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* this is the original first draft. The rewrite is now also out on my profile! *
ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His f...
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ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀɪʟʟᴏ
"When do I get to meet your friend?" my mom asked one day when we were all having dinner.
"What?" I asked. I knew who she meant, but I didn't understand why she'd care.
"Your new friend. Your dad and your sister have already met him, right?"
I looked around, still chewing on my spaghetti.
"Whenever he wants to," I answered. It probably wasn't gonna be anytime soon, but it couldn't hurt to ask.
"He seemed pretty shy," Trisha butted in. "Right, Dad?"
Trisha had been trying to get more conversation out of him lately. The man barely ever said anything. It was only now that my dad looked up from his food, his eyes wide.
"Oh, Mullen's kid. Seemed nice, didn't say much," he said as he tried to swallow down his spaghetti.
"His name is Nolan," I said, rolling my eyes. If my dad would keep acting like this, I'd have to hide myself in a closet. Well, not the closet. Another metaphorical closet. "I'm not even sure I want him to meet you guys. He'll think I'm crazy too. God, you remember when Hanna came over that one time and Trisha and dad were having a food fight while baking a cake?"
We still had a stain on the ceiling from where a big splodge of bright pink cake batter got stuck. We got most of it off. She even asked whether things were good at home because she was genuinely concerned.
"So I won't get to meet him anytime soon?" my mom asked once more.
"I don't know, Mom. Why do you even care? I've known Gen for ages, and the last time you've seen her was almost two years ago."
"At least I've met her." She shrugged and took another fork full.
"Uncle Matías is coming over for Christmas," my dad randomly butted in. I felt my jaw dropping with the corners of my lips quirked up.
Uncle Matías and I used to be very close, bonding over stars and art and literally just anything, but I hadn't seen him in years. He and my dad had an argument. He even ended up throwing an empty wine bottle at my dad's head from what I remembered. I hadn't seen him since.
"Uncle Matías? Wasn't he in rehab or something?" Trisha asked.
"Wait, uncle Matías was in rehab?"
They never told me anything.
"Yes. He was in and out for a few years, but he's on medication now," Dad explained. "The good kind that will hopefully help him." My mom rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to console him.
