Ashley's POV
“Are you cold?”
“No, I have a sweater in bag if I do get cold.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No, you just made me eat three bowls of pasta.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No.”
“You’re mean.”
All these questions, and the ending statement, came from my paranoid mother. She is such a worrywart. And all of the answers came from me, of course.
“Cheryl, leave the girl alone! She’s old enough to make her own decisions! She’s eighteen for the Love of Lucy!” exclaimed my grandfather.
Nineteen. I am nineteen, not eighteen. But, it’s impressive that Gramps actually stood up to her. Nobody does that in our household. My mother is the leader of our small pack. And she is fierce about her crew. Everyone stays in line - even my father, who is about twice her size and more, and could probably squish her to death if he sat on her. But, he would never do that. No to his Snookums –cringe, gag, and cringe-they were sappily in love. They’ve been in love ever since they could walk.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my parents were the cliché and classic, I Fell for My Neighbor Couple! You’ve all heard of ‘em, I am an offspring of one. They’re impossibly sweet and cute, but sometimes, the love is so thick in the air, I think I choke on it. Or it could be my mother’s cooking that I choke on. She’s a good mom, but she’s a terrible cook!
“I just don’t want her to feel alone there, that’s all.” my mother muttered softly. I sighed and gathered her in my arms and held her there, tightly. She’s a tiny thing, the top of her head just touched my chin.
“It’s all right, Ma. I’ll be fine! I go out alone all time, remember?” I reassured her with a smile.
“Still, you’re my first baby! I have a right to get worried.”
Hormones. That’s the only thing that could explain it. My mother has been pregnant for four months and the hormones were acting up. Due to the damn hormones she was going all Overly Attached Mother on me.
Stupid hormones.
It’ll be worth it when I have a cute baby brother or sister to cuddle. For some reason, my parents –cough, mother, cough- had decided to keep the baby’s sex a mystery. Because, when she had me, she found out my sex as fast as possible and it had caused to become frustrated on which female name to choose. So in the end, I ended up ‘Boring Old Ashley’. She actually said that to me.
Giving Gramps a tight hug, I got of the house, into the car and on my way to the hospital.
After about 20 minutes, I was finally there. And the first thing I noticed was the incredibly cute blonde guy holding on to his right arm for dear life. You can’t run away from me now, my pretty! I thought evilly. So after I made my presence known to the receptionist, I sat down a few seats away from him, sending out telepathic messages for him to look at me. After a minute or two, I figured out his telepathic skills suck and don’t work. All he did was pout, stare pitifully at his arm and murmur, ‘Stupid magazines.’
Seriously? He’d rather do that than talk to me? I’m not saying I’m Katrina Kaif or something, but I’ve been told that I’m quite fetching! Whatever, his loss! I picked up one of the ‘stupid magazines’. They were so old that there was a thin coat of dust over them. Yuck!
I was actually quite engrossed in the article 2002’s Top 50 Summer Hot Spots when I felt the presence of someone in front of me. My telepathic senses were on, and I looked up.
Turns out, Blondie’s skills don’t suck so much after all.
