Paternal and Proud [LAMS Short Story]

XIII - Awkward and Anticipating

Frances's eyes burned. She rolled over, trying to blink the harshness of both reality and the sunlight streaming through her window out of her eyes. It didn't take long for her to remember that she had a project to complete with Philip, and she rolled her eyes and groaned and burrowed herself back under her sheets for a few minutes longer until she forced herself to either get up now or get up when Philip would eventually ring the doorbell.

Wait. Philip wasn't just coming over. Everything was coming together. This was the day.

Frances slid out of bed, a fresh feeling swarming her. Anxiety and excitement coursed suddenly through her veins. Her palms grew sweaty and her heartbeat was probably quickening at an unhealthy rate, but nevertheless, she felt an energy that had been absent in her for so long. Full to the brim with anticipation, Frances was ready for this change. She just knew - she could feel it - her plan was going to work and she could fix everything.

Sliding out of her pajamas and into decent clothes, Frances padded down the hallway to see if her father was in his office.

He wasn't - and the grocery list she'd left on his computer, as instructed, was gone as well. Good. That meant he was out shopping.

Glancing at the cat clock her dad insisted on keeping on the wall, she realized she had very little time before Philip came over and everything fell into place.

She raced downstairs and quickly dumped some cereal and milk gracelessly into a bowl and began shoveling food into her mouth. Minus the most recent arrival to science class, Philip was a surprisingly punctual person, so she scrambled to eat before the clock struck eleven.

Frances put her bowl in the sink and darted to the living room, picking pillows up off the floor and clearing the coffee table in an attempt to tidy things up a bit. She didn't have the best eye when it came to... well, a lot of things, but she managed to get the pillows on the couch in a somewhat neat and fashionable manner. She crammed a bunch of junk that she didn't even want to stop and identify into a drawer in the table, and was actually considering vacuuming the carpet when she heard the doorbell ring.

Deciding the room looked... decent enough, she answered it, swinging open the door and greeting Philip as nicely as she could without sounding suspiciously cheerful. Thank God that his dad was there too, standing behind his son, hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Philip," Frances smiled, widening the door and stepping aside, gesturing for them to enter. "Hello, Mr. Hamilton."

Philip nodded. "Frances," he replied, stepping inside, followed by his father.

Philip, glancing down at the ground and noting Frances' bare feet, toed off his shoes and nudged them neatly toward the wall.

An awkward silence ensued.

"Um, do you guys want a drink or anything?" Frances asked, attempting to be a good hostess.

Philip and his dad both smiled, but graciously declined.

"Is-" Mr. Hamilton took a short breath, uncertainly, before continuing. "Is your father home, Frances?"

Frances noticed Philip tense, but she simply replied, "No, he's out grocery shopping but he'll be back really soon. Why don't you both come in? Um, Philip and I won't be too long, and you're welcome to stay until we're finished."

"Oh, thank you, Frances, but I don't want to be any trouble, I'll just let you two work," Mr. Hamilton replied, patting Philip's shoulder definitively.

"No, really, it's no problem-" Frances started, but Philip cut her off.

"Dad, seriously, we'll only be like a half hour, why waste your time driving home and back?" Philip murmured, eyes concerned.