Wrong Quarterback | ✓

16 | sun, salt air and you

          "Shit." 

Avery jams the brake to the floor, more or less being slung out of her seat as the Mini Cooper jumps to a stop. With a rather ungraceful exaggerated turn of the wheel, she rounds the car she was just mere seconds away from nearly rear-ending. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

A quick glance through the passenger seat window confirms her suspicions, the family in the vehicle most likely tourists having slowed down to watch the ocean view – the sun glimmering in it's reflection on the deep blue calm surface. Foot to the gas pedal, she watches them disappear further and further away until they're merely a speck in her rearview mirror, lips pulling back in a smile.

         Only having returned from the airport a while ago, she did not waste any time to make it home from the bus stop – ready to wash off, change her clothes and be on her way again. Considering she's been up since an ungodly hour, forced to have a real breakfast meal by her grandmother before being on her way, one would think the tiredness would come over her any second but yet she hasn't experienced anything close to exhaustion. The day has barely begun to transcend into the afternoon and she's planning on making the most of it.

It's been an eventful few hours so far. Once through security check at JFK, she'd prioritized an iced chai over waiting at the gate, resulting in having to sprint across the terminal to make boarding only to spill said iced chai all over herself. Following touch-down, she spent the two hours and thirty minutes on the airport coach in a seat a few rows away from a baby wanting to show off his impressive vocal chords but not even the wails echoing through the bus did much to phase her. From having had to risen with the sun to the patting down at security check to staining her cream cardigan with the chai to having her post-flight sensitive eardrums burst by the wailing child – nothing seems to put a dent in her mood. She'd been too thrilled to go home. Home to the beach, and to the ocean, to her last week at her internship. 

The past few days with her grandparents in the city have been nice, but she's missed home.

        As for her mother, Sarah seemed a bit more overwhelmed by their trip, having sank into their couch as soon as they stepped inside their home – declaring she wouldn't move an inch for the rest of the day unless she absolutely had to.

Avery on the other hand was in and out of the house in less than thirty minutes – having squeezed in a shower to wash off the lingering plane ride, and the iced chai, before changing into her yellow sundress. And now, here she is – pedal to the metal, her always ready beach bag stood on the passenger seat beside her, leaving the highroad at an intersection for a smaller road.

          Her mother spent both Thursday and Friday working in the New York offices, leaving Avery to spend time with her grandparents. They mostly stayed home, playing boardgames, reading in an armchair each, having lunch and long conversations. The most adventurous thing they got up to was venturing out to Central Park for a walk alongside the tourists like Avery herself, not to speak of the journey to Dean & DeLuca where her grandfather ran into an old friend. She spent a good twenty minutes stood shifting awkwardly on her feet next to the two men as they caught up on life, offering up smiles and responses to questions as the attention shone on her.

          Her father did call with his birthday wish eventually. On the Friday, the night of her grandfather's 72nd birthday and only two mere days following her own while they had been out for dinner. It had been a short conversation considering they were mid-dessert. Not short enough for him to apologize for not having called on the 3rd, continuing on by asking if she'd seen her gift – a sum of money put into her bank account. She'd seen it alright.