After glaring at the blinking cursor of the still blank document that's been mocking her for the past two hours, Mary Jane Chaucer decides to call it a day and shuts her laptop down. Leaning back against the chair, she stretches her arms above her head and straightens her legs—she's been so still in her position that the muscles in her body have cramped up. Mary Jane steals a glance towards the clock sitting on the far end of the desk. It's fifteen to five in the afternoon. There's still some time left to get ready and make herself presentable before she needs to make the drive to Bel Kanto.

Two months ago, it was at Chez Pietro's. Two months before that, Miznon Tavern. Estella Chaucer never holds back when it comes to the dreadful Saturday—or as she likes to call it, the necessary family dinner. As much as Mary Jane enjoys the free food and fancy dining, her grandmother's constant nagging and the arguments between her mother and her father's one-night-stand makes her want to shove a mouthful of chicken down her throat.

Quietly, she heads to the bathroom to bathe. Once she's wrapped her wet hair in a towel above her head and her body in a robe, she browses through the outfits in her closet with her hands on her hips. The last time she went to dinner wearing denim shorts and a tank top, Estelle looked like she was about to kick her granddaughter out. Mary Jane didn't care what Estella thought, really (or what anyone thought about the way she dressed for that matter), but for some reason she can't fathom, the family gatherings are important to her mother. And that alone makes them important to her.

With a sigh, she picks through her clothes with her fingers, teeth pulling in her bottom lip as she scans her choices. Mary Jane can hear her grandmother's insulting voice already loud and clear no matter what she chose, so she makes do for the simple yet elegant cross-shouldered, salmon pink dress she purchased a few months ago but never got a chance to wear.

Mary Jane puts it on quickly yet silently and proceeds towards the vanity to do her makeup. It's as she's carefully tracing the shape of her lips with a merlot shade of gloss that Andy rolls over on her bed with a groan. Pausing for a while, Mary Jane mutters, "Good morning, sleepyhead."

She groans again and asks groggily, "What time is it?"

"Six-thirty," Mary Jane answers, pulling back to observe the work on her face. "You can go back to sleep."

From the reflection on the mirror, she watches the younger sit up and shake her head, eyes still closed. Mary Jane hides her smile.

A couple of months ago, Andy wouldn't even speak a word towards her two roommates and would wait for both of them to leave or fall asleep before she showered. Although she's still awfully shy and extremely introverted, Andrea Sanford has a heart of gold, a strong mental fortitude, and the most mature mindset out of the three of them (except when it comes to romance and dating). She handles everything with a kind demeanor, is wiser than her years, and when she's not working for some loose change, she likes to bake and cook for Mary Jane and Sabina. In other words, Andy is a sweetheart. Anyone who hurts her might as well have kicked an innocent puppy.

"I have a shift at Baked! today, but I need to study for a little bit first. Did you manage to get some work done for your final paper?"

"No. I still have time, so I can probably make something up before then. D'you have any plans tonight? I want to hit the club."

"Oh," Andy says, opening one eye. Her shoulders slump. "It's the Saturday today?"

"Yep."

She grimaces. "Ah. I'm sorry, MJ. If I could fill your shoes, I would."

The ginger grins. "I know you would, but it's not your fault, bub. Don't apologize." She presses a napkin to the corner of her mouth to wipe off the lip gloss excess. "Are you coming or are you spending all night working and then dropping by Luke's place?"

When her roommate doesn't respond immediately, Mary Jane turns around. Andy is blushing profusely and hugging a pillow to her chest. "I'll come with you next time...?"

With a raised eyebrow, Mary Jane says, "You have got to stop blushing every time I mention your boyfriend. Or is he? Your boyfriend, I mean. Have you even kissed yet?"

Andy's mouth opens and closes like a fish gulping for air. Mary Jane laughs at the indignant look the ravenette gives her. "You're—that's mean!"

She stands and looks at herself in the full-length mirror by the corner of the room. "Sabina will come with me, then. Don't make promises you can't keep, darling. How do I look?"

"Cute," Andy says honestly with a thumbs-up. "You better not let your grandmother call you a rotten pumpkin this time."

Mary Jane laughs again. "I can't believe I'm laughing at it now when I was so offended before. Ah, Estella is a woman of high standards."

"An old woman," Andy emphasizes with a nod, as if it were an insult. Knowing her, she already considers the word 'old' as one.

Mary Jane grabs her purse and tosses her lip gloss inside. She throws a wink towards the younger's direction before heading for the door. "I look cute and I won't let Estella Chaucer call me a rotten pumpkin. Got it. Have fun at work! And um, at Luke's, I guess. I'll see you tonight—or tomorrow morning. Bye!"

"Take care!" Andy shouts after her.

What should've been a fifteen minute drive to Bel Kanto turns into half an hour considering the Saturday night traffic, but still, Mary Jane makes it with little time to spare. As soon as she says she's here for Estella Chaucer's reservation, she's ushered towards a private room further inside the dimly-lit, posh restaurant. Everyone's seated and waiting for her; her mother one one side of the rectangular table, on the other are Alice and Faith, and on both ends sat her father, Samuel, and Estella, who's pinning her with a disapproving gaze and a purse of her lips.

Madeline Chaucer stands as soon as she sees her daughter and opens her arms with a wide smile. "Mary Jane. You look lovely."

"Thank you, Mother," she replies with a smile of her own as she returns the hug. "You look gorgeous as always."

She takes her seat beside Madeline. Alice greets her with a curt nod, and Faith with a small curve of her mouth. Her father with an awkward handshake.

Estella with an, "I would hope that the reason you're late is because of school. You are in school, aren't you, Mary Jane?"

She grits her teeth and forces a smile. When will she get over it? "I arrived five minutes early, Grandmother. And I've been in school for months now. You know this."

"Still late," the old woman says gruffly, a frown passing her wrinkled face. "You're supposed to be in your third year. Taking a gap year before college is nonsense. I don't understand why Madeline and my foolish son agreed to it. That was a very stupid decision, Mary Jane."

"It was to take a break for her mental health," Madeline speaks up, reaching over to place a hand on her daughter's knee, "it was necessary, Estella. Let's not go over this once more. Let's eat."

Estella huffs, while the ginger sighs in relief at her mother's intervention and takes a sip of sparkly wine before digging in.

Silence ensues among them, save for the clanking noises the silverware makes as they eat. When the old woman first insisted on gatherings like these, Mary Jane had no idea which utensil to use. Which one was for the soup? Which one for the fruit? Which one for dessert? Which one to stab herself with?

It wasn't until the night that Alice gave her a condescending look after the very first dinner that Mary Jane learned she'd have to read up on etiquette. It's a cakewalk to her now.

As Madeline cuts her steak into pieces, she asks, "Faith, how are your classes? Are you doing well in your new school?"

The fourteen-year-old looks up at the mention of her name, about to open her mouth to answer, but her mother beats her to it. "Faith's new school isn't any of your business, Madeline," Alice responds coldly, eyes narrowing.

"Alice," Samuel warns, "She was just asking."

"She can ask if she contributed to paying for it."

"I'm sorry," Mary Jane cuts in, tilting her head to the side, "but my father's money is my mother's money as well. Maybe you've forgotten that you're not a Chaucer."

"I have a Chaucer daughter," the brunette says calmly with a sneer. "Maybe your mother should focus on your schooling—you do need to catch up on those who haven't been sucked in a depressive hole for a miserable year."

Cue the regret. Mary Jane opens her mouth to speak, to fight back, to say that her mental health is not something to be shamed for, but Madeline puts down her fork forcefully on the table, surprising everyone, and hisses, "I value my daughter's mental health, and I will not let anyone, least of all you, to demean her for it. Mary Jane can move at her own pace in her own time."

"She'll fall behind," Estella interjects in a bored tone, bony fingers curling around the stem of the wine glass, "she's disrespectful enough as it is. I don't see her making an effort to do well—she's already failed one class. You should make an example of Faith."

Mary Jane takes a deep breath. "Failing one class isn't the end of my life, Grandmother. I'm doing the best I can."

"You should if you're taking over the family business," says the old woman. Mary Jane grips her spoon until her knuckles turn white. "Samuel, ensure that she's fit to inherit the Chaucer-Hyatt Suites. I wouldn't want all of our family's hard work fall into dust. She is a...handful, after all."

The implication is unspoken, but it's there.

Here, in this place, she feels like drowning. Like the demons inside her head are inviting her to come back to them; to be friends with them again. Mary Jane grips her fork tight and shuts her eyes—no. She's battled her mental illness. She's proud of it. Some people just don't see that.

Samuel exhales heavily and says in an exasperated tone, "Must you remind my daughter every time we have this dinner of the pressure you're placing on her? Give her time, Mom. She's still recovering."

Her grandmother doesn't bother responding. With the loss of an appetite, Mary Jane forces the remaining food down her throat. Even the dessert isn't as tasty as Andy's sweets.

When dinner's over, Madeline speaks to Mary Jane privately and comforts her with assuring words and a tight hug, and she thinks that she's blessed and grateful enough to have such a loving and wonderful mother, and a caring father who were both there when she needed them.

Sometimes, it just feels like it's not enough.