Crystal Clear

Chapter Two

My father rests the suitcases near the stairwell. There wasn't much in his house. Surprise for me. I walk upstairs in my Victoria's Secret Pink sweat suit (I was going for something casual for the plane) and looked behind the three doors—all of the rooms that were upstairs. Just three. Okay, now I know he actually is poor-poor. One was a simple closet that consisted of storage. The other were bedrooms. One mine, one my father's. As I opened the door to my bedroom I could already smell the scent of cleaning detergents used before I came. There was a vanity (much needed), a desk, bed and closet. There was also a window-seat that was kinda cute. Probably the only nice touch this whole house had. My father had painted it a soft purple. It smells like fresh paint, that's why I know. He's acting as if this is where I'm living now... I'm not. He was behind me, I could feel him staring at me, probably trying to see how I'll react. 

"It's... nice," I basically squeak with a forceful smile. It was NOTHING like my master bedroom at home, I can tell you that much.
"Least I could do. What would you like for supper?" I shrugged. I didn't really have any appetite. Pretty much everything here is deep fried anyway, gross. I need to unpack my luggage. I have my own personal bathroom, which if I didn't, I'd be on a one-way flight back to Jersey on my mom's credit card. There is no way I'd share a bathroom with Herb. Even though it's small, at least it's something. Ew, positivity.

I begin to unpack my suitcases, putting my belongings into my closet. This thing is so small, thank God I only have three suitcases with clothes. Nothing like my closet in Jersey, which is bigger than my bedroom here. Laughable. My father from the bottom of the staircase yells for me to get down for dinner. I think you're starting to get the picture: my house is that small that he can yell up the stairs and I can hear him. It's like I'm laughing right now when I should be crying.

I change into my plaid boy-boxers and a Reboks tank, then stomp down the stairs. My father smiles kindly toward me, but I completely ignore him. I don't need his creepy stares. Like, stop acting so darn nice. On the table he had made ribs, potatoes and corn.

Awkward. I'm a vegetarian. Feel like this is something a person would know if they had a daughter that they loved and cared for. The door bell rings. Herb eyes me and nods. I know exactly what he means, because when he picked me up from the airport the first thing he wanted to tell me is that I had a six year old brother, Matty. He said that his second wife had a brain aneurism and died while he was at work, Matty was only three at that time. Okay, when he told me that like less than most of my heart felt sorry for him, that he had been led such a pathetic path in life, and that for some reason I was even related to him. So basically, yeah. I have a half brother. I guess I'm not an only child, which is kind of cool, kind of not. It doesn't matter though because Herb is only even a dad to me by blood and nothing else. He did nothing to raise me, he left me. He went to answer the door. In came my six year old brother and my grandmother.

"Gabby!" My grandmother was astonished. 

"Look at you! How you've grown! Your hair's longer than I last saw, and boy you're so much prettier than when we last saw you, if that's even possible," my grandma compliments.

 I gave her a small smile and a hug, sitting back down. She did compliment me after all. The least I could do was give her my 10% nice smile as a gift to her. When I looked at the spread my father had made, I was utterly disgusted. My father served everyone their plates, including me. My grandma was the one chatting up a storm, I was barely replying as my father decided to answer for me the entire time. Men like him are who I hate. No wonder mom always talked poorly about him. I just sat there motionless, forking at my food, tossing it on the plate. 

"Gabby, eat." That was more of a demand in his tone than I'd have liked. Instead, I just got up and ran upstairs to my bedroom. I was not going to stand to be humiliated like this.
I toss myself into my bed, it even smells like lavender, and start to tear up into my pillow. This is so pathetic. Girls like me don't cry. We get over it and move on. 

"Hon," there's knocking at my door. It's my grandma. I didn't want to get up to answer it, so I stayed in place, my head buried into the pillow.

A few seconds later my grandmother came in, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"Sweetie," she says, trying to get my attention.
"Sweetie," she repeats, resting her hand on my calf. I slowly turn over, peaking one eye out from my hair, looking at her dead in her soul.

"Yes?" I ask as politely as I can make out. I was used to putting on my fake-nice voice for all the people I can't stand at home that I am forced to talk to on a daily basis.
"You're not helping any of us by being moody," she says sternly. I roll my eyes, throwing my face back into the pillow.

"I wasn't trying to help," I say sarcastically under my breath.

"Listen, your father paid so much money for a good lawyer to win his case and he wants to make it right, so make it worth having you here. Trust me, we understand you don't want to be here, with us or your father. You'd rather be hanging out with your friends, your boyfriends in Jersey. But your father misses you and he really needs you right now. He just wants you a little longer before you become a real adult, a real woman and never want to step foot in our little ole small town to see his face again. He wants quality time with his only daughter, and you know he's been through so much, so please. Try to have some fun here. It might not be as bad as you think," she pleads. 

That is just not my problem. Nobody told him to take up one day and decide to have a relationship with his daughter again. Certainly not me. 

He can take his money he paid his dumb ass lawyer and shove it up his ass.