Booksmarts

chapter 015

"DOES MY HAIR LOOK GOOD?" IT WAS already Saturday. My doubts were the only thing holding me back tonight. Paris' face scoots closer towards the camera.

"You look hot, stop stressing." I pick up my phone to check the time. I guess time flies when you're stressing out because it was now 5:30pm. I decided to go all out with my make-up because first impressions are kind of everything to me.

Go big or go home am I right?

On days like these, I thank God for giving me monolids because all of my white friends tell me that applying eyeliner is a workout. I got a new dress for tonight. As well as getting my nails done, my highlights retouched, and my lash extensions redid. All that's left to do is my face. It might seem like I'm a try-hard but, you only get one chance on a first date. Besides, if he judges me based off of my makeup and outfit tonight, at least I'll know what kind of guy he really is. I know I'm putting in too much effort for a guy who might show up in a pair of sweatpants. Who knows? Maybe he'll impress me?

"Paris...what if I get stood up?" Once again, I check the time. 6:00pm–doubts continued to cloud my mind.

"How would that happen? You're literally picking him up"

"True. But–"

"It's your first date. Stop ruining it for yourself." Suddenly the doorbell rings. Twice. Automatically I knew who exactly that was. It was my father–Archer Windham. He was a successful software developer, who always wore navy blue suits. I was never a daddy's girl to put it simply. We fight almost every time he's here. Maybe it's because we're almost exactly alike, but he always seemed to know my next move–and likewise, I always knew his. But not always, sometimes he'd catch me off guard and act all friendly. But honestly, I just think his moods change depending on the stock market. He and my mother divorced when I was five. I don't have much memory of it, but I'm glad my mother got rid of him. He wasn't abusive or manipulative. He was a just flat-out mean and sexist prick. It's not just him though, it was his entire side of the family. I hated going to thanksgiving with them because they all expect something out of me. Dad claims that they just "expect highly because they think of me highly." Which was just a load of B.S. His side of the family thinks I'm practically sub-human. They all despised my mother for marrying him, and now it's like the grudge they held against my mother was all on me now. He comes home and tries to borrow me for bragging rights to his golfing buddies upstate. Or, he comes home to send me money because his guilty conscience eats him alive for barely ever being there for me.

"Is that your dad?" God Bless Paris. She knows my family too well. I make a sad pout and kiss the screen.

"Bye Paris!" I quickly hang up and sprint downstairs. Golfing was on Thursday's so that only leaves the latter. He usually waits for me in the living room. Yet he wasn't there. I look around the house–only to find him at the last place I'd expect. There he stands, leaning against the marble kitchen counter-top that he said was tacky, drinking chamomile tea out of the clay mug I made that he claims were a cesspool for germs.

"What are you wearing?" The look on his face says it all. He was disgusted by the way I looked. Correction, he was disgusted that his daughter was growing up without any of his help.

I roll my eyes, "Did Mark make you feel like a bad father again?" Mark was my fathers' fraternal twin brother. Their petty little fights disrupted any and every family gathering we had. Mark has a habit of trying to one-up my father, and in return, my father tries to do the same. At the end of the night, Mark always likes to hit a nerve by using my father's absence for a quick punch.