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The Perfect Marshmallow

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Isobel glares at them from the dirt she is currently sitting in, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. It was dark out, the desert freezing cold without the sun. Especially due to the fact it was the middle of December.

“Careful Michael,” she nearly snaps. The stick her marshmallow was currently on sinking towards the flames.

Michael rolls his eyes, “well if you wanted a precise golden brown one you shoulda invited your boyfriend.”

“Uh,” Isobel looks offended, “Kyle is not my boyfriend.”

Max chuckles deeply, as he continues to try and pitch the tent. It’s their parents old one, and he’d been struggling for about fifteen minutes. Grumbling something about doing it the old fashioned way when Michael had offered to just telekinetically put it in place.

“He would have tried to invite himself,” Max says with a smirk, “if I hadn’t repeated family time seventy thousand times.”

Isobel pouts, “this is terrible family time. You know I meant like hang out at a bar or go to a paintball range.”

“Well,” Michael glares at her, “you asked two cowboys to spend time with you. So your bad it’s in the desert.”

“It’s freezing Michael,” she pouts again, “and the flames are dangerously close to my comfort food.”

Michael rolls his eyes adjusting the marshmallow over the flames, “yeah, maybe Valenti should have come. No one else could put up with the constant bickering of a perfect golden marshmallow.”

“That’s why I always just made hers charred,” Max grins as he uses a hammer to put the stakes in the ground.

“Dude,” Michael chuckles, “aren’t you supposed to put the tent thing around that first?”

Max glares at the tent like it offended him on a deep level, “I really don’t know. I haven’t pitched a tent since highschool, and then it was the pop up ones.”

“We can always just do a slumber party at Max’s,” Isobel perks up. “Turn on the heat and make a pillow and blanket fort.”

“Hmmm,” Michael glares at the fire they have going. “Do you have whiskey?”

“God yes,” Max grins, shoulders sagging in relief as he drops the hammer.

“So next time I pick our family time,” Isobel says standing up. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

They both blink at her, as she strolls off leaving them to clean up their half set up camp. It wasn’t her idea after all.

“Wait Iz,” Michael calls, “what do I do with this thing?”

Max chuckles, “she also never eats them. She likes to boss you about.”

“Shut up,” Michael grits out, “and pull those stupid stakes out of the ground.”