Chapter 22 | Wouldn't You Want Revenge?

"You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not." — My Sister's Keeper

"Oh my god, mom, it's such a stupid idea," I groan in displeasure.

"Oh my god, Sawyer, it's not a stupid idea," My mom mimics me.

"Yeah, it actually is," I argue. "I hate Tom and Tom hates me, and I just don't really see that changing anytime soon, so you might as well just accept it," I suggest with a sigh.

"Your dad does not hate you, Sawyer, and we are doing this whether or not you want to. Be sure to call Graham sometime today and make sure he's free tonight," She adds.

Just a couple of minutes ago, when I came downstairs for breakfast, my mother told me that tonight we're going to have that stupid family dinner thing that she mentioned a few days back. We were supposed to do it on Tuesday, but that was the day after the stabbing incident occurred, and my mother thought that it would be best to rain check it.

Today is Saturday, and I'm still not in jail—obviously—which is amazing and so unexpected, so she decided that we'd do the dinner tonight. I really don't want to go, you know, because I hate Tom, but she's forcing me. To make matters worse, she's making me invite Graham.

Don't get me wrong, I love being around Graham, and I know that him being there will make it slightly more bearable, but I just really don't want to subject him to my father. I already know what's going to happen—he (Tom) is going to try his very best to embarrass me in front of Graham, and he'll most likely make a bunch of rude, snide remarks about me.

My mother says that the only reason that she's insisting that I invite Graham though is so that she can actually get to know him. I tried, relentlessly, I might add, to convince her that since Graham and I haven't been dating all that long, a Meet the Parents Dinner thing was totally unnecessary and unwarranted. She didn't agree with me on that though. So, I have to invite him. Graham has to babysit his brother a lot though, because I guess Tucker has a time-consuming job, so if I'm lucky, he'll have to babysit Jackson tonight.

Anyway though, my mom told me that we're going to some Italian place—not Alessandra's (which is where Graham took me on our first date) because it's so expensive there— but to some place here in Andover called La Bella Luna. I wanted to go to a Mexican place though, just because I really, really love Mexican food, but apparently, Tom doesn't like Mexican food, which is stupid, because how can you not like Mexican food? But to each its own, I guess. 

"Okay," I sigh, giving in because I know that I won't win this. "I'll call him and see if he's busy," I assure her, taking a sip of my juice.

"Thanks," She replies with a relieved smile. "Oh, I almost forgot—you have to take your medicine," My mom reminds me, going over to the cabinet where she keeps my meds.

"You do realize that I'm seventeen years old, yes? I'm totally capable of taking my meds without adult supervision," I mutter as she walks over to me, handing me one of my pills.

"I know how old you are," She tells me, putting the cap back on the orange pill bottle. "I seem to recall that just about a month ago though, you overdosed on your medication."

"On accident," I remind her, putting the pill in my mouth and taking a large gulp of juice, swallowing it.

"I know that, Sawyer," My mother sighs. "I just don't want there to be any more accidents. Tongue out."

"You're very dramatic for no literal reason, you know," I mumble, sticking my tongue out to prove to her that I actually swallowed the pill.    

Ever since Christmas, when Flynn showed up at my doorstep, and I overdosed on my meds, my mom has been watching me like a hawk when it comes to my medicine. She used to let me keep the bottles in my bedroom, but after that little episode, she took both of them (my anxiety pills and my anti-depressants) away from me. It's not like she deprives me of them though—if I need an anxiety pill, she'll give me one, and when it's time for me to take an anti-depressant, she gives them to me, and makes sure that I swallow them.

"It's because I love you, honey," She chirps, putting the pill bottle back in the cabinet. "Oh, also, Tyler and Serena are going to be here in a couple of hours to discuss some stuff."

"What more could they possible want to discuss?" I ask with an annoyed groan. "I have told them everything several times."

"They've been speaking to witnesses," She explains. "I think that they just need to go over some of the evidence with you."

"When is this whole thing going to just be over?" I wonder, giving her a curious look. I'm just so sick of dealing with all of it.

"Soon, I'm sure," She assures me. "Oh, and you have an appointment with Dr. Fontana at 9 o'clock, so don't be late to that."

"But why?" I groan, raising my eyebrows in question. "Today's Saturday, you know."

"I know, but you haven't seen him since the day of the stabbing," She reminds me.

The stabbing incident happened on Monday, and that was the last time I've seen Dr. Fontana, just because I haven't really been up for going to our sessions. I know that when he got me released from the psychiatric ward, I promised him I would come to every single one of our sessions, but I think that given the circumstances, he would understand.

Not to mention the fact that I could potentially be arrested at any minute now, so I should probably spend as much time as I can doing stuff I actually want to do before they whisk me off to prison. Graham says I'm just being dramatic and that I'm not going to jail, but I seriously think I might be.

Yeah, I only stabbed Flynn in self-defense, but since his father is probably going to be representing him, he could probably win a few sympathy points. Even if he doesn't get any sympathy points though, Flynn's father could easily argue that I tried to like, murder his son or something for revenge—which I didn't, by the way. I mean, if I wanted to kill Flynn that night, he would be dead by now.

Like I said, I've taken anatomy, I know where I could have stabbed him if I wanted him to die. If I was trying to kill the guy, I would've gone for the heart or the lung or something, but did I? No, I made sure to stay away from that area entirely. I'm slightly positive that I didn't hit anything at all, aside from like, muscle.

Anyway though, I'm sure Flynn's dad could argue that case. Or he could argue that use of a deadly weapon—the knife—wasn't necessary. I think that it was and I'm pretty sure I had reason to fear for my life, which is exactly what I plan on telling Serena and Tyler. I shouldn't be so worried, I know, because they are super amazing lawyers, and according to my mother, they win about 93% of all of their cases. I guess I could fall within in that other 7% but I'm trying to remain optimistic. It's incredibly hard, but I'm trying my best.

"Well, can't I just talk to him about it on Monday, when I'm supposed to see him again?" I ask my mother hopefully.

"Well, yeah, you could," My mother nods, taking a sip from her coffee. "I just think it'd be better if you went today."

"So, do I even get a choice in the matter or are you just going to make me go?"

"You don't have a choice," She tells me, standing up and grabbing her coffee mug. "Please don't be late. I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Okay," I sigh as she leaves the room. She's still on her week-long vacation from work, my mother is, but thankfully, she's supposed to be going back to work on Tuesday, I think.

It's not that I don't love my mom or anything, it's just that when she's at her work, she can't control every aspect of my life, which is great. In wake of everything that's happened recently though, I think that she might take some extra time off, just so that she can be here at home. I know that it might seem like she's just a Grade A pain in the ass, but she isn't. Yeah, some of the stuff she does and makes me do is seriously stupid and meaningless, but I know that everything she does, she does in the best interest of Beck and me.

When I know that my mom is out of earshot, I pull my iPhone out of the pocket of my polka dotted pajama pants and call Graham's number. Graham usually sleeps pretty late on the weekends, so I don't know if he's awake yet, but I guess we'll see. I, on the other hand, have terrible insomnia and I have ever since the night I stabbed Flynn.

It's just that whenever I go to sleep, I have nightmares and flashbacks, and I'd prefer to not have to deal with either one of those things, so I've been depriving myself of sleep. Not totally, of course, but I've only slept maybe like, a total of three hours max each night. It's not healthy, I know, but I'd rather be sleep deprived than have to deal with a load of bad dreams.

"Hello?" Graham answers in a sleepy voice on the fourth ring.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't think you'd still be sleeping," I say, surprised that he answered. I was prepared to hear the automated voice telling me to leave a message after the beep.

"It's like, 7:45," Graham chuckles. "All of us normal people are still sleeping, you know," He teases.

"7:45 a.m. is like the new 12 p.m.," I assure him with a small laugh. "Anyway though, I was going to ask you something, but I'll let you go back to sleep, and call in a few hours."

"I'm supposed be watching J for a few hours while Cassidy and Tucker are out wedding cake tasting, so I should be getting up anyway," He replies. "What'd you want to ask?"

"Okay, well, my mother is forcing me to attend a family dinner thing tonight with her and Tom, and she wants you to come too, so that she can like, get to know you better, I guess. It's not that I don't want you to like, get to know my family or anything, it's just that I don't want you to have to deal with Tom because he is just so stupid and terrible. He's just really rude and mean and awful and I know that if you come, he's just going to try and stir up trouble, so don't feel like, obligated to come or anything. I just told her that I would ask you anyway though, but just feel totally free to say no," I explain in the shortest amount of words as I can because I really need to get ready to go to therapy.

"Well, I'm free tonight," Graham tells me. "I mean, if he's really that awful to you, I kind of don't want you to have to deal with him by yourself."

"You're incredibly sweet, but I won't be by myself," I respond. "My mom will be there too, although I don't know how much help she'll be once Tom starts like, verbally attacking me. If you want to come though, that'd be great. I'm just warning you now though that Tom isn't a nice guy. In fact, he's a very mean and vindictive guy. I'm pretty sure he'll try to stir up some trouble between us or something, or like, try to convince you that I'm too mentally unstable for a serious relationship or something," I tell Graham as a warning.

"Wait a minute, but didn't your dad kill someone?" Graham randomly wonders. "That's why he went to prison, yes?"

"Yeah, he was charged with Criminally Negligent Homicide and DUI," I explain, a little bit confused as to why he brought it up.

"That's what I thought," He replies. "Seeing as how he literally killed a person, I think that that makes him the mentally unstable one—not you."

"I guess you kind of have a point there," I laugh, twisting a lock of my hair around my finger and letting out a loud sigh as Tom walks in the kitchen.

"Of course I do," Graham chirps. "What happened? How come you're so sigh-y?" He questions, sensing my sudden change of mood.

"The Devil just walked in," I murmur, which earns me an angry, scowling look from Tom as he makes his way over to the refrigerator.

"I heard that, you know," Tom mumbles, pulling the refrigerator open and taking the carton of orange juice out.

"You were meant to," I assure him before standing up and taking my dishes over to the sink, having lost my appetite just from being in the same room as him. Okay, well, maybe that's me going a bit too far—I usually don't have much of an appetite after I take my anti-depressant medication, but still, Tom definitely has something to do with it. I just hate him so, so much, and as much as I love to eat, I find it almost impossible to do so around him.

"It's comical, Sawyer, really, how your mother managed to raise Beckett to be such a pleasurable young man, but when it came to you, she just kind of fucked up pretty royally."

"I'm sorry, Graham, but could you just hold on for like, one second?" I wonder, not wanting him to hear what I'm about to say to Tom.

"Sure, I'll hold," He agrees with a tired yawn, and judging by his calm demeanor, I don't think that he heard what Tom said, which is good, because that'd make him pretty mad.

I pull my phone away from my ear then, and look over at Tom, who is staring at me with an expectant look on his stupidly dumb face.

"What?" Tom asks, raising his eyebrows before taking a sip of orange juice straight from the carton. I make a mental note then to not drink another sip of juice from that carton.

"You know, Tom, you haven't been back for a whole month yet, and I'm seriously so sick of you. I don't know what makes you think that after a six year absence, you have some sort of parental rights over you, but let me just tell you, buddy, that you don't. Unfortunately, you are and always will be my father, but that means literally nothing to me. I have no idea what I ever did to you to make you hate me so much, but whatever I did, I'm sorry. Don't be mistaken though, I'm not saying sorry because I want to have some kind of daddy-daughter relationship with you, because believe me, I don't. I'm saying sorry because I'm obviously the bigger person here, and I'm so tired of dealing with you and your verbal abuse. So, how about from here on out, you and I, we just don't talk to each other? I'll pretend you don't exist, and you'll pretend like I don't exist. I promise you that by doing so, both of our lives with be a hell of a lot easier."

Tom just kind of stands there, staring at me while still holding the carton of orange juice in his hand. He doesn't say anything at all though, he just kind of gapes at me like I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past or something. He's either really angry or really surprised, and I don't want to stick around to figure out which it is, so I decide that I'm just going to leave. So, with that, I turn my back on him and make my way out of the kitchen and into the living room, heading up the stairs.

"Sorry about that," I say to Graham when I make it back into my bedroom, plopping down on my bed.

"That's okay," He responds. "Is everything alright? Your father didn't say anything to you or something, did he?"

"He did, but I handled it. Well, I handled it temporarily, anyway," I tell him. "Anyway though, so dinner?" I query.

"I'll be there," Graham informs me. "Where is it and what time should I be there?"

"La Bella Luna, and we have reservations at 7 o'clock, I think, so maybe 6:45-ish?"

"6:45 at La Bella Luna, I can do that—I will see you then," He replies.

"Okay, but just so you know, this is your last chance to get out of it."

"You're confusing me," Graham laughs. "So, do you want me to come or no?"

"I do want you to come, but only if you don't mind having to deal with Tom."

"I can handle your dad, Sawyer," He assures me. "I mean, I dealt with my dickheaded dad for like over half my life."

"Oh yeah, you've got another point there," I agree, remembering the story of how dreadful his abusive father made his, Tucker and their mother's lives all those years ago.

"I know, which is how I know that I can deal with whatever your dad has to throw at us," Graham replies. "So, aside from that dinner, what do you have planned for today?"

"Not much," I state. "I have therapy in like, an hour, then I have to meet with Serena and Tyler for the umpteenth time, and then I need to call Halden."

"Halden?" Graham echoes, his voice laced with curiosity. "My friend Halden?"

"Yep, that's the one," I confirm, walking over to my closet and pulling it open.

"How come you have to talk to Halden?" He wonders.

"Because your birthday is in three days, and I need his help with something," I tell him, being purposely vague so that he can't guess what I'm planning to do for his birthday.

"I thought that you said you weren't getting me anything?" Graham laughs.

"I said nothing like that," I deny. "You said that I don't have to get you anything, which isn't true, because girlfriends absolutely have to get their boyfriends birthday presents."

"Okay then," He replies, knowing that I'm not giving this up. "Well, do I get a hint?"

"You get one hint," I tell him. "You're either really, really going to love it, or you're really, really going to hate it," I explain, which is true. That's why I need Halden opinion on it.

"That was an awful hint," Graham sighs. "Actually, I don't even think that it was a hint—it was more of a fact."

"You're probably right," I agree with a small giggle. "Oh well though, that's all you're getting, so just take it."

"Fine," He says with a dramatic sigh, feigning annoyance. "So, J just walked in complaining about how hungry he his, so I'm gonna take him to get food, and I'll see you tonight?"

"Okay, well, tell him that I say 'hi'," I say and when he says that he'll tell him, we say goodbye, and I hang up.

I put my phone on top of my dresser then and focus my attention back on what to wear. The only place I plan on going today before the dinner is Dr. Fontana's office, so that's really not somewhere that I have to dress up to go to, for obvious reasons.

So, I pull a pair of skinny jeans out of my closet, along with a grey t-shirt that says in big, black block letters across the top: CONTROVERSIAL and then close the closet. Then, from my dresser, I take out underwear and then make my way out of my bedroom and to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I take a quick shower, and once I'm out, I brush my teeth and put on my normal make-up. Then I pull my hair into a messy bun, because I'm way feeling way too lazy right now to even attempt to straighten it, and then head back to my room. Back in my bedroom, I grab my car keys (I got it back, my car, like, two days ago, which was pretty exciting) along with a jacket and then go downstairs and out the door.

As usual, it's unbearably cold out here. Thankfully though, it isn't snowing. Well, it's not snowing yet, at least. Hopefully it'll stay like this all day though, because as I'm sure you have noticed, I absolutely hate snow. I hate winter in itself, actually. It's just so disgust and cold and I just can't handle it. It's weird though, considering the fact that I was born in September, you'd think that I like the cold weather, but I absolutely despise it.

Inside my car, I pull my seatbelt on and then start it up before backing out of the driveway and driving towards the main road. I still don't know why it was gone for so long, and I didn't bother to ask Tom, just because I try to avoid talking to him as much as possible. I mean, the car literally looks exactly the same, aside from the fact that the dent is gone and the taillight isn't broken anymore.

Aside from that though, the car is exactly the same, which is a good thing, a great thing, actually, I just thought that since it was gone for so long, it'd look different, or have had a paint job or something, but that wasn't the case. I'm definitely not complaining though, I'm just incredibly happy to have my baby back.

As soon as I pull into the parking lot of the office building where Dr. Fontana works, the clock on my dashboard turns to 9:00, which means I'm technically not late. That's pretty good, considering the fact that I didn't even want to come here today in the first place. I turn my car off and take the keys out of the ignition before glancing up in the rearview mirror, just to make sure there's no sign of Satan's human reincarnation, aka, Flynn. 

I know that he's most likely still in the hospital, but Flynn is a very, very sneaky person, so I wouldn't be surprised if he checked himself out of the hospital early or something. I don't see any indication in the parking lot that he's here though, so I deem it safe to get out.

I'm already an incredibly paranoid person, but ever since the night of the stabbing, I'm even more paranoid than usual, which is saying a lot. That being said, I unlock my doors and get out, then I practically take off running up to the doors, pulling them open and going inside.

I sign in at the front desk like Dr. Fontana asked me to and then I walk down the corridor and get on the elevator. The entire ride up, I'm kinda fidgety and jumpy, because since I'm so paranoid, there's this crazy thought running through the back of my mind. I know that it's completely irrational and pretty stupid, but I can't shake the thought. I just have this really weird feeling that some kind of way, Flynn knew when I'd be on this elevator, and he has it like, set to just stop or something while I'm on it. Like I said, completely irrational and pretty stupid, I know, but still.

When I get to Dr. Fontana's floor and the elevator doors slide open, the thought leaves my head and I step off, heading down the hallway to his office. In my subconscious mind, I know that Flynn isn't anywhere near me right now, but I have a hard time believing my subconscious mind over my paranoia.

It just wouldn't make any kind of sense for Flynn to jeopardize his freedom by stalking me here at Dr. Fontana's office, where there are cameras and witnesses everywhere. Not to mention the fact that he apparently had to get surgery as a result of my stabbing him, so I'm assuming he's still recovering from that.

"Hi Sawyer," Dr. Fontana greets as I walk into his office and close the door behind me, sitting down across from him.

"Hey Dr. Fontana," I reply with a breathy sigh, trying to calm myself down and push my paranoid thoughts out of my mind.

"Did something happen?" He wonders, giving me a weird look. "You look really jumpy right now," He informs me.

"No, no, nothing happened," I assure him, crossing my left leg over my right leg then. "I'm just a little bit paranoid right now."

"Paranoid about what, exactly?" Dr. Fontana queries, grabbing his clipboard and his ink pen, immediately writing.

"Flynn," I sigh. "I just...I don't know, I feel like he's been here or something," I murmur. "That makes me sound psycho, I know."

"It doesn't," He argues, shaking his head. "Did you see something that made you think he'd been here?" He asks.

"Not particularly, no," I reply. "I think I'm just being paranoid, because I'm pretty sure he's still in the hospital," I tell him then.

"Well, why don't we find out?" Dr. Fontana suggests, putting his ink pen and clipboard down and picking up his office phone.

"What do you mean?" I wonder in confusion, raising my eyebrows in question.

"I'll just call the hospital he's at and we'll know if he's been discharged already."

"Can you even do that?" I query. "I thought that they only told family that kind of stuff."

"They usually do, but I'm a doctor, after all, and for all they know, I could be his doctor."

"But you're not, right?" I ask, just for clarification purposes. Even though he so desperately needs some mental help, I don't think Flynn sees a psychiatrist, but I want to be sure.

"I have been studying adolescent cognition for twenty-two years now, and I don't think that even I, with all of my experience, could give Flynn the help he desperately needs."

"So, that's a no, yes?"

"That's a no, yes," Dr. Fontana confirms, picking up his phone. "Do you happen to know what hospital Flynn is at?"

"Mercy Hospital, hopefully. That's the one that's closest to my house, so I'm assuming they took him there," I respond.

There aren't many hospitals in this town, at least, not close to my house, so there's really only two options: Mercy Hospital or St. David's Hospital. St. David's is where I work, so I just hope and pray that's not where he's at. Granted, I don't work all that much, but still. I don't think that I could even breathe properly if I had to be in the same building as Flynn, who I'm sure is out for blood (my blood) right about now.

"Mercy Hospital, front desk. This is Lana, how may I help you?" A monotonous tone answers the phone.

"Hello Lana, I just need some information on a patient," Dr. Fontana responds in a weirdly chipper tone.

"Are you family?" The person who is apparently called Lana asks.

"No ma'am, but I'm a doctor, and I just need some information."

"What's the name?" She asks in the same droning tone.

"William Decker," Dr. Fontana tells her, using Flynn's first name.

"Mr. Decker is currently in recovery from surgery," Lana informs us after a few seconds, in which I guess she was looking up his file or whatever.

"Would you happen to know when he might be discharged?" Dr. Fontana queries.

"No definite date, but most likely sometime this week," She explains then, sighing.

"Thanks Lana, you've been such a big help," He tells her in that same weird chipper tone before ending the phone call and looking over at me. "See?"

"Can't you get in some kind of trouble for that?" I ask him with a curious look on my face.

"Maybe, but I have a perfect justification," Dr. Fontana assures me. "I have no interest whatsoever in Flynn's personal life, I just need to give my patient a peace of mind."

 "Okay, well, I guess that does make me feel better. What am I supposed to do when he gets out though? I mean, Lana just said that he'll probably be getting out this week."

"What do you mean?" Dr. Fontana wonders, raising his eyebrows.

"If someone stabbed you, wouldn't you want revenge?" I ask him.

"If someone stabbed me, I'd probably just die, because I'm old," He informs me.

"Okay, if you weren't old, and someone stabbed you, wouldn't you want revenge?" I ask him. Dr. Fontana's really not old though, I don't think—he's like my mother's age.

"Sure, but not if that meant put my freedom at stake," Dr. Fontana tells me. "You're worrying way too much about this, Sawyer," He explains. "When Flynn is released from the hospital, I'm sure he'll be placed under house arrest or something. That is, if they don't arrest him on the spot. From what your mother tells me, not only did he break into your house and assault you, he also threatened you. I seriously doubt that they would just release him into the general public knowing this," He says, trying to prevent a panic attack.

"So, you don't think he'll be able to get in contact with me in any kind of way?"

"I don't think so, no," Dr. Fontana replies. "Your lawyers and I have been talking and they seem family confidence about this case. They seem to think that immediately following Flynn's hospital discharge, he'll be escorted downtown to the police station. They say that the detectives will most likely question him, and seeing as how his father is the district attorney, they probably won't make him stay in jail. What they'll most likely do is get him an ankle bracelet and send him home, where he'll have to stay until the court trial. He'll be constantly monitored, so he can't really touch you at all," He states. "I mean, I'm no lawyer and I know nothing about the justice system, but that's what your lawyers tell me."

"Okay, yeah, that makes sense," I nod, hoping to god that that's actually what's going to happen. "Wait, so you're not sending me back to the psychiatric ward, are you?" I ask.

"I wasn't planning on it, no," Dr. Fontana denies. "I didn't send you to the psychiatric ward in the first place though, you know, that was your parents. Do you feel like you need to be back in the psychiatric ward? Because if you do, I'm sure I can get a hold of Dr. Watson and she and I could probably work something out, if you feel like it'd be best for you."

"Going back to the crazy center is definitely not what's best for me," I reply, shaking my head. "I just thought that you would think that I was crazy after I stabbed Flynn," I admit.

"I don't think that you're crazy, Sawyer," He tells me, going back to writing on his clipboard. "I think that you were defending yourself in a plausibly dangerous situation," He says.

"I guess that's a good way of looking at it," I decide, pulling my legs up in my chair with me, wrapping my arms around them.

"So, tell me, how is the relationship going?" Dr. Fontana questions, doing a completely 180.

"Great. The relationship is going great," I truthfully tell Dr. Fontana as I feel my face heat up.

"It must be going really great for you to be blushing so much," He casually notes, briefly looking up at me from his clipboard.

"That's not why I'm blushing," I awkwardly reply. "It's just like, super cold in here, that's all."

"I don't buy that, considering the fact that it's 68 degrees in here, just like always," He says.

"I just get very cold easily then, I guess," I shrug.

"I feel like there's something you're not telling me."

"Graham told me that he loves me," I blurt, deciding to just tell him because he'll be so incredibly persistent about it if I don't.

"But didn't you two just get together not too long ago?" He wonders.

"Well, not 'just', but we haven't been together all that long," I tell him.

"When did this happen?" Dr. Fontana asks, picking up his board and pen again.

"On Tuesday, so a couple of days ago," I say, mentally counting back the days.

"So, when he told you that he loves you, what did you do?"

"Um, I just kind of sat there like a bump on a log," I admit.

"You didn't say it back?" Dr. Fontana queries with a surprised look.

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "I want to make sure I'm 150% sure I love him before I tell him that I do."

"150%?" He echoes with a laugh. "Why 150% though? You do realize that most people just stop at 100?"

"I know, but I need to be like, surer than sure," I explain then.

"Alright then," Dr. Fontana chuckles. "So you don't love him?"

"I mean, I like him a whole lot," I reply with a sigh. "How am I supposed to know if just like him a lot or if I actually love him?"

"Well, I am a forty year old divorcee, so I'm probably not the greatest person to come to with questions about love," Dr. Fontana tells me with a quiet laugh. "I loved Melissa, my ex-wife for twenty-five years though, and I can tell you just about one thing for sure: when you're in love, you'll know it. You'll smile a little bigger, laugh a little louder, hug a little harder. You'll see the sun in the sky where you once saw the clouds and you'll just know."

"Oh my gosh," I say when Dr. Fontana's done.

"What?" He asks, giving me a curious look.

"I think that was the most amazing thing I have ever heard in my life."

"That's what I'm here for," Dr. Fontana matter-of-factly states with a light laugh.

After that moment, the rest of the session goes by pretty quickly, which is amazing because I'm just so tired. I really want to just stop by Subway, go home, eat and then go to sleep, but I know that I can't do that because Tyler and Serena are probably at my house waiting for me.

When I walk out of the office building, I roll my eyes and let out a very loud and dramatic sigh when I realize that it's snowing now. It's not like, a surprise or anything, seeing as how it's winter in the north, it's just incredibly annoying. If we could have just one day this winter without snow, that'd be just great. It's super unlikely, but I can hope anyway.

When I get back to my car, it dawns on me that I still have to call Halden. I don't think I'll have time to call him when I get home, because I'm going to have to talk to Tyler and Serena. When that's done, it'll probably be almost time for the dinner, and when that's over, it'll be too late in the day to call someone you don't even know. I mean, I guess I could just wait until tomorrow and call him, but I don't think that two days is enough time to get the thing that I'm trying to do done. So, I decide that I'll just call him right now.

I pull my phone out of my pocket then and start my car up, turning on the heat. I'm not going to drive and talk at the same time, because I'm not an idiot, but I'm not just going to sit in here without the heat on, because I'd probably die of hypothermia in seconds. I find his name in my phone from the day when Sienna gave me his number and then I hit the button to call his number, pulling the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?" A voice—I think that it is Halden, but we spoke very briefly at Graham's party a couple of weeks or so ago.

"Um, is this Halden?" I ask awkwardly. I really hate talking to people on the phone, because like I said, I'm grossly awkward, but I know that I couldn't text him. I mean, he's best friends with Graham, so for all I know, Graham could go to his house between now and his birthday and see our conversation, and then his birthday surprise would be so ruined.

"That depends," The voice replies. "Who's asking?"

"Um, Sawyer Jameson," I reply. "We met a few—"

"Oh, Graham's girlfriend, right?" Halden wonders.

"Yeah, that's me," I respond with a small blush.

"Ah, then yes, this is Halden," He confirms. "I thought for a second you were Carleigh Shapiro. I hooked up with her a few weeks ago, and from what I've heard on the grapevine, she hasn't, you know, had her girl thing, so she might be pregnant, so I'm trying to avoid her. Not that I'd abandon my baby or anything, it's just that Carleigh hooks up with so many guys, and I'm pretty sure that the same night that we hooked up, she hooked up with two other guys, so really, the chances of the baby being mine are really slim. If she's even pregnant, that is. It's just ridiculous, really."

"Um, yeah, that's really ridiculous," I awkwardly reply. I definitely did not want to hear about my boyfriend's best friend's sex life, especially since I don't even know him. I mean, he, like Graham, is pretty popular around town, so I've heard of him, but before Graham's party, I'd never actually spoken to him. And now I know why, I guess, if he just likes to unleash his sexual escapades on random people. "I know we don't really know each other, but I just wanted to ask you something, and also, I need your help with something."

"Alright," Halden states. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, you know how Graham's birthday is in like, three days?" I ask and when he replies in the affirmative, I continue, "Well, I have a plan, but I don't think I can get it done by myself, and I figured that since you're his best friend, you would be able to help me with it."

"Is it legal? Because I just really can't get myself caught up in anything illegal. Not anymore."

"Um, yeah," I laugh. "It's totally legal," I assure him. Then I tell him my amazingly perfect plan, and when I'm done, I say, "So, what do you think? You think that he'll like it?" I ask.

"Are you kidding? Graham would freaking love that," Halden tells me. "That's a great plan."

"So, do you think you can help me with it?" I ask hopefully.

"I definitely think I can help you with that," Halden confirms.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

"I really don't understand why I couldn't drive my own car," I complain a few hours later from the back seat of my mom's car.

"Because it's a family dinner, Sawyer, it wouldn't have made sense to travel from the same place in three different cars," My mother tells me from the driver's seat.

"You know what else doesn't make sense, mother? The entire idea behind this 'family' dinner," I tell her. "How come Beckett didn't have to come with us?" I query.

"Because Beckett isn't as belligerent as you and he knows how to get along with me," Tom interjects from the passenger seat.

"I'm sorry, I don't think that anyone was even talking to you, Tom," I snarkily reply. I know that I'm being pretty awful, but I'm just so angry. I hate being forced into stuff.

"Aren't you a junior, Sawyer?" Tom randomly asks, and before I can respond, he says, "I think we should send you to a finishing school or something for your senior year."

"I am not sending my daughter to a finishing school," My mother scoffs at Tom.

"Do you see what I mean, mom? He just purposely tries to piss me off," I tell her.

"See, now if you went to finishing school, you would know that using that kind of language with your mother isn't appropriate," Tom interrupts.

"I'm pretty sure that if my mom had a problem with the way I talked, she'd have said something. I'm also pretty sure no one was talking to you."

"How about we just listen to the radio?" My mom suggests, grabbing the knob and turning the radio up so loud that we'd have to shout to talk.

Shortly thereafter, she pulls into the parking lot of La Bella Luna—which, I found out, translates to The Beautiful Moon in Italian. As soon as she puts the car in park and turns it off, I practically rip off my seatbelt and get out of the car. I just seriously can't stand being so close to Tom and even breathing the same air as him makes me so uncomfortable. My mom and Tom get out of the car too then, and the three of us make our way up to the front door. I see Graham's car parked a few cars away from my mother's car, so I'm assuming he's already inside waiting for us.

"Have you spoken to Graham?" My mom wonders as we walk inside.

"Not since this morning, no," I say, shaking my head. "His car is here though."

"No one told me that your boyfriend would be joining us," Tom informs me, butting into my conversation with my mother for the third time in less than thirty minutes.

"Sawyer, please don't," My mother pleads, seeing the annoyed look on my face. Honestly, I'm not usually so short-tempered, but everything Tom does just annoys me.

"I see Graham over there," I tell her, gesturing my head over to where I see my adorable boyfriend sitting on a cushioned bench, his fingers flying over the screen of his iPhone. "I'll be right back," I say before stepping out of the somewhat short line in front of the maître d' podium that we're standing in and walking over to him. "Hello," I chirpily greet.

"Wow," Graham replies, looking up at me.

"Wow, what?"

"Wow, you look great," He explains, standing up and putting his phone in his pocket. "And hello back."

"Thanks," I giggle with a blush, pushing a lock of my loose hair behind my ear. "You look great too," I truthfully tell him. "It's not too late to back out of this though, you know."

"I think that you're probably more nervous about this than I am," Graham chuckles, leaning down and giving me a small kiss on the lips. "I promise you everything will be fine."

"You don't know Tom," I groan quietly. "The man is an awful person. Like, he is seriously awful. I think that his hatred for me must be at an all-time high or something tonight."

"Well, have you tried just ignoring him?"

"Yes, but it's just so difficult," I complain.

"Okay, well, while we're eating, just talk to me," Graham advises, grabbing my hand in his. "If you don't give him the reaction he wants, I bet he'll leave you alone," He tells me.

"I bet he won't," I reply, shaking my head in disagreement. "But I guess we can try it," I add, going up on my tip toes and placing my lips against his for a small and chaste kiss.

Graham and I walk hand-in-hand over to the maître d' podium then, and luckily, my mom and Tom are at the front of the line now. My mother tells the maître d' that we have reservations then, and just like when Graham and I went on our super amazing first date at Alessandra's in Beverly, there's a guy who leads us to a table. I've never eaten at this place, but it's pretty swanky and cool looking too. Not as cool as Alessandra's though, which is understandable, I think, because Alessandra's used to be a freaking planetarium.

After we're seated, the waiter guy—his named is Nathaniel—asks us what we want to drink and what appetizers we want. Graham and I both order tea (I order a Bellini Peach-Raspberry Iced Tea, because it sounds like it should taste really good, and Graham orders just a normal iced tea), my mom orders a kind of wine called Zinfandel Ravenswood, and Tom, being the literal alcoholic he is, orders a literal glass of Bud Light.

I mean, I have nothing at all against people who drink beer, I just think that it's weird to order one while you're in a really fancy Italian restaurant. As for appetizers, Graham orders Calamari, I order Shrimp Scampi, Tom orders Stuffed Mushrooms and my mom orders Bruschetta.

"Are you not going to introduce your boyfriend to us, Sawyer?" Tom asks as soon as Nathaniel writes down our orders and walks away from the table.

"What do you even mean? You've both met him like, five times already," I remind him.

"But never as your boyfriend," Tom responds and I know that he's trying to annoy me.

"Alright, well, Graham, that's my mother, Heather, and that's her ex-husband, Tom, and mom and Tom, this is my boyfriend, Graham," I introduce them.

"Sawyer, I know that you don't like the fact that I'm your father, but I am and there's nothing you can do to change that, so you might as well just address me as such."

"I'm sorry, but I don't really feel comfortable calling a man who disappeared from my life for six entire years and called me a grand total of maybe four times, 'daddy'."

"So, Graham, how did you and Sawyer even meet?" My mother queries, obviously trying to avoid a big argument.

"Well, in October, I transferred to her school and we're both friends with Sienna, so she introduced us," He states.

"So, what, was it like, love at first sight or something?" She continues on with her interrogation.

"For me, it basically was," Graham confirms with a nod and I feel myself blush again. His bluntness is so ridiculous, but he is seriously the sweetest guy ever, and I just really can't believe that of all the girls in Andover, I get to be his girlfriend. That's pretty amazing, if you ask me. "I really don't think that it was for Sawyer though. In fact, I'm pretty sure she like, hated me or something whenever we first met," He tells my mom, rubbing his thumb across the back of our interlaced hands, which are resting under the table on my knee.

"I never hated you," I honestly assure Graham with a small giggle, playfully rolling my eyes at him.

"Are you sure? Because I remember on my second day at Jamestown, we had Theology together, and I invited you to my Halloween Party and do you remember what you said?"

"Oh yeah," I laugh, remembering that day like it was just yesterday or something. I can't believe I used to be so incredibly terrified of Graham. "I told you that I wouldn't come like, four times and then I finally said that if you left me alone, I would come to your party. I was actually lying though," I inform him. "My friends literally forced me to come."

"I knew you hated me," Graham replies with a sigh, putting the hand that's not holding mine over his heart, feigning hurt.

"You're such a baby," I laugh, gently bumping my shoulder against his. "But I did come and we sat on the porch swing together and got Subway, and the rest is history," I add.

"You guys are adorable," My mom coos, looking at Graham and me like we're just the cutest things she's ever seen ever.

"More like nauseating," Tom mumbles, taking a long sip from his beer.

The waiter just brought us our appetizers and drinks about two seconds ago, and Tom's already about halfway down with his beer. It's disgusting, really. Nathaniel takes our orders for our entrée of the night then (I order the Smoked Mozzarella Chicken, Graham orders the Stuffed Chicken Marsala, my mom orders the Mediterranean Grilled Trout and Tom orders the most expensive thing out of any of us, which is to be expected from such a terrible human being like himself— the Center Cut Filet Mignon), and leaves.

"Again, no one was talking to you," I tell him in a singsong voice.

"I'm just saying, no one cares how you two found each other," He shrugs, taking another swig of his beer. "I bet my life the two of you don't even make it to Valentine's Day."

"Okay, actually, Tom, I do care how they found each other, that's why I asked," My mom jumps in and I can tell that he's annoying her about as much if not more as he is me.

"Well, I don't really give a fuck," Tom announces somewhat louder than he probably should have, which draws a few weird looks from families around us.

"Then why are you even here, Tom?" I ask with an annoyed sigh. "You obviously have no respect for anyone in this family, so like, why are you even here?"

"Do you know about Sawyer's past, Graham?" Tom randomly asks Graham, completely ignoring my question.

"Um, yes, sir, I do," Graham nods, clearly feeling awkward about being dragged into this dumb conversation.

"So you know that she tried to kill herself?" Tom wonders. "At least, that's what I was told— I was in prison when it happened."

"I know that she went through a really traumatic experience, and had a pretty hard time dealing with it, yes, sir," Graham says.

"And you still chose to be with her?" He asks, as if that's just the stupidest thing ever.

"Tom, you can stop now," My mother informs him with an angry expression her face.

"No, actually, Heather, I'm just getting started," Tom replies before looking over at Graham for an answered.

"Um, well, I wouldn't say I chose to be with her, I think that we more so chose to with each other," He states.

"Same difference," Tom replies. "Seriously though, the whole 'suicidal girlfriend' thing doesn't freak you out?"

"I'm not suicidal, Tom, and I swear to God, if you don't stop talking about me like I'm not here, I'm gonna flip my shit."

"Don't let him get to you, sweetie," Graham mumbles, giving my hand a small squeeze. "It's not worth it—he's not worth it."

"I just feel like it needs to be discussed, that's all," Tom defends, putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm genuinely curious, Graham."

"Um, to answer your question, Mr. Jameson, no, it doesn't freak me out. It doesn't freak me out, because Sawyer's not suicidal. She's amazing, and brilliant, and pretty hilarious and I love her. I really don't know what problem you have with her, but we've been at this dinner for about thirty minutes now, and quite frankly, I'm getting pretty sick of just sitting here listening to you bash your own child right to not just her face, but her boyfriend's face, and her mother's face. I mean, it's really taking every ounce of strength in my body to not just extend my fist and punch you in your face right now. I had an abusive father growing up though, and lucky for you, I don't want to be anything like my father, so I'm not going to hit you. I'm just going to ask you in the most polite way I know how to find something else to talk about. School, sports, the weather, something, anything."

"Graham's right, Tom," My mom is the first one to speak after that. "Talking about our daughter in that way is totally unacceptable."

"So, all of a sudden, I'm the bad guy?" Tom asks with an incredulous look on his face. "I'm just trying to help the poor boy out," He defends before looking at Graham again. "Look kid, you might think that you love Sawyer, but you don't. I mean, she's a pretty girl, I'll give her that, because I mean, she does have my genes running through her, but believe me when I tell that she's damaged goods. I'm not trying to be mean or anything, I'm just saying, you know, she has to a see a psychiatrist five days a week, she might find herself in jail pretty soon for attempted murder, she cries at just about everything, and she's definitely not going to give you—"

I already know how that sentence is going to end, and I'd rather not hear him say it out loud, so I make a spur of the moment decision. With my hand that's not interlaced with Graham's, I grab my drink and just throw it at him.

It's an awful thing to do, I know, and I instantly feel a little bit bad about it. Not about drenching him in my Bellini Peach-Raspberry Iced Tea, but about literally throwing it because now the carpeted floor is also wet and not to mention the fact that no longer have anything to drink.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Tom shouts at me, standing up and glaring down at me.

"I think that it would be best if you just left, Mr. Jameson," Graham suggests, also standing up.

"Permanently," My mom joins in. "I want you gone. I tried to be nice and let you stay with us while you got back on your feet, but you're not just going to terrorize my daughter just because you feel like it. She tried to tell me earlier what a horrible, horrible human being you are, and you know what? I didn't believe her. I thought that she was just being dramatic, because that's how seventeen year old girls are. I see now though that she was right. Just so you know, I'll be calling a locksmith in the morning, and I'm going to have all of ours locks at the house changed, so your key will be useless."

"Heather, what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know, Tom, and I don't care. I'll pack up all of your stuff for you and I'll drive it down to your parents' house in Worcester, if that's what you want though. I don't want you ever speaking to my daughter again though, and I am serious about that. If I find out that you're trying to get in contact with her in any way, shape or form, please, please do not think that I will hesitate to have a restraining order drawn up against you."

"You two are just alike," Tom angrily mutters. "You're just alike and it's disgusting."

"Seriously, Mr. Jameson, I think you just need to go," Graham reiterates and I can tell it's getting pretty hard for him to not like, hit Tom in the face right now.

"Fine. I made it six years without either of you," Tom says. "I'm going to be okay." And with that, he angrily stomps away from the table and out of the restaurant.

"I'll be right back," My mom sighs, standing up. "I just need to go call Beckett to make sure he doesn't let him in the house," She says before walking in the opposite direction.

"Well, that went really well," Graham sarcastically tells me with a chuckle, sitting down and looking over at me.

"I know, right?" I respond, my tone as sarcastic as his. "But I think that that means Tom is really out of my life."

"Good," Graham replies. "That guy is a dick," He mumbles. "If only it were that easy to get Flynn out of the picture."

"Hopefully he'll be going to jail pretty soon," I sigh.  "So, did you actually mean all of that stuff you just said about me?"

"When I said that you were hilarious and brilliant and amazing?" Graham wonders, raising his eyebrows and when I nod, he does too. "I absolutely meant it," He assures me.

"I think you're pretty hilarious and brilliant and amazing too," I tell my boyfriend before kissing his cheek and leaning my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me.

Author's Note: So, I have the stomach flu and it's really gross and awful and I think I'm dying, and that's why this chapter is a couple of hours late. I'm surprised this chapter even turned out to be this long, because I felt so awful while I while writing it, and I thought it'd be really short, but obvs not.

Anyway, I'm too sick and tired to be bothered to do my normal type of author's note, so please just comment, comment, comment, and vote, vote, vote, and I love you all bunches and I'll see you all next Monday- if the stomach flu doesn't kill me. Also, I'm getting my braces off tomorrow after four whole years- I know you def wanted to know that.