Demi
“Okay! We left all the emergency contacts on the fridge. Since we’re working with a whole new team, they’re all new numbers. Make sure you keep the doors locked at all times and never open them for strangers or –”
I tune my parents out as they give me their usual speech before they head off on a big trip. I contemplate which frozen dinner I’m going to make myself tonight, not knowing whether I’m feeling steak or fettuccine alfredo.
“Understand, honey?” My dad’s voice chimes in.
“Understood!” I mock salute him and he pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head.
“We’re going to miss you so much,” my mom says smiling as she stretches her arms out for me. I leave my dad’s embrace to fall into my mom’s as she kisses my cheek.
“I’ll miss you guys more.” It wasn’t a lie. My parents have been going on these expeditions and rescue missions all my life, leaving me lonelier with each trip.
Reluctantly, I let her go, allowing her to reach down and grab her carry-on bag while my dad grabs the suitcases. He loads the bags into the trunk of the uber waiting idly at the curb in front of our house.
I wave goodbye as they get into the car, riding off towards the airport. Once they’re out of site, I walk inside, closing and locking the door behind me.
Our house isn’t the biggest, but it’s the perfect size for our family. It has two stories, all the bedrooms on the top floor, with an office space, dining room and open plan kitchen and living room on the first floor. I walk past the stairs on the right, heading into the bright, cream-colored kitchen. I open the freezer at the bottom of our French door refrigerator, closing my eyes and moving my finger around, opening them when they land on a frozen dinner box.
“Fettuccine alfredo it is,” I let out a sigh, pulling the box out and kicking the freezer closed with my foot. I take it out the box, poke holes in the plastic wrapper, then pop it in the microwave for a few minutes. I then grab an apple from the fruit bowl and turn the TV on, plopping on the couch.
My phone vibrates from where it sits on the kitchen island and I groan, dragging myself from the soft cushions I’m resting in.
Amy’s name pops up along with a picture of us together at the carnival.
“Hey Ame,” I sing-song as I bite into my apple. I don’t want her to know how down I’m feeling today because I don’t want her to feel obligated to pick me up. Amethyst is my best-friend, and really, my only friend now, which is just the way I like it.
“Puh-lease tell me you aren’t busy tonight,” she whines into the phone. I glance at my TV where I was ready to finally binge the thriller Netflix showDahmer.
“Define busy.” I say, taking another bite of my apple.
“Busy as in anything besides watching reality dating shows and stuffing your face with unhealthy pre-made food.” The microwave chooses now to start beeping.
“According to that, I’m technically half-busy.”Dahmerisn’t a reality dating show.
I knew what she was calling for before she even had to say it. Normally, I would be all for it, but I’m not in the mood to be around anyone besides my TV, my half-frozen food, and my huge tub of ice cream.
“I need you Dem! My dad said he has one of his friends or something coming over that he wants me to meet. I’m not in the mood to meet another corporate ogre alone.” She almost cries on her end of the phone while I roll my eyes at the dramatics.
Mr. Peterson, Amy’s dad, has been bringing guys for her to meet because he feels like they’re potential husband candidates. Not going to lie, some of them have been iffy looking, and she’s been dragging me to every dinner so she wouldn’t have to bare it alone.
“You won’t be alone though. You have Connor.” Connor is her roguishly handsome older brother. Too bad meactuallyknowing him ruined any chance for romance.
“Yeah, no. Connor has been annoying as hell lately. It’s probably puberty.” She sounds disgusted like it’s possible her 21-year-old brother is still going through puberty. The microwave gives me a reminder beep in the background, and I look at it, then back at my TV sighing loudly. Itwouldbe nice to have a meal cooked by a Michelin star chef.
“Fine. They better be serving those crescent rolls I like.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squeals, “I’ll make sure they do! Love ya!” And with that, she hangs up.
There’s never a time when she doesn’t get what she wants.
~~~
About an hour later, Amethyst’s red convertible BMW pulls up to the same spot on the curb my parents uber left earlier today.
“Hey bitch!” She waves to me from her car as I close and lock the front door.
I climb in, giving her a hug before she puts her car in sport, speeding down the road like a race car driver.