in in a few places, his russet skin starting to deeply wrinkle as he got further into his 60s. Almost 70 now. Quil (Old Quil’s grandson) kept his dark brown hair short by choice - claiming it to be because he played sports on the rez, that his hair would get so curly that he didn’t know what to do with it. Joy on the other hand - his mother - kept her curly hair in butterfly locs that were usually tied together at the base of her neck to keep them from the front of her face.
The next family I observed was the Clearwaters. Leah and Seth at the forefront of the sofa, right in the middle. Harry and Sue sitting in the other recliner together, love evident in every gesture and move they make. Sue and Leah both had hair that went to their waist, but Leah’s was styled with layers and framing pieces unlike her mother’s. Seth’s looked like he had just barely had a comb run through his shoulder-length locks and a fresh pair of sweatpants and windbreaker he randomly threw on. Harry's had gone grey long before any of us were born and he cropped it to his shoulders and swept it back with a fisherman's cap.
Next was the Calls, like the Black's there were only two of them. But instead of a father, it was Tiffany, the overbearing mother to all of the Quiliuete tribe if she were allowed to. She's a sweetheart who had long black hair that was always in two braids and seemed to always have Embry, her son, in tow. His hair was longer than everyone's as it reached his hips, the natural curls framing his face. Tiffany didn’t have an affiliation with the Quileute tribe, but with the Makahs up north. She had told us that Embry’s father is from La Push, so they stayed, just so he could be with his roots here - it was also a bit cheaper down this way compared to our northern cousins.
I love my father with all of my heart, but I had a big family with greater roots and history that was few and far in between. I had hoped to see them all soon, but I hadn’t dared hope to see them all here.
"It's nice to see you again." Jacob stood, letting there be more room on the couch and instead joining me on the Lazy Boy by sitting on the arm. Taking his arm he hugged me sideways, leaving the limb over my shoulder for the time being even after the hug was over.
"You mean, outside of a hospital and IV-less?" I asked, earning a small chuckle.
"Something like that," he smirked. I rolled my eyes and leaned further into the teen, relishing being with my cousin again.
"So," I hear a feminine voice speak. "We may have gotten you a little something..." I look over to where Sue is, ready to cry, happiness. I realize. Happy tears.
"Sue..." I start to argue, I don’t like presents all that much. It had never been something fun for me. Something Dad loved to claim I got from him.
"It's nothing too bad," Old Quil spoke up, the younger Quil standing and heading to the kitchen.
Shaking my head, I sigh. “It’s enough that you’re all here today. Don’t need much else.”
The footsteps that left are quickly coming back from the kitchen, in his arms was a decently sized box (the size of the teen’s torso) wrapped in gold paper. "Eh, you'll like it," Quil reassures me, setting the box at my feet before moving to his previous spot.
I narrow my eyes at the room filled with almost too many people. Decidedly, I let my hands roam the box with a straight face and let myself appear mockingly mad. I tear the wrapping paper and look the box over, letting my jaw drop.
"Oh my god," I gasp out, earning more laughter from my reaction. "A mini fridge?!"
"That way you don't have to go up and down the stairs for a snack or drink," Leah tells me with a smile. "You can just put them all in there."
I put my hands to my face, trying not to let my shock show. I didn’t know how to react to such a thoughtful gift. “Thank you guys, so much.” Though I felt the words didn’t suffice for what I felt.
I didn’t know how many words would become insufficient in the coming years. How my actions would shape the lives of my own, and all those that sat around me.