"OH, GOD," FINN groans through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Michael's fork is poised in midair, his concentration on eating distracted from watching a bit of egg fall from Finn's wide open mouth. Michael Carter winces inwardly, dropping his fork onto the table. The silverware clatters onto his plate, where his own breakfast lay barely touched.

"That," Michael says, watching another piece of egg fall from his son's agape mouth, "is disgusting."

"Oh, God," Finn groans, his voice rising in volume. 

"Oh, God," Michael echoes under his breath, rising sharply from his seat. He grabs his plate of eggs and bacon and begins to shuffle towards the narrow hallway.

"Wherbe are tou goibg?" Finn manages to sputter, quickly swallowing his breakfast. He has been in a trance all morning, broken only by the sound of his father retreating hastily into his bedroom. Finn looks down, loosening his grip on his silverware, which he had not realized he was holding so tightly. 

"Somewhere where I can eat in peace," Michael answers and the sound of a door being slammed shut makes Finn jump in his seat.

He stares down at his meal; the eggs are shoved towards the edges of the plate, looking like a mess of dyed mashed potatoes. With a fork in hand, he halfheartedly pokes around his food once more.

It's a date, he hears her voice whisper in her head. Mocking. Taunting.

"Oh, God!" Finn yells in frustration, allowing his head to fall to the table where it lands with a muted thud. 

"God doesn't hear you!" Michael screams back, and Finn simply lets out another groan, counting the seconds tick by.

-----------

Finn doesn't know what to wear. 

He's in his room, sitting in a circle of clothes scattered haphazardly around the circumference of his body. He is the sun among a universe of fabric, articles of clothing ranged from "fancy as hell" to "take me out with the trash." He groans.

"Oh, God."

------

After settling for a white, collared polo and slacks that haven't been worn since the ninth grade, Finn finds himself standing on his front porch unable to budge even an inch. His hands are wringing his wrists as he taps anxiously on one foot.

It's a date.

Oh, God.

He runs a hand through his hair, momentarily forgetting about the thirty-five minutes it had taken him just to gel it up to that perfectly slicked back, just had sex, ruffled masterpiece. 

Finn has never been on a date before. In all four years of high school, not once has he been approached by a member of the opposite gender. Well, with romantic intention, at least. He's a mathematics tutor, specifically dealing with calculus and trigonometry, a very popular individual before every big exam. Finn's always been a hopeless romantic, wondering if the next girl that winds up sitting across from him in the library will be the one that movies try so hard to portray, that books whisper into his naive ears. 

And now he has a date. 

But with a girl who has absolutely no interest whatsoever. Not just with him, but his species. The male species. He couldn't blame her.

Curse you, cosmic irony, how dare you shit on my parade.

He forces one foot to move. And then the other. And then the other. Until he finds himself crossing the invisible border dissecting his property from the Marshalls'. The shift is apparent; he finds himself immersed in a trance-like state where the air is heavy but the atmosphere is inviting. He has disappeared from the bleak premise of a dying lawn into a universe filled with freshly planted tulips and a seductive looking garden gnome. 

He takes a step back onto his lawn. He puts a foot in Winona's. He hops back and forth from both, feeling the comfort dissipate into a thrilling anxiety every time he passes from one side of the border to the other.

It is then when the door to Winona Marshall's home opens.

And it is not Winona Marshall standing in the doorway.

He stops at once, one foot on his property and the other on Winona's pristine lawn. His eyes are wide like a deer in headlights. "Hi?"

There are two women standing side by side; the lighter-skinned woman rests her elbow on the shorter, more intimidating woman beside her. She opens her ruby red lips to speak, "Can I help you?"

"I'm uh," Finn immediately drags his leg back onto the Marshall's lawn, keeping his feet as tightly together as possible. "I'm here to pick up Winona."

They two look surprised before the suspicious gleam in their eyes dissipate and they quickly motion for him to come in. The short woman pats his back as he enters and he lets out a little grunt as he is suddenly propelled forward into their home.

"This must be the boy Nona was talking about," says the lighter-skinned woman to her wife. She's dressed in a petite dress that hugs her curves, the red polka dots jumping out from the pallor of the fabric. She whispers, "Our stalker."

Finn turns beet red.

She laughs and extends a hand, "It's nice to meet you, son. I'm Marie, Winona's mother." He hesitantly shakes it.

"Finn."

"And I'm Anika," says the darker-skinned woman. She is dressed in sweats and a hoodie but she looks as if she could kill Finn with her bare hands. "Also Winona's mother."

They eye him, gauging a reaction.

"So uh, " he starts, mouth dry. "Does she call you both Mom? Because I like to think that can get a bit confusing sometimes."

Marie laughs, a little tinkle that reminds Finn of church bells. It seems as if he's passed their test and he feels a bit of relief. 

"I am Maman," she explains. He hears a bit of a French accent.

"I tried to get Nona to call me Mom," Anika explains, as the sound of thunderous footsteps from the floor above interrupted her train of thought. The three of them glance up as the chandelier overhead teeters precariously with the force of impact. 

"Niko!" A shrill cry is heard from above. Anika sighs. 

"But it never worked out," Anika finishes with a half-hearted shrug. She raises her voice louder for her daughter to hear, "What is it, Nona?"

"Do we have any more condoms?" Winona's loud reply sends Finn turning beet red. The two mothers widen their eyes and change their gazes to him. Finn can hear the blood rushing to his head.

"It's not-- we're not--" He stammers, waving his hands frantically in front of him. 

"Oui," Marie calls to her daughter, "Check the cabinet. Second shelf!"

"Thanks, Maman!"

Finn takes a step back. He wonders how many seconds it would take to fling open the front door, trip onto the grass, sprint to his home, lock the doors, and fall into a fetal position sobbing on his kitchen floor.

"I hope these aren't expired," he hears Winona quip, her voice getting louder as she nears the foot of the stairs.

Finn starts counting in his head.

"Nona, are you meaning to tell me you are going to have sexual relations with this boy?" Marie questions. Finn can't tell if she is being sarcastic.

Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four.

"Oh absolutely, maman," Winona gasps dramatically. She is now on the middle step, where she stops to pose over the banister, draping her arm over her face to shield her eyes. "You know how I get about lanky, white boys who still wear velcro sneakers."

Finn takes a step back. His back grazes the door.

Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one.

Winona reaches the bottom of the steps, where Anika lightly smacks the back of her head. The former lets out an indignant protest, feigning injury on her scalp.

"What?" Winona asks her mother. "Finn has urges, Niko. Urges!"

Immediately, Finn grabs the door knob and flings the door open, falling onto the porch in a less-than-graceful spill. He heaves a breath then hoists himself up, tripping onto the grass and half-crawling, half-running towards his property.

"Finn!" He hears Winona's voice behind him.

He makes it to his front door and jams his house key in, turning it as fast as he can and slamming the door behind him. In the living room, Michael Carter awakens from his slumber with a start. He sputters an expletive as his son strides across the hallway, and into the kitchen.

Finn collapses into a ball and tries not to cry.

It took one hundred and forty-seven seconds. 

-------

After about thirty minutes of coaxing and apologizing, Winona finally manages to get Finn out of the fetal position. It took about another fifteen to explain that she had just been messing around, and that her mothers also understood the joking implications.

"I have a type, Finn. Remember?" she had explained.

It took at least ten minutes to convince Finn that her mothers found him adorable, another five to explain that the condoms were not for sexual intercourse between them, and a final ten minutes to convince him to climb aboard her motorcycle.

--------

Twelve minutes and twenty-two seconds later, the two finally arrive at Fairfax District Mall.

--------

Finn throws a light burgundy sweater in Winona's direction. She catches it in one hand, but not before the price tag hits her in the eye. She winces and looks at the price.

"I really think we have enough," she mutters, "The shopping cart is full. I think I'll be stocked up until next winter."

"Good," Finn chirps. He tosses a final long-sleeved shirt into the cart and smacks his palms together. It had been a successful shopping trip; he had managed to convince Winona to buy a plethora of sweaters fit to keep her warm against Vermont's harsh climate, some pants, and a pair of dark brown snow boots. The two had even managed to pick up some fall and winter clothing for Anika and Marie, much to Winona's disapproval.

"They always laugh at my fashion taste," she had pouted.

Ultimately, Finn had decided which clothes to buy them.

Now, as Winona wheels the shopping cart toward the check-out line and Finn follows closely behind, the two are exhausted. The squeak of the wheels are the only noise between the two; Winona is focused on finding the shortest line. Finn is trying to peruse the candy aisle before they make their final purchases. 

After realizing with dismay that no matter which line they end up at, they would have to wait for a while, Winona pulls into aisle seven and turns towards Finn.

"So," she clicked her tongue, "I held up my end of the bargain."

Finn feels the color drain from his face. He had known that this discussion was coming, but still did not feel prepared at all for it.

Winona continues, "I'm going to help you get the girl, Finn. I promise."

Finn peers over her head, counting how many people were in front of them. The cashier seems a distant figure, his frame petite in comparison to the mounds of items placed precariously in the shopping carts in front of them.

He sighs and rubs the back of his head, "Can I ask you one thing?"

"Shoot."

"Why are you helping me?"

Winona pauses at that. She toys with the hem of one of the sweaters in their cart. Her finger slips underneath and out of the fabric. Underneath. Then out. Underneath. Then out.

"Let me ask you this," she replies, "Why do you like Adelaide so much?"

Finn is caught off guard. He too finds solace in placing his hand on the shopping cart, the cool metal refreshing against the heat of his palm. 

"She," he begins, a small smile forming on her face. "She's my best friend."

"So?"

"So," Finn stresses, running his hand along the side of the cart. "There's only a few people in this world that you feel you can truly connect with. For me, it was always difficult to fit in, and to make friends. Adelaide reached out first, not out of pity, but of a genuine interest in becoming my friend. She wanted to know me."

Winona remained silent as Finn continued, "And everyone says it's cliche to fall for your best friend, but who else knows you better?"

His hand pauses its movement on the cart. 

"Who else understands your flaws, and chooses not to ignore them, but fix them? Who else holds you to your account and keep you in check with yourself? Who else wants to care for and understand you and love you," Finn's voice breaks, "except for the person who is by your side, always?"

Winona offers a small smile. 

"She's my best friend, Winona."

"I know."

"Yeah."

"The reason why I want to help you is simple," Winona leans in, her elbows resting on the handlebar of the cart. She pushes it forward as another customer finishes their purchase and leaves. She turns to Finn, "It's because of that."

"I don't get it."

"It's just what you explained, Finn," Winona says, "You should have seen the light in your eyes when you talked about her. I could feel how much you care for her, and how scared you are to try anything because you don't want to lose her."

It is Finn's turn to be silent.

"I don't have a best friend," she admits, "So I don't understand that bond between you and Adelaide. I want to help so that maybe one day I can feel the way about a person the way you do. I want to prove that I can have an impact."

The cart is pushed forward once more.

"So I'm not a charity case?" Finn asks hesitantly.

"No," Winona replies. She pats his arm gently. "From this moment on, you're my friend."

He can't help but feel a little bit of emotion. 

"But how exactly are you going to help me with Adelaide?" Finn asks her.

"I'm going to tell you how to win her heart. But instead of telling you," she smirks wickedly. "I'm going to show you."

"How?"

"Through dates and lessons in feminism, of course."

-----------------

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Fun Fact: This is the first time I've updated a story in four years.

Enjoy :-)