Page 51 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Don't thank me yet. I might murder him before dessert."
"I'll help hide the body." He smiled, and for a moment, the house didn't feel quite so cold. "Dinner's in an hour. Prepare for peak dysfunction."
He left, and I turned back to the ocean view. I could survive four days, for Lance. The realization of why that mattered so much was something I'd deal with later.
Chapter 21: Rachel
Thanksgiving morning in Malibu felt wrong. No crisp autumn air, no smell of leaves, just endless blue sky and the sound of waves that should’ve been soothing but weren't. I'd escaped the house before anyone else woke, needing space from the suffocating perfection of it all.
I found Lance on the beach, sitting in the sand still wearing yesterday's clothes. The sunrise painted everything gold, including the exhaustion written across his face.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I asked, settling beside him.
"Shiloh and my dad were loud."
"Oh god."
"Yeah." He picked up a handful of sand, letting it fall through his fingers. "Welcome to Fletcher family holidays."
We sat in silence, shoulders touching, watching the waves. The contact should’ve felt like too much, but instead it grounded me, reminded me why I was here.
"Tell me something good," I said. "A happy holiday memory, before this."
"My mom used to make terrible turkey. Like, genuinely awful. Dry as cardboard. But she'd get so excited about it, wear this ridiculous apron with a turkey on it that said 'Gobble till you Wobble.'"
I smiled. "That's adorable."
"She'd play the Thanksgiving episodes of all her favorite shows while cooking. Friends, Gilmore Girls, even that weird Grey's Anatomy one where they operate on a turkey." His voicewent soft. "She made everything feel warm. Even when Dad was already pulling away, she made it feel like home."
"How long has it been?"
"Six years. It was cancer." He cleared his throat. "After she died, Dad sold the house within a month. Said he needed a 'fresh start.' Married wife number two before the year was out."
"Oh, Lance."
"It's fine. I'm fine." But his voice cracked slightly. "Just miss her more on days like this."
I took his hand, interlacing our fingers. "Tell me more about her."
So he did. Stories about a woman who loved terrible puns, who sang off-key in the car, who never missed a single one of his games even when chemo made her sick. By the time he finished, the sun was fully up and I understood him better than any psychology textbook could’ve taught me.
"Your turn," he said. "A happy holiday memory."
"My grandma," I said without hesitation. "Before she passed, she'd make enough food for an army. The whole extended family would cram into her tiny house, kids everywhere, music playing. It was chaos, but the good kind."
"What changed?"
"She died when I was twelve. Then there was Ryan." I swallowed. "After his breakdown, Mom couldn't handle the big gatherings. Too many questions, too much pity. So it's just been the four of us since then. Quieter."
"But still together."
"Yeah." I squeezed his hand. "Still together."
We might’ve sat there forever, but voices from the house shattered the moment. Shiloh's laugh, high and artificial, followed by Richard's booming response.
He stood, pulling me up. "Ready for round two with the step-monster?"
