Dinah Jane Hansen.
"You'll look beautiful, I can already tell."
"How so?" I ask, fighting a smile as I keep my eyes trained on the road. "Because I'm your kid, or because you made the dress?"
There's a silence before my mother hums, seemingly thinking. "Uhhh... both."
I let my restraints go and smile, because my mother was always one who was a bit full of herself.
"But remember what I said earlier." She changes her tone immediately, making me roll my eyes. "If you don't smile..."
"You'll call dad and tell him to drive you all the way down here so that you can first give me an ass whooping, and then pull my cheeks apart so wide that all my teeth are showing and then snap a picture." I finish the sentence in a monotonous tone.
"Good!" I hear my mother clap happily. "You understand."
I smack my lips as I enter my empty driveway, meaning that everyone had already left. "I'll smile for like two pictures and then send them to you." I bargain.
"Fine. But that Snapchat game had better be lit or else I'm really coming over there."
"Moooooommm." I groan, parking the car, causing the Bluetooth connection to end. "Stop, please." I plead, taking the phone out of the holder that's stuck to the windshield.
"Fine, fine." She smacks her lips together as well. "But seriously, I'm still young. I've got a hold of this-"
"-Bye mom." I interrupt her, ending the call and then putting my phone on airplane mode so she can't call me again.
I loved my mother, but she had this weird obsession with being "young". She wasn't as old as all the other moms around my age, but still... She's a mom. I constantly have to remind her of that. But I wouldn't trade her for anything else in the world.
But I still haven't forgiven her for that time she came to pick me up from high school, blasting Tupac in front of all of my friends.
I unlock the front door and step into my empty and strangely silent house. Having Normani around meant that she was either singing, or playing some music with her phone. I really have to get her to invest in a pair of earphones.
But I like the noise.
I sigh and run my hands over my face, knowing that I'm going to be late. But hopefully this meant that I was able to miss the carpet.
It's not that I wanted to be unknown, it's just that I didn't want to be in the spotlight.
Checking the time once more, I lock the door behind me and make my way over to the shower, taking my speaker with me to time myself. I was already late, and I didn't plan on being any later. I usually used my music to measure time, so I was going to spend one song in the shower. Nothing too heavy.
I removed my clothes and got under the running water as the bass started thumping, making it feel as if everything was vibrating.
This was an instrumental that I had put together, but couldn't find any lyrics for. I experienced so many blocks lately. Zayn's album would have had more songs if I had more time, but he put so much pressure on me.
I dragged the washcloth against my skin, ridding my body of all the germs and sweat while trying to think of lyrics. This could be on the next album.
I always thought of lyrics in the weirdest places. The bath, the shower, the bed, while watching tv, on the toilet... inspiration struck wherever it wanted to.
