I don't own Curious George, Kotex, Hanes, Tarzan, Midol, The Backstreet Boys, RESPECT, Maine, Eagle Scouts, Ken, Africa, CSI, Santa Claus, Darth Vader, UIL Ready Writing, Spanish Honor Society, National Honor Society, JuniorNational Honor Society, STDs or DVDs. Otherwise I would be wealthy. I do own Gavin, Katie, and assorted members of her family, though, so I'm not that badly off. :)

Well this was certainly an unusual twist. Not that I was particularly averse to it or anything. Not at all. It had been my idea to begin with. Still, I didn't exactly picture this scene as my Thanksgiving. Poor Gavin sitting there like he's the one being stuffed and carved.

Ah-HA! Turkey-boy. That will definitely go over well as a new nickname.

Anyway. This whole adventure was a lot more than just dinner with my parents. From the beginning, I suppose...

I've thrown a shoe at the wall to try and tell him to hurry up. I don't think he got the message, though, because that angry music of his just goes up even louder(I didn't know that was possible within the laws of nature).

"GAVIN! ARE YOU PACKED YET!?"

There's a muffled bear-sound from the other side of the wall.

"WHAT?"

Another sound that may, in fact, be a mirror of my response.

"ARE" shoe impact, "YOU" shoe impact, "READY" I've run out of shoes, it's a water bottle this time,"YET?!" Now I kick the wall, which wasn't smart, because I'm only wearing socks.

Remarkably thin socks.

"Daffer friggin gillith marxing schneider babylonians!" I hop on one foot in a circle, trying to control my language with quickly invented replacements (Gavin's a bit of a negative influence, I'm afraid) and in doing so, I trip over my suitcase and hit the ground. Hard. In an explosion of underwear and feminine articles.

Somehow my heavy metal-loving attachment heard me through all the noise-pollution emanating from his room, and was now standing in the doorway. Aw, he ran to catch me! Except he wasn't fast enough. Oh well. It's the thought that counts...

If you can imagine, my silly boyfriend is trying to appear appropriately sympathetic without looking directly at me, because the abundance of Curious George underwear and maxi pads are making him blush. Heavily.

"Geeze, Gavin, be grateful they weren't my bras, you'd have had to leave the room."

He flips me off, which I think means "You're not helping," in Embarrassed Guy Speak.

I just laugh and, because I can get away with it, pretty much, I raise my hands in the air and say, "Come rescue me!"

He's blushing even more now, because he can't stand it when I tease him about his knight-in-shining-armor complex. That's okay. Someday he'll realize I have a damsel-in-distress complex. It works.

Or maybe he's blushing because he doesn't want to cross the Ocean of Kotex and Hanes. That's probably it.

I roll my eyes and push myself to my feet, trying to kick the remaining 'delicates' under nearby furniture (with my still-throbbing foot. OW.)

He catches my wince though and forcefully pushes me down on the sofa. "Sit, dammit."

"Yes, Tarzan. Jane sit."

He glares in a way that really would have scared me six months ago. Now I just stick my tongue out at him. Hehe. He may look intimidating, but I know his darkest secret: he's a teddy bear. A teddy bear filled with marshmallows. A pink teddy bear filled with marshmallows. Aw, poor Gavin. Don't worry, I'll still tell everyone you're bad-ass. As I've been thinking this, my teddy bear has disappeared (should I actually call him that to his face? No, that probably would result in...well, I can't think of the ramifications right now, but it would be bad.)

He returns from the hallway with a sandwich baggy filled with ice. I wonder vaguely if he just had said sandwich baggy lying around, or if he ran to get one and made a lightening-fast trip to the ice machine. He really is the best boyfriend.

...the best boyfriend who just dropped the washrag he had planned to wrap around the ice, and is now cursing at the deviant wash cloth.

I'm making a valiant effort to not laugh, I really am. But it's not working. I receive another strategic 'go to' look from Tarzan, who gingerly replaces the terrycloth rag and tiptoes through the womanly debris, to come and kneel in front of me, rebellious towel fully under control.

And that's why I've been crazy about him for four years. I still remember offering to help him unpack the fall of my freshman year; good times, good times. Not really, actually. You'd have think I offered to help him kill and gut his favorite pet. I mean, seriously. If there ever was a boy who could have benefitted from the wondrous effects of Midol...

As I was saying. He's not the easiest guy to get along with, (can you say attitude problem?) but underneath his continuous attempts to prove his manhood (or whatever) is the sweetest guy I've ever known. I mean, the first time I saw him, he was actually escorting this group of chess club-esque nerds to their dorms, because he'd been living there for a while already and knew the ropes (by ropes I mean both 'how to get to places' and 'how to not get hassled by upperclassmen'). Granted, he was muttering profanities at them the whole time, but he was still going out of his way to do them a favor. That's why I was so thrilled when he was next door to me. He's a genuinely kind person. That plus, he's kind of hawt.

I'm smiling at him all goopy (his words, not mine) when he looks up from where he's holding the ice on my toe, and then quickly averts his eyes again. "What?" He barks, roughly adjusting the ice so he won't have to look at my face (he thinks I don't notice that, what a dork). I just grin and shake my head. "Thinking about teddy bears," (surprisingly enough this doesn't surprise him, and he just grunts in response before going to get more ice.)

An hour and a half later we're having the same argument he was trying to avoid with the Korn earlier:"I'm not going."

"Yes, you are."

"NO, I'm NOT."

"YES, you ARE."

"NO-"

"..."

Ha, I win. The best rebuttal in history is The Quick, Forceful, End-Of-Argument Kiss. I pull back far enough to ruffle his hair and smirk, "Yes, you are." He's practically cross-eyed, and I don't think he's realized he's lost the argument yet.

And that, ladies, is how it's done.

It takes me another ten minutes to force what little clean clothes he has into the back of my car, and then the only thing missing is him. I lay on the horn until his sour face appears at the front of our building, and then I gun the engine, clearly enjoying myself. Gavin gives me a long-suffering stare and tries to squeeze his tall frame into my tiny car. Smirk, short people will rule the world.

"You know, I really don't have to go. Really. This is totally not an issue." His voice is a strange mixture of desperation, annoyance and sarcasm. I don't think I've ever heard it go that high before. I do my best impression of a glare at him and try to maintain it. "You're going. It's Thanksgiving, and you will not be left at home, all by yourself, to sit in front of the T.V. and let your feet fester within your socks." He sighs, sounding convincingly downtrodden, and says "That's my idea of the perfect Thanksgiving, Katie." "Too bad!" I chirp happily, and before he's even got the door closed I'm pulling away from the curb. Oh. That's probably not the wisest thing to do, especially not when he's so tense. My bad.

The drive is fun. We fight over the radio until I threaten to put The Backstreet Boys on repeat, and he sulkily agrees to listen to my women-empowerment music. As I sing along. And no, he was not allowed to complain.

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T! FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME! R-E-S-P-EEeeeeee-"

I die off in my favorite part of the song, because I think Gavin is trying to choke himself by sticking his head out the window and rolling it up. Huh.

"That's not good for your vertebrae."

"Neither is your singing," he remarks with a grimace as he returns to his seat.

"Shows how much you know. Your vertebrae aren't connected to your ears at all."

I think. But nobody has to tell him that part.

"Seatbelt, please, Gavin."

He grinds his teeth in a way that makes me suspect he's resisting the urge to strangle me, and then reaches for that clip thing. " Maybe it would be easier for me to die in a tragic car accident. Then, at least, the last three generations of the men in your family, plus the next two wouldn't have the chance to beat the shit out of me."

I try to do that math and decide that yes, what he just said made no sense at all. "Don't worry, Gavenport, I'm sure you could take them. Except maybe Uncle Larry, but he's hardly ever sober enough to get a good punch in anyway..."

He closes his eyes briefly, possibly in response to the massacre of his name."Was he the one that just got out of prison?"

"No, that's Jarred. Jarred never drinks anything stronger than lemonade. Says he doesn't want the enemy to get one over on him."

"Fan-f-king-tastic."

I look sideways at his stiff frame in the passenger seat. "I'm kidding, Gavin. What are you so worried about, anyway? They'll love you. You're the first guy I've ever brought home. You can't possibly fall below par!"

He stares at me, mouth agape. "Was that supposed to help, Katie? I mean, gee, thanks, no matter how much I screw up, no worries, they have nothing to compare me to?"

I nod, and then frown at the expression on his face as he continues, voice rising in volume and intensity. "And no pressure, right, because I'm only the first guy you've ever brought home, and to the whole, extended family, too. Holy shit, Katie, do you want to give me a heart attack?! I mean, are you seriously trying to kill me?!"

I make the command decision that an intervention is in order, and pull the car over to the side of the road, flipping on the hazard lights as I do so.

"Gavin," I turn to face him and lean closer so that my forehead is resting against his (this is no easy task, because he seriously looks like he's about to throw himself out of the car). "Breathe, okay? They're not going to kill you. They're not even going to maim you. Now, realistically, they may not beg you to propose, okay?" Tarzan makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and I give him a quick kiss. "But that's okay, because no one is asking you to propose, right?"

"Right." His voice is thin and subdued, and I pull myself over the console so that I'm tucked between him and the glove compartment, giving him a tight hug as soon as I'm situated. We sit there like that for a while, silent, while he combs his fingers through my hair and I count off his pulse rate. Okay, definitely weird, but it's second-nature after the first fifty first aid classes.

"And," I continue after a moment, my voice much softer than it's normal carnival-announcer level, "contrary to popular belief, I'm not trying to kill you. I actually kind of like you...a little."

"Really?" His voice is muffled by my hair and I nod, careful not to hit his nose.

"Oh. Well I guess...I actually kind of like you a little, too. So I won't kill you for making me go to your stupid family Thanksgiving."

I grin and slide/hop back to the driver's seat. "Good, I kind of like living, too."

Gavin rolls his eyes and says, "You do realize you owe me several serious make-out sessions, right?"

I take the car out of park and pretend to ignore the question ("Katie?..Katie.") as we sail on down the highway.

I should probably explain what we were attending, and why we were attending it together. Gavin's family is in Maine, so there's no financially reasonable way for him to get up there and back, and still have a decent visit. The airline prices always skyrocket around the holidays. Anyway, I didn't want him to stay in the dorms alone, so I offered to stay behind, too, but he wouldn't let me. And so it is, in fact, his own stubborn self that got him into this mess. Silly Gavin.

But what we were going to is fundamentally my fault, if either one of us can be blamed (Gavin insists that yes, I can be). Every major holiday my mother and father's family gather at our house for a giant meal, and numerous college football games. Obviously not everybody in our extended family comes every year (in-laws or non in-laws are given time, too), and when people do come, it's usually only for four or five hours. My parents host it because they have the largest house (seven kids tends to do that). But most of my dad's side and our immediate family stay the whole weekend. This is what is freaking Gavin out. And it gets better. My grandpa remarried after Granny Hannah passed away, so now there's also the whole of the step-children and grand children, which adds up to a grand total of one elderly couple, seven or eight middle-aged couples (or children), and about thirty five grandchildren. No, I'm not kidding.

The size of this old farming family is not the only thing concerning my sweet bear boy. He's a bit concerned about their attitude towards his appearance. He's all dressed up now (I'm drooling, anyway) but his lip ring and general... shall we call it a presence? are definitely going to elicit a...reaction, so to speak, given that my family is the most conservative group of people I've ever encountered, including the Bush family.

He isn't quite the Eagle Scout image presented by my cousins.

And therein lies the problem.

Personally, I like the variety he adds to my otherwise apple-pie appearance, though I'd still love him if he looked like Ken (although, I might be able to control myself a little easier). He's just worried they won't. To which, I reply, "Sucks for them."

"But, Katie, you can't really-"

"Gavin. Whether they like you or not is besides the point. It's not even beside the point, the point is here and their liking you is in Africa, being pooped on by a water buffalo."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and almost-smiled. "You're insane, you know that?"

"So I've been told. Now, Gavin ,we do have to get out of the car at some point. We've been sitting here, in front of my house, for fifteen minutes. They're going to call the cops on us for being suspicious characters." Although, maybe having the cops there to intervene wouldn't be a bad idea...

Gavin pulled his long-ish hair back in what has to be the tiniest excuse for a ponytail I've ever seen and grumpily said, "Several make out sessions, Katie. That's multiple. As in more than one." And then we approached the door.

The next half hour or so is a bit of a blur. I'm the oldest of my siblings, so when I opened the door I was tackled by six different bodies, in assorted heights and strengths. Then I was greeted by each of my twenty (ish) cousins plus the various uncles, aunts, parents and grandparents, all of whom were glad to see me, and wasn't I getting so tall (private joke) and how come I never called anymore, and then, inevitably, who on earth is that?

So there we are, me and my teddy bear, totally surrounded by the judgmental and unforgiving eyes of my loving family. At least, for Gavin they probably seemed that way. Poor Tarzan just stood there, looking incredibly uncomfortable, and relying on me to somehow lessen the tension with an appropriate introduction.

Clearing my throat, I stepped back and wrapped my arm around my very nervous counterpart. "Guys, I'd like you all to meet Gavin. He's one of the many boy toys I've picked up on campus."

Ah. Lessen the tension. Got it.

Gavin shot me a 'look' that said quite clearly, "'Several make out sessions' has now been upgraded to 'a daily allotment of make out time'."

No complaints from me. Still, the room had gotten eerily quiet, so I decided to try and not give my date a reasonable excuse for homicide.

I laughed, a sound that echoed in a really disturbing manner in the sudden stillness. "I'm kidding, of course. Gavin is my boyfriend."

Well. The nervous and/or disbelieving laughter that suddenly trickled through the room wasn't comforting in the slightest. If anything, the atmosphere got even more disquieted, as the whole of the company took in the fact that I wasn't kidding and that Katie brought home one of those inner-city freaks.

The evening went downhill from there.

First, my dad, grandad, brothers, uncles, and cousins all ganged up on him to put him through a questioning more thorough than the kind you would see in a CSI episode:

"A business major, huh? And do you have any idea of what sort of career might follow that kind of decision?"

Gavin swallowed hard and uncrossed-then-recrossed his arms. "Actually, I'm, uh, minoring in Business Supply. My major is European Literature and Concepts."

"Oh. So you're going to own a bookstore?" My dad was looking far more intimidating than was necessary. His comment was followed by incredulous outbursts from my brothers and cousins (" A bookstore? What kind of wimp owns a bookstore?"). I was standing next to Gavin and glaring fiercely at all of them. Ironically enough, one of the strongest traits Dad and Gavin had in common was their ability to look really scary, when in fact they have absolutely no tendency to follow-through. They are both closet-pansies.

Gavin cleared his throat and answered hesitantly "Not really. I run packages for a magazine off-campus, and they've cleared a space for me. When I graduate I'll be working in their Supply and Management Division, but the editor has offered to let me do some free-lance work."

Dad makes a 'harumph' sound and steps back to allow Papa to come forward. Now Papa worked at a quarry for the first fifty years of his life, and as a result is buff, scarred, and missing a thumb. I know that he's basically a ripped Santa Claus, but I guess he could freak some people out. Particularly when he talks. See, Papa has smoked his whole life, and now sounds kind of like Darth Vader with laryngitis. Hence Gavin's unease.

"I suppose that's what you're living off of now? The money you get from being a paper boy?"

Gavin started to respond, but was cut off by Grandpa waving his four-fingered hand in front of his face. "When I was a boy, men did men's work. None of this clean, wishy-washy slop you kids do. We got the grit under our fingers; we earned our paycheck, and the respect of our superiors. We-"

Okay, then. That's enough.

"Papa!" I exclaim with false enthusiasm. "I think Granny Mary is about to serve everybody. We should definitely get in there and help set out plates!"

Grandpa straightened slowly and frowned. "I think the ladies are still cooking some. We have plenty of time to-"

"Observe them as they work! Great idea, Papa! Gavin and I will be just inside the kitchen, but it's awfully crowded, y'all should probably finish this conversation later."

I pull Gavin to my side and make a mad dash for the bustling activity in Granny Mary's domain. Surely the women would be easier to handle?

They weren't. Each and every one of them (minus my mother and grandmother, they were out doing some last-minute shopping) gave him a sugary-sweet smile and made an acerbic comment about his appearance. Aunt Lucy was particularly charming;

"I must say, dear, that is a beautiful shirt, but the color would really look better on a blonde; maybe my son Charlie could try it on later? I have a coat you could borrow in the hall closet. It would only take a moment,"

Gavin was trying to splutter out a polite denial when I firmly wrapped his arm around my waist.

"Thank you, Aunt Lucy, but Gavin has been required to keep his clothes on for the duration of this visit. If you disagree, I don't have a problem with it, but we might want to warn the boys, not to mention my parents..."

Ha. Serves the old crow right. Flustered and embarrassed, she waved her batter-clad hands in front of her apron and stammered out an "I don't think that will be necessary!" before I drug Gavin away.

I managed to get us from the kitchen to my old room without being detected, though there were a few close calls with the smallest of my siblings, a little troublemaker named Frannie.

As I collapsed against the door, trying to decide whether to laugh or scream, Gavin took a seat at the foot of my bed, looking around him with unconcealed interest.

"You were a huge nerd, you do know that, right?" His voice roused me from my frustration-induce stupor, and I slowly raised my head from my hands. "What do you mean?"

He just snickered and pointed to the numerous certificates on the wall. "Academic Achievement, Literary Excellence, UIL Ready Writing, Spanish Honor Society, National Honor Society, Band Vice-President, Junior National Honor Society..." He shook his head slowly, still grinning. "Hell, Katie, when were you a kid?"

I made my way to his side and snuggled close to him. "Once, when I was like four. It was a little weird, and I decided I didn't like it, so I grew up instantaneously."

His arms wrapped around me automatically and I sighed, leaning back and pulling his hands in front of my face so I could study them.

"I didn't expect it to be this hard," I said quietly after a while, refusing to look him in the eye.

Gavin just gave me a tight squeeze and laughed quietly.

"Well, I did, and damned if I'm going to let you feel bad about it." He turned me to face him, and I was surprised to see he was grinning. "You, Katie, have been f-king awesome. I will never forget the look on that rat's face when you asked for her permission for me to get naked. That was a truly beautiful moment."

I smile uncertainly, and Gavin kisses my nose, pulling back to adopt a fairly unconvincing scowl "That didn't happen, got it?"

I just grin, and then my mom opens the door.

Oh, dear.

Mom is slowly turning...huh. It's either green or purple...but it's hard to tell with her nose all scrunchy and her face all tight.

"Katie, may I speak to you for a moment?" Crap. I know that tone. That is the 'in five minutes your butt is going to be burning' tone.

I reluctantly get to my feet and trudge out the door, expecting to be lectured on the dangers of associating myself with 'that kind of man.'

She shuts the door, not sparing a glance on Gavin, and turns to walk to her room. Double crap. I only have to go to her room when I've done something really bad.

As soon as the door shuts, Mom turns on me. That's fascinating. There's a vein up there that is actually growing new veins. I didn't know that was possible. Maybe she's an alien. Would Gavin still love me if I was an alien? Sigh... Gavin is pretty.

"What," she begins, "was that young man doing in your room, with you, on your bed?"

I blink slightly. "Huh?"

My mother is getting steadily angrier. "What. Were. You. Two. DOING?!"

Eep. "You mean, you're not concerned about his..." "Rocker-cult appearance? No," She interrupts quickly. "That is, to me, a far less important issue than how I found you two. Do I really need to express the reason for my concern?"

"N-no, no, I guess not. But I promise, mom, we were just seeking refuge from the angry mob downstairs. If I'd thought we could hide out in a room without a bed, or a couch, or any 'sex-provoking' furniture, we'd be there. We weren't 'doing' anything. Certainly not each other."

I'm trying to be funny (really, what is she thinking? Like I would do that here, under the present circumstances) but I don't think she appreciates it.

"I heard something very distressing from Aunt Lucy-" And then I get it. Aunt Lucy has misquoted me (or, maybe not misquoted me, exactly, but taken it out of context) and now my mother thinks I am a Promiscuous Patsy. A Wanton Wendy. A Sidewalk Sally. Oh dear.

And now I'm laughing so hard I'm crying, although this is probably not the best way to reassure my mother. When I catch my breath, I attempt to rectify the situation, though I still go into a spasm of giggles every now and then.

"Mom. I was just giving Lucy a hard time because she was being such a twit to Gavin. I promise" (insert giggle-spasm) "I promise, I've still got a secure hold on my virginity, and Gavin's hold is no where near it."

She studies me a moment, still frowning. "So you two..." I shake my head, still grinning. "Have not yet consecrated our sacred union. Of dating, anyway. Nor do we plan on it."

Mom visibly relaxes. "Oh, well that's alright then. But maybe you should rethink the 'sneaking off to your bedroom' idea, hm?" I grin and nod. "Duly noted, mother." Then I sober. "What do you think? You know, about the rocker-cult thing."

Mom watches me in silence. "I haven't decided yet. I suppose we'll have to see." Well. That sounds ominous.

"But for now," she continues, "we all need to go downstairs and eat." I smile and follow her out the door. "I certainly agree with that!" Mother, however, has stopped on the landing of the stairs, frozen in place by a scene I cannot witness, due to my lack of vertical length. What I can hear, though, is Aunt Lucy's screeching voice, and a lot of arguing. Some of the yelling dies down, though, as my family becomes aware of my and my mother's presence.

"What's going on?" I cry, leaning around my mother and over the railing to get a better look. What I see nearly knocks me over. A group of my cousins and/or brothers is holding back James, the second-oldest of my parent's children, and a senior in high school.

James is still swinging, trying to do even more damage to Gavin, who has a bloody nose and what appears to be the makings of a black eye. I'm pushing through the crowds on the stairs, and trying to reach the fight, which looks like it could start up again at any moment. It looks this way because the guys holding back James appear to be as mad as he is, and are possibly tempted to let him go.

"James! What on earth do you think you're doing?!" I exclaim, running forward to examine Gavin's face, and fuss over his wounds (several jubilant cries of "Defending your honor!" echo through the hall. Oh, for the love of-).

James splutters and points an accusing finger in Gavin's direction. "Me!? That- that bastard, he, Lucy said he-"

My voice grew cold as I assessed the situation. "What did Lucy say?" But James is flushed, either from embarrassment or anger, and he just shakes his head.

"Lucy." My voice is flat and angry, controlled only by a valiant will I didn't know I possessed. "What did you tell James?"

Aunt Lucy looks proud and defiant. She raises her small chin and glares at me. "I told him exactly what you told me- that you and that STD-ridden heathen have been fornicating."

The uproar that follows is totally chaotic. Aunt Lucy stands there and looks proud of herself while I try to be heard above everyone else. Finally one voice climbs above the rest: my mother's.

"THAT'S ENOUGH."

That's all she has to say, and it's totally silent. My mother did not raise four boys and three girls by being a wallflower. She is a formidable, stubborn woman, and she wants your attention, she will get it.

She starts on Lucy. "Lucy, dear, don't you go twisting Katie's words. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for harassing her and her young man, and goading them on. You certainly ought to be ashamed of yourself for causing this hullabaloo for no reason-"

"But honey, you know that men with ponytails can't be trusted." Lucy interrupts with a stamp of her foot, and that's when I lose it.

I try not to laugh. I really do. But, really, ponytails? "That's the defining factor of his character? His hairstyle?" And then I cackle. Insanely. For an extended period of time.

Now they're all looking at me like maybe Gavin and I have been sneaking off to smoke weed instead of fornicate. Maybe we have. Do you remember it when you get high? I had a dream about getting high once. Never actually did. I bet Gavin has gotten high...

Oh, right, angry and concerned family.

But how was I supposed to take this seriously? I mean, really. Gavin is a teddy bear. They're all worried about me turning into one of those girls that falls for a 'bad guy' routine (because, you know, I'm just that unoriginal) but I love Gavin for the exact opposite; his 'routine' is completely and totally transparent. Just don't tell him that.

"Katie, you know I trust you, we all do, but you have to admit, you're not acting at all like your usual self." That's my cousin Dana, whose only a few years older than me and is married with three kids herself.

"How? I'm dressed the same. I talk the same, I act the same. How am I not being myself?" I'm so frustrated I could scream, but the hilarity of the whole scenario is not beyond me. After asking one of the littler onlookers to go get me a bag of frozen peas and a towel, I let in on them.

"For those of you who are under the impression that Gavin and I are participating in an intimate relationship-" Here there are a few uncomfortable coughs "we are not. We've talked about it, I've explained my feelings on the subject, and he has respected that. He has, not that it's any of your business, even allowed me to make the first move in all of the very low-key, innocent kissing we have done. I can tell you what base he's gotten to, if it will make you feel better."

I wait a moment, staring at each member of the crowd individually, daring them with my eyes. No one speaks up. "Fine. I-" I pause to accept the make-shift ice pack and gently apply it to Gavin's bruised face, turning away from my audience as I do so. "I do not appreciate being treated this way, or having my guest treated this way. Gavin is a genuinely kind person, and a good man. He is, in fact, all bark and no bite. He's not even much bark. Just a kind of not-quite-convincing growl with a lot of tail-wagging. If you had bothered to talk to me before judging him, you would know that." Gavin himself is grimacing, either from his wounds or my analysis of his character. I kiss him gently on the cheek and turn away to continue, making sure he has a good hold on the bundle.

"I told you I was bringing a guest who was important to me, and you have treated him like a- well, in any case, you've treated him horribly." I set my hands on my hips and scowl. " As to his appearance, you can all stuff it. A man's character is not defined by what he looks like. I'd think you would know that. And all of you have told me numerous times of the good head I have on my shoulders. Try and remember, if you trust my judgment enough to listen to me when Shaily breaks her leg or when Papa destroys the DVD player, you should at least ask me if you have concerns about a choice I make in my personal life. I would not have brought Gavin here if I didn't think he was important enough to introduce to you. And I stupidly reassured him that he would be accepted because I lo-"

I freeze and take a deep breath before turning on my heel and moving to stand in front of the man who caused this whole mess with his sexy lip-ring.

"I love you." I say confidently. Then I nod once, and move back to resume my tirade without waiting for his response. "Frankly, I'm past the point of caring about y'alls feelings on the subject. James, Daddy, Papa, Dana- thank you for looking out for me, but I am, actually, a big girl. I'm not going to let him jump me, okay? And he wouldn't try. He's actually protected me from some vagrants who were attempting to do that very thing in the past, with no hesitation. So..."

I return to Gavin's side (he looks a bit awestruck, and I will definitely have to memorize that expression, not to mention the bloody nose) calmly roll up his shirt so his tattoo is visible, point to the blaring 'Bite Me!' script so that there is no mistaking my attitude towards them all, and kiss him.

When we finally pull apart there are some rather obnoxious catcalls and applause coming from the younger members of the crowd. James is looking a little ashamed of himself (he's untouched, by the way, not even wrinkled clothing. Gavin wouldn't hit him back,) and Aunt Lucy is sulking, but the rest of the crowd appears to feel sheepish and amused.

My mother and grandmother have to console their husbands (apparently I'm not five anymore, what a surprise) but other than that the rest of the visit goes without a hitch (once we reiterate the fact we won't be sharing a room). Most of my family apologizes, and Gavin is even included in the backyard football game with my brothers. He's surprisingly great with kids, and before the end of the weekend, my siblings and cousins all adore him (He also manages to win over most of the women, who, giggling, admit they find the facial piercing rather attractive.)

Who'd have thought? Don't worry, I'll protect him.

Actually, the only black mark on the visit is Gavin never did get a chance to respond to my little declaration. So we're all packed up and saying our goodbyes, and I'm kind of dreading the drive home. What if he doesn't feel the same way? And what if he's angry with me for being so public about it, I mean, what if he thinks he's obligated to stick around now, because my whole family knows I love him?

So I'm kind of freaking out as I crawl into the driver's seat, and Gavin slides in the other side, looking way too sweet and charming because my sister Frannie and my brothers Gabe and Jordan tackled him, so now there's leaves in his hair, and all I can think is what if I screwed this up?

I swallow hard and back out of the driveway, trying to breathe steadily and not be too obvious about going into cardiac arrest, when all of a sudden, Gavin leans over and jerks the wheel to the right, pulling the car over to the side of the road. I put it in park on reflex and turn to ask him what's going on when he kisses me, somehow fierce and gentle at the same time, and my brain goes all mushy.

We're preoccupied like that for a while, me pretty much being too ecstatic to think, when a honking horn jolts us out of our, um, distraction. It's Dana and her husband Nick; we're just around the corner from my house and they're passing us, laughing and waving through the window.

Awkward. I tug at my hair self-consciously, and Gavin grabs my hand, interlocking our fingers and staring at them like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen. I finally can't stand it and ask him what he's looking at, but he just shakes his head and kisses me again. We've barely been like that for a moment before he pulls back and presses his forehead against mine.

"Hey, Katie?"

I'm not really listening, frowning and tracing the bruises on his face with the tip of my free hand (he never did let go of the other one). "Hmm?"

He kisses my finger quickly and murmurs against my hand, "I love you, too."

I stare at him, not breathing. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Gavin tugs me closer to him. "Damn, Katie, it's not that hard to believe, is it? I have been putting up with you for a while now, and though it's been painful-" He smirks at the guilt that flits across my face, "I think you're worth it."

"Really?" My voice is barely more than a whisper, and part of me wonders how I got stuck making the first move twice now, I mean, really, is that fair?

But Gavin just grins and settles back in his seat, releasing me from his arms but keeping a firm hold on my hand. "Really. Now drive, dammit, or we'll never get back. Even better, we'll run out the battery on this piece of shit and we'll have to walk, and you'll spend the whole time complaining about what a hellish time you're having. I really can't handle that crap right now, so if you would hurry your cute ass up..."

Okay, yes, I stop listening, but Gavin's rants are really just for show. Besides, the important stuff has already been said.

I smile all the way home.