BRIE

          "I feel like it's been forever since I last saw you," my mom comments, pinning me down to my seat on the living room couch just as I attempt to get up and help. "Stay where you are. You look exhausted; I won't have you overwork yourself over the holidays."

          "I look exhausted, and you're being ridiculous," I point out, pouting, and crane my neck to look up at her face—albeit upside down. I'm familiar enough with my appearance—and self-absorbed, too—to recognize many of my facial features in hers, staring right back at me. "I like feeling useful. I don't feel useful when I'm sitting around in the living room, stuffing my face, when everyone around me is rushing to get everything ready for Christmas dinner."

          Christmas at the Sheridan house is a big deal. Capital B, capital D. It's the holiday, even though sometimes I feel like I've outgrown the celebrations depending on how busy and stressed out I am on any given year and don't feel much in the party mood.

          I don't feel like celebrating this year, either, the looming threat of the future of Female Gaze and that of a hypothetical apprenticeship with Julia Krischer approaching, but still force myself to put on a brave, happy front. Even though I know that, deep down, I'm not fooling anyone—I'm not even fooling myself at this point—people give me the grace of pretending to believe me. Whether I feel deserving of that grace or not is still to be decided, especially when I feel like I'm barely hanging on to a sliver of sanity, but I'm managing.

          I hope.

          You'd think that, for a family as enthusiastic about Christmas as us, we'd be better at delegating tasks and at time management. Alas, we aren't; with everyone rushing to be back home in time and to push themselves to be in the Christmas spirit so as to not be that family member who ruins the holidays for everyone (guilty as charged), there are things that inevitably get cast aside. Prioritizing has never been my greatest strength, which, in turn, leaves me feeling quite helpless.

          You know. Because it's completely normal to feel like a failure for not doing the things you were never asked to do in the first place.

          To make matters even more stressful (because everyone knows I need everyone around me to cater to every single one of my individual needs, like the self-obsessed idiot that I am), my parents are absolutely delighted about me and Rhett being back on speaking terms, although they don't know the full extent of it. Naturally, they thought it would be the perfect opportunity to invite the Prices over for Christmas, taking advantage of Lorelai being back home for the holidays, and it's been a long time coming, anyway.

          To them, we're still in the 'figuring things out' stage of a slowly rebuilding friendship. Since I've sworn Dante and Flint to secrecy and have decided to trust them to keep their big mouths shut, I only have to be concerned about whatever the Prices will blurt out at the dining table. They know about the relationship—the pretend version of it, at least—whereas my parents don't, so I'm certain something is bound to go terribly wrong halfway through dinner.

          I don't even want to think about what the Prices would think if they ever found out this started out as a fake relationship, created just to improve Rhett's reputation—over something that wasn't majorly his fault—and help me not ruin my future. It sounds ridiculous to even care about that now.

          There's no doubt in my mind things would be a million times easier if things between Rhett and I didn't feel so shaky and uncertain. Though, in theory, everything is fine and we're not arguing or being passive-aggressive towards each other, the lack of proper communication is eating me alive, burying me under the weight of everything that is being left unsaid.

          It turns out he really was going out for dinner with Andy that day. I suppose that seeing your long-term relationship with the mother of your daughter come to an end really throws you off your game, so it's no wonder Andy played as poorly as he did during that game—something I never thought I'd witness, from the dissolution of Andyjackie to a less than stellar performance by Bennington's star player. All things considered, with all the pressure Andy has been under—both imposed by other people and by himself—it's no wonder everything came crashing down and that he'd need Rhett's support.

          I don't blame Andy. He's been there for Rhett when I haven't, and they're best friends, closer to each other than I'll ever be to Rhett and in a completely different way. My heart aches for him and Jackie, but also for poor little Daisy, who's still too young to fully grasp the seriousness of the situation.

          No, no. I blame timing—or Magnolia's lack of sense of timing.

          Even when I want to hate her, even when the universe gives me every reason I could possibly want to hate her, I just can't, and it pisses me off. I don't want to be the type of girl that creates a rivalry with another girl in her head over a guy, so I suppose it's nice to know my moral compass is keeping me in check, but still.

          She did exactly what I would've done, even if it's not necessarily admirable. I, too, probably would've cornered Rhett and forced him to talk to me—or, at least, hear me out—which is decidedly ironic considering I can barely get him to talk to me now. By choosing to give him his space, I'm not allowing myself to feel the complex emotions anyone in my situation would also be feeling, simply because I'm terrified of that sort of conflict.

          I don't want to make matters worse for him, which routinely culminates in the utter wreckage of my heart. I want to help him, to be there for him, but I don't know how long I can go on begging him to let me love him. It's something he has to do by himself, for himself, and I've spent enough time imposing my presence in other people's lives and inevitably setting myself up for heartbreak and disappointment. This boy loves me and I love him, but, like what happened between Andy and Jackie (on a much smaller scale), sometimes just love isn't enough.

          "We're really happy that you and Rhett have finally started patching things up," my dad tells me, handing me a plate of gingerbread cookies. He argued I look pale—I always do—and like I could use something homemade to nibble on while dinner isn't ready, which explains why they've been shoving snacks under my nose ever since I walked through the front door, but I'm so nauseous I can't feel the taste of anything. "I know you missed him. You two used to be so close back in the day, even before—"

          "—even before he casually broke Brie's heart, of course," Flint comments, waltzing into the kitchen. I bite off a piece of my gingerbread cookie to prevent myself from delivering a mean-spirited comment, but I'm silently praying he'll manage to keep his snark in check until I can tell my parents the truth. "Let's not forget about that convenient part."

          The thing about Flint is that he doesn't mean to be purposefully malicious, but, much like me, he has the annoying tendency to put his foot in his mouth and not think before he speaks. It makes us come across as gruesomely unlikable, although it's a bit more endearing in my case (oops! There goes silly, suffocating Brooke again, with her stupid dreams and her stupid big heart!), whereas Flint is often seen as an arrogant, pompous douchebag.

          It's not that far away from the truth sometimes in either case, but it just proves it runs in the family; Dante is the one blessed with good conversational skills and a semblance of tact.

          "If I can forgive him, so can you," I mutter, through gritted teeth. Dante chooses this moment to swoop into the living room, humming a Christmas carol. "Hold a grudge all you want, but it was my heart and my decision to make. I never forced you to fight my battles for me."

          "Well, you didn't have to ask; it's what siblings do. We're as willing to help you bury a body as we are to bury your body."

          "Save me from the chauvinistic speech. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you to use my own heartbreak and my feelings as an excuse to justify your inability to let things go. If I can let it go and move on with my life, then you should be able to do the same, especially when it has never concerned you in the first place." I give up on staying put, too restless to remain seated, just as the doorbell rings. I go dry in the mouth, knees buckling, but still force myself to look like I have it all under control. I can't let them see me break, not now. "This smearing campaign you're running against Rhett is frankly exhausting and—"

          "So, I'm gonna go open the door before the Prices freeze to death outside," Dad announces, before the argument can escalate. I huff, brushing my hair away from my face, and remind myself I'm supposed to appear put together and fine, even if I don't feel that way. "He really is just looking out for you, Brie. I don't agree with how he does it, but the good intentions are there."

          I rush to follow him—and almost fall flat on my face, forever destined to act like Bambi on ice whenever I wear heels despite how long I've been doing it for—hoping my presence will be enough to make the situation feel at least a little bit under my control. If I'm there, perhaps the Prices will put two and two together and decide to let me handle everything, ever the control freak.

          Gosh, I hate that expression.

          "I don't need him to," I point out. "I'm not forcing him to like Rhett, but I wish he wouldn't force me to hate him."

          "I know, Brie. For what it's worth, your mom and I are happy for the two of you. It must have taken a lot of strength to get to this point."

          My lips curve into a stiff smile. "You have no idea."

          Daniel and Vanessa Price greet me with the traditional hugs, with Lorelai briefly winking at me before waltzing towards the living room, light and elegant on her feet like a fairy as she leaves me, the ugly, clumsy troll behind. Rhett abruptly stops in front of me, looking so unbelievably attractive in a pressed white shirt that it nearly brings me to tears out of frustration, and we awkwardly stand there and stare at each other like the two spares that were forced to pair up.

          He tells me he specifically asked his family to keep everything under wraps, since my parents don't know about the relationship. It's the bare minimum, I know, but it still warms my heart that he did it without being asked to do it, so my restraint finds a new focus: stay put, stay calm and collected, and not jump his bones just because he did something decent. Surely even I can manage that.

          "Dante is being cool about it, but Flint has entered his menace era," I inform him, fixing the collar of his shirt. "I don't think he's ever left it, but I figured I'd give you a heads up in case he tries to bait you during dinner. I also asked my parents to only serve virgin drinks—didn't get into any personal details about why—so everything should be okay on that front."

          He leans into my touch, almost imperceptibly, and I find I'm standing closer to him than someone who's just started to rekindle a friendship would be. Does that knowledge make me step away, though?

          Well, no.

          "Thank you," he says, with unnecessary, uncharacteristic tension and formality. "That was thoughtful of you."

          "Of course. I wouldn't—well, I wouldn't purposefully make things awkward. Just trying to look out for everyone. I like your parents."

          I wouldn't do what Magnolia did to you and to your family, is what I meant to say. The implications hang in the air, and I'm certain he can feel it—both that and the awkwardness I've just claimed I'm trying to avoid. The only part of him I'm exploiting for personal gain is his physical appearance, something he agreed to; if the engagement on my teaser posts on Instagram is a good indicator of interest in the project, my audience also thinks he's quite easy on the eyes.

          The knot in my stomach has nothing to do with nerves.

          "I think we can handle Christmas dinner," Rhett tells me, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Right?"

          "Right," I echo.

ᓚᘏᗢ

          We can handle Christmas dinner, surprisingly enough.

          Flint ends up not being as big of a threat as I anticipated, mostly because Dante has taken it upon himself to keep him in check, and it alleviates some of my stress. I repeatedly catch him glaring at Flint and giving him the occasional elbow jab to the ribs or the calf kick underneath the table whenever he's at danger of going off on a tangent that will, inevitably, end in a passive-aggressive comment regarding my boyfriend.

          (Rhett Price. My boyfriend, Rhett Price.)

          It's one less responsibility weighing down on my shoulders and reminds me of the kind of brotherly support I'm actually looking for—one where I'm listened to and respected, one where the brother in question isn't making assumptions about my thoughts and feelings or acting like he knows what's best for me even better than I do.

          Even though I'm sitting down, surrounded by family and people who love me, even though I'm well fed and hydrated, there's a rocking wave of nausea and dizziness that doesn't quite leave me alone.

          I feel like vomiting every time someone points out how pale I am. Despite knowing it's purely out of genuine concern, that even I know that I haven't quite been myself lately, somehow it still feels like a nudge about how self-centered I am, ruining the holidays for everyone because I can't deal with my own problems.

          No one here—not even Rhett, who knows me inside and out—knows about the potential apprenticeship with Julia Krischer after I convinced myself no one would care. When I wanted to share the good news, I had it all blow up in my face—Magnolia, then learning about Andy and Jackie's breakup—and it soured my mood. It's stupid and selfish, but I can't stop.

          This cycle of self-sabotage harms more people than just me; you'd think that for someone who's so terrified of disappointing others and with such an intense desire to be universally liked I would've learned to be more considerate.

          "Thank you so much for having us," Vanessa begins, wiping her mouth on her napkin. Even after eating and doing that, her lipstick is still impeccable. I make a mental note to ask her for makeup recommendations, but that only makes me think she'll assume I need a non-transfer lipstick so I won't smear it all over her son's face. The thought instantly brings heat to my cheeks. "It feels like it has been forever."

         "It has, hasn't it?" my mom supports. They share a knowing look, the universal 'let's embarrass our children at the dining table' only moms can pull off, and Rhett and I both wince at this.

          "We missed you, of course," Daniel continues, "and we thought about reaching out a few times over the years, but figured it would likely be too awkward for the kids." He nods towards Rhett and me. Rhett's knee brushes against mine under the table just before his hand gives it a gentle squeeze, steadying me even when no one can see, and his touch sends sparks all across my nerves. "Fortunately, everything's fine now."

          "Fortunately," my dad echoes. "Are you sure I can't convince you to share a glass of red wine with me? My company was giving them away to employees as part of a Christmas basket."

          Daniel stiffens almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid not. I don't drink anymore."

          "Good for you, Daniel," my mom says, with an enthusiastic nod, comically missing the point. "If you don't mind me asking, what prompted you to make a change? You never shied away from—"

          "Mom," I chime in, before things can escalate, but Daniel is way ahead of me.

          "I was in rehab, actually."

          You could probably hear and feel a hairpin drop with how dead silent the dining room falls. Cutlery scratches awkwardly against the porcelain plates, a shrill sound that almost makes me flinch in pain.

          Selfishly, I'm glad it wasn't me saying the wrong thing for once, but there's no way my parents could have known about Daniel Price's addiction and subsequent rehab. After all, I made sure to cut them out of my life and out of my family's, even though the feud was strictly between Rhett and me.

          "I'm doing better now," Daniel reassures them, instantly noticing the panicked look on their faces. "I won't lie by saying it was easy, but it's been a while, and the treatment team was lovely. I still meet with my sponsor on occasion and my family has been incredibly supportive, even though we've had to keep it mostly a secret just so it wouldn't bring bad publicity or affect Lorelai and Rhett." He smiles warmly at Vanessa. "I figured you knew."

          "Brie asked us to not serve any alcohol, but didn't say why," Mom confesses.

          "It wasn't my secret to tell," I murmur, staring down at my plate. I exhale through my mouth before I can start bawling at the table, but it does little to calm my racing heart. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to overstep, but—"

          "Well, since we're all being super honest about our feelings and stuff, maybe some of us should follow the example," Dante booms, from his end of the table. I WANT TO STAB MY BROTHER, YOUR HONOR.

          Then, he slides an arm around the back of Lorelai's chair, so nonchalantly it could've been an accidental gesture, except there's nothing casual about it.

          "Did we ever tell you we're engaged?" he asks, with the brightest grin possible. Lorelai groans, then raises her hand to show off the engagement ring, while my mom and Vanessa look seconds away from fainting. "Heck yeah, Lor."

          "When did this happen?" my mom questions, breathlessly. "We didn't even know you were together."

          "What can I say?" Dante shrugs. "Everyone loves the Prices."

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

this is a dante sheridan stan account through and through <3

apologies for the delay. refer to my author's note on the previous chapter for more details. additionally, i'd love for people to stop trying to trigger me on purpose. that would be swell. thx