Box Spring
Lex and I hadn't eaten since nine in the morning. The food our relatives served us was inedible: raw chicken, milly dressing, bland pasta, and salty green beans. Our dads told us to eat it or do without, while they ate seconds. We're here for a family reunion, but I think this is an excuse for the adults to act like kids, while everyone else suffers. For example, my dad threw his shoes up the balcony the moment we arrived at our hotel. Lex and her parents stayed at another hotel across the street, which was more expensive but reserved for family. Our hotel had a lobby, wi-fi, and continental breakfast: the bright sides of this family reunion. My family almost didn't go, because my dad wanted to "provide" us a vehicle - a cousin's used Daewoo that he fixed - instead of renting a car. "Either take it, or don't go," my dad told me, Mom, and my little sister Courtney. My brother refused to come with us; he didn't have money, which translated to "I don't want to deal with Dad."
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