The Cab (A Brendon Urie FanFiction)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4-

Tangerine, aquamarine, mustard yellow and pink. Ruby red, darkest grey, beige and lavender. Taupe, periwinkle, maroon and pastel yellow. Alabaster, cream, magenta, and sunburnt orange. Burgundy, aubergine, silver, gold, and salmon. A whole walk in closet brimming with fabrics the colors if the rainbow, but I somehow only own a handful of green. As I stare at my very limited wardrobe options I consider the fact that maybe I should just stay home. Call Brendon and tell him I'm sick, blame it on the hot dogs from yesterday. Surely he'd understand right?

As if on cue my phone chirps with an incoming message and I tiptoe over to where it lays charging on my desk slowly as if approaching a wounded animal. Right foot......left foot....right foot.......left...foot. When I do finally reach my phone, I chew on my bottom lip nervously as I unlock the screen and read the message Brendon just sent me.

Hey! Hope you slept well, can't wait to see you! Have you seen the streets outside? There are people everywhere! But I'm determined to show up on your doorstep at 9 and not a minute later, already called a cab an everything!

So much for calling off my plans with Brendon then. With the amount of people gathering outside for the parade I guarantee it will take him at least an hour to get here, so I should stop putting it off and get ready. I cast my disappointing pile of green and reluctantly crouch down in front of it on the floor to make the best out of seemingly nothing. I could take the easy way out and just wear a pair of green shoes, but if I'm going to truly participate in today's holiday then I need a lot more than a pair of green converse. Deciding that out of my two green shirts one is too small and wearing Aeropostale stopped being cool when I was in the 8th grade, I conclude that I'm completely out of options.

Ruefully I fall backwards onto my floor and sigh heavily. Having flattened myself out onto my carpet, I've put myself at eyelevel with the lower levels of my nightstand where I have several framed pictures of me and my family and friends. A particular picture catches my eye as its of a very smaller, significantly younger me on my dads shoulders. We're both smiling at the camera, identical dimples and twinkling blue eyes, but what's caught my eye specifically is that my dad is wearing an emerald green bowtie and matching suspenders. I sit up so suddenly that I give myself slight vertigo and the room spins around in my vision for a few seconds. Once the dizzy spell has passed I get to my feet and shakily head to the guest bedroom on the fifth floor.

When my father passed, my mother was too grief-stricken to throw out any of his belongings. For months following the funeral the house was draped with his belongings that haunted our days and filled every room with bittersweet memories of his presence. The house itself was redesigned when we bought it after one of his own designs, ensuring that we would never enter a room in our home without feeling his influence. As the months turned into years, my mother eventually with through a purging of his belongings, first getting rid of books and cds he had, saving only his favorites or the most important. Next went the portfolios, which were mailed to his assistant at the firm, and not soon after the small clutter and knickknacks she couldn't stand to see any longer. Bit by bit the house was emptied of his possessions and like a great weight finally lifted, our lives were released on this heavy obstructing pressure and we could learn to live and breathe again. We learned to live each day for him when we could no longer live them with him, and it still propels me to grow everyday into a young women he could be proud to call his daughter.

Of all the things my mother got rid of, she could never bring herself to get rid of his clothes. My father was very proud of his appearance, and was often the best-dressed at nearly every function. Being incredibly influential in New York, he was once named the best groomed man of the city. He kept the magazine framed on the wall in his office, where it still hangs showcasing my handsome father on the cover dressed to the nines in an impeccable three piece suit, hair styled and smile eclipsing. I know for fact as I push the door open to the guest room that I'll find all of his suits and ties and shoes inside the large walk in closet, but it takes a lot of personal convincing for me to cross the distance between the two doors. When my hand finally closes around the knob of the closet door, I take several steadying breathes before I twist and pull it open. I flick the switch on the wall and illuminate the space, eyes watering as I take in the long lines of dry-cleaning bags on each sides of the walls. There is a dresser with a total of eight compartments pressed against the back wall and I force myself to walk towards it. With more strength than I knew I could muster, I search through the drawers until I find the sought after bowtie and suspenders. As soon as my hands grasp the silk of the tie, I slam the drawer closed and slam the closet door shut behind me. I don't start running though until I've slammed the guest room door, nearly tripping down the stairs on the way towards sanctuary. When I collapse against the safety of my own closed bedroom door, I begin to breathe heavily and clutch my chest as I struggle to pull in air and calm down.