Wrong Quarterback | ✓

35 | same old rhyme

           Closing her fingers around the strap of her purse tightly, feeling it dig into her palm, Avery is out of the car before Ethan's even had the chance to turn its engine off.

With every step up the driveway, the exhilaration she's felt these past weeks slowly slip through her fingers – the way the sand down at the beach would upon building a sandcastle on a warm summer's day. Ignoring the ache of her heels, her eyes set on the trunk of the car as the flurry of white falls from the sky around her. The flakes stick to her hair, to her lashes, rests upon the tip of her nose. They prickle her skin with cold before melting into wetness. She barely notices.

Those are suitcases.

And judging by the way her father uses both his hands to lift them in and out of the trunk, rearranging the space to fit the cardboard boxes, they're far too heavy to be empty.

"Oh, hi sweetheart," Robert greets her as she's close enough, giving one of the boxes a light shove.

           The snow brightens up the dark of the night, melting together with the yellow cast from the single string of Christmas lights lining the front of her house. Together, the two emit a light only deepening the winkles of her father's features as he turns to fully face her. He regards her dress before flickering his gaze Ethan's way as he too comes walking up the driveway – taking in their attires.

"Ah right," He says. "Night of the Winter Formal, correct?"

Avery nods as she tries for a smile but it wavers, her forced exhale tickling her lips. Her heart thunders in her chest despite her calm demeanor, forcefully pushing away the internal calamity that is her mind. She lets her eyes flicker back to the boxes and the suitcases competing to take up space in the trunk, desperately convincing herself not to jump to any conclusions.

Trying for a level tone, lighthearted even – she lifts her chin towards the trunk. "Did you find all your boxes?"

"Yes, they were all there. Had to fetch them before hitting the road."

Stricken, Avery blanches. Struggling against the tension filling her tightening chest, she presses three fingers to her throat to force down the lump there. She doesn't want to ask the question lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she has no choice.

"You're leaving?"

"Have to be home by morning," Robert blows air into his cupped hands. "I left keys on the bureau in the hall–"

Avery forces her breath to become even, numb fingers closing even tighter around the strap of her bag – her knuckles surely as white as the rain of snow. 

"You're leaving now?"

             A stray gust of wind hits her, prickling her skin as a venomous voice takes up space inside her head, seeming to chant the words 'he wasn't even going to say goodbye' over and over. Fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, her lips thin as her attempt at a smile falters entirely.

"It's Zander's birthday tomorrow," Robert says through an impatient purse of his lips. "You know that."

Avery's heart plummets, its beat both racing and stilling simultaneously in her apprehension. A moment of inaction passes as her eyes swivel up to glance skyward. Breathing in, she's barely able to exhale through the tightness consuming her chest. Her lips simply part with a small puff of air.

The word 'birthday' echoes in her mind, her throat constricting as the snowflakes adorn her cheeks and the tip of her nose before they slowly melt into her skin. Hurt fills her at once, her breath the form of a cloud as she lets her eyes find her father's again. The words slip her lips before she's able to bite her tongue.