bad expectations | jfg

42

{One year later}

"I'm proud of you." My dad reaches to rest his arm along my shoulders, squeezing me to his side as we sit.

"Thank you." I feel my cheeks burn at his show of pride. This is all I've wanted.

"Immensely. But I like the red cover better, the blue reminds me of sad music."

I laugh, "so red with a white title?"

"Yes!" He claps his hands together.

We check the boxes off the paper of the countless color options and finally come to a conclusion. Red is for anger and love, the white is for purity and innocence. I'm picturing the cover in my mind, maybe with a black rose on the front, just to add to the grandeur.

"Arduous Misconception. What a fancy title." He says while brushing his hand over the paper.

I've told him countless times that I've thought up my first published book in a dream of some sort, an old one that I'd been holding in for months until one day I clattered it all on my computer. He doesn't know I lived it. I don't like to think about when I did, but it's not too long ago to forget about.

"What has your mom said about all this?" He rests his cheek in his hand, looking at me.

I bite the inside of my lip and shrug, "I've been emailing her but she just, you know doesn't care, I don't think." I push a laugh.

He looks at me with condolence and I shift uncomfortably. He sighs, "I'm sorry she's like that. It makes me upset too. But we have to throw a party."

"I don't know," I shake my head and cross my arms.

"C'mon." He shakes my forearm like a child.

I sigh, "here?"

"No! At your new apartment!"

I shrug again, "I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, why don't you think about it. I can invite everyone in from work." Ugh.

"That sounds nice." I nod my head.

His lips curve into a smile and he looks over the papers that are scattered in front of them, seeming to read each word over and over again. I let out a loud yawn, and put my cheek in my palm. It's been a long day with driving around and getting all the paper work for the end of this project, I'm much too tired to keep my eyes open.

"Want me to drive you home? You've been up forever."

"I know. I'll drive myself, my cars here."

"Right. I'll see you."

I get up from our table and gather the papers that are sprawled along into my hands, "okay." I take the keys out my pocket and jingle them in between my fingers, "bye dad."

_____

A past year that has consisted of no sleep, constant writing, and ending with a publish. 

I've been so giddy and high off everything that is happening in life that I can't believe anything is true. I'm blessed enough to have everyone know that I'm so young and so successful already and there's no one negative in my surroundings. Everyone's so positive. I have friends from work that are fairly young but no one as young as me, which is why I still talk to Jack Johnson.

He has came and visited countless times the past year, I've always and will always enjoy his witty sense of humor and calm company, he's still my best friend.

I would be satisfied if I could say that me and Jack Gilinsky are still friends, but I haven't talked to him in a year, literally. Sometimes I wish I could, just to see what he's up to, but he didn't answer me for a month and a half after we parted ways, so I don't think it'd be necessary, if anything it'd be embarrassing.