#stacy.all

For the first time in...Lord knows how long, Sam woke up on his own. No alarms and no obligations. Alone, of course. But alone was good in a large bed that wasn't his, in a room with a closet that was double the size of his own back home in a house that if he closed it eyes and listened closely, carried the gentle sound of waves. 

He could see them too, if he wanted. Slip from warm sheets and cross the floor to the balcony. But it was still New England in November and he'd meet nothing but the cold winds coming off the ocean. So this was how the other half of Castleport lived. In beachfront properties they hardly spent time in, except in the sweltering summer months, in big beds, and little cares. 

Sam rolled onto his side. He would have to get up soon. See where everyone was in terms of cooking duties. He didn't imagine that his Thanksgiving would be...this. In an Airbnb courtesy of a hookup Santana had because of course she knew people. He didn’t even know how the hell he’d even pay her back for it, feeling funny at even accepting the offer until Santana mentioned it was practically given to her for free. It was just the four of them. Him, Santana, and their siblings. 

He was glad for the buffer that Santana and her brother Steven provided, along with the chance to get out of their childhood home for the holiday. The thought of having to be in that house now...away was good. Since her arrival the night before, he hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to his sister. After helping Steven carry in the bags (theirs and some grocery ones), he settled on the massive couch in the large living room in front of the very large flat screen. Stacy had tried to approach him there, wanting to engage him in conversation, to discuss the facility that their father would call home for the next 30 or so days, but Sam sat in silence. His gaze refusing to leave the television as he casually flipped through the channels. 

Stacy’s scoff stayed with him when she turned to leave, stalking away in a cloud of auburn hair and a startlingly bright green sweater, but Sam refused to call after her. The anger he felt at her going along with Quinn’s plan to effectively shut him out of James’ treatment had yet to subside. It sat with him, in the pit of his stomach like an ugly, thorny weight. 

Waking up in a bed with a view of the ocean could only do so much, but he was determined not to let it spoil the day. Reaching for his phone, he checked his messages, scrolling through the various texts from well-wishers...which seemed like such a weird thing to do for a holiday based on eating and football. Still, he sent out a few messages, because he was thankful for the people he still had. 

And tried to ignore the feelings about the others. The Thanksgivings of old: Quinn dropping in for dessert with his family, his mother insisting on cutting an extra large slice of her chocolate mousse pie for the girl. Or the ones after Maggie, spent with Mercedes and the chaotic warmth that came from a Jones holiday with his girlfriend doting on his little sister. Wouldn’t do any kind of good to dwell on old shit. 

With a groan he got up reluctantly from the warm cocoon of blankets, and showered in the adjoining bathroom, taking the time to savor the hot water from a pipe that didn’t need a good five minutes to warm up. He loved the charm their old house had, but character couldn’t compete with a modern water heating system. 

Sam had taken his time, toweling off and getting dressed, emerging from the bathroom to find Stacy perched on the edge of the bed. She’d made it for him, the corners of the sheets tucked in tightly and the blanket folded at the foot. Her sweater today was oversized and a soft dark gold, that complimented her auburn curls and reminded him so much of their mother. Especially with that look in dark eyes, the determined one that he should have expected. 

But Sam wasn’t in the mood for any more words on the matter. He’d had enough of them with Quinn. And if the pair of them wanted to go over his head, he was no longer dealing with the issue. He tugged on the olive-colored long-sleeved thermal, smoothing it down while he turned in the mirror, paying his sister dust. 

“You really won’t talk to me? Really, Sam?” 

He raked a hand through his still-damp hair, deciding to let it air dry after finger combing a bit of moisturizing pomade through it. He glanced up, gazing at his sister through the mirror, waiting a beat before joining her on the bed. Only to tug on his boots. 

“You wanna talk to somebody, talk to Quinn. Y’all are running things now, right?” 

It was a low blow, and he barely flinched when Stacy shot off the bed hands on her hips. “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite, Sam. This is why people don’t tell you things. If it’s not something you wanna hear, you shut them out. I did what I thought was best for Daddy, and Quinn supported that. Why can’t you?” 

It pained him, hearing the emotion in his baby sister’s voice. Sam couldn’t even recall the last time they fought. Everything he did, he did for her. Any money he could spare, he sent her way. He was so proud of her, it hurt. To lose her mother even younger than he did, and left with a father who could barely take care of them and a brother who wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of a shining example unless it involved squandered potential. 

But she managed to excel and shine, and do all the things that made him want to protect her from all the ugly shit that happened at home. And Sam wasn’t sure if he was just angry at himself for putting effort into maintaining an unnecessary facade or at Stacy, for exposing just how useless he was in all this. That he could look at the measure of it all, and find that he wasted so many years waiting around this damn town, all for what?

“I didn’t shut anyone out,” he replied simply, pushing off the bed to his full height. “I was pushed out. You two decided I wasn’t needed and made your own choice. So I’m respecting it. And I got nothing else to say about it. You wanna talk to me? Talk about anything else. But this? I’m done with it. You and Quinn made decisions about him...y’all can handle whatever the hell happens from it. I mean it, Anastasia.” 

His tone was void of anger, but carried a hint of exhaustion that seemed to zap a good bit of the goodwill that came along with the swanky house. But, it was Thanksgiving, and he didn’t want to spend it angry and tired. He’d spent enough days in the last year like that. At so  much. 

Even more so after...Sam shook his head. He didn’t like to think too long about the blackout. About finding that car out on North Road. About Rachel… 

Not today. 

Today, he’d try to concentrate on the good things he could still grasp. Cold winds coming off the ocean, in a house by the sea, in a bed with soft sheets, in a room with a closet twice the size of his own back home. With a shower that didn’t need five minutes to warm up. That wasn’t in a house empty of laughter but heavy on memories and shame, and dust, and and and….

Not today.

Today, was for thanks. For the people who mattered most to him...those he was still talking to, anyway. If there was a lesson to be taken from this Thanksgiving to the last, it was that life was just...too damn short.

His sister was standing in front of him, eyes glassy and Sam reached for her, arms curling around her shoulders as he held her in a hug, waiting for the moment he felt her arms around his waist before he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

She didn’t deserve another house with bad memories, or another holiday with tears. Not on his account. 

“Let’s go help San and Steven” he told her, giving her shoulders a small squeeze before separating. Things were...not good. They wouldn’t be.