Counting Stars

Epilogue

I'm not putting the Point of view name, but you'll understand as you read.

Oh, and guess who's the girl up there. ^^^

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➹ Epilogue➹

After I dab pale red lipstick on, I move a few steps back and look at myself in the mirror. My chocolate brown hair - dad always argues it's more of a coffee shade - is pinned back neatly with a sparkly barrette. The sky blue dress hugs my figure perfectly. It is sleeveless and reaches mid-thigh. Paired with the dress are black tights and lastly, I have flats for my footwear. The eyeliner and little mascara I applied brings out my brown eyes.

So the two hours of dressing up was totally worth it.

"Hey, Vridgette, are you still alive up there?" a voice shouts from downstairs.

I roll my eyes, "I'm coming, Dad!"

I check if my room is spotless one last time. Then, I rush out of the door and down the stairs. I walk to the kitchen to see Dad cooking. The smell of barbecue and roasted chicken wafts through the air. Scrunching my eyebrows, I try to fan out the smell. I just put on perfume a while ago, and I swear the smell of food will ruin it.

Dad's wearing a kitchen apron and is holding a spatula (or whatever you call it) in one hand. Oh, and did I mention he's only got pants on?

"Dad, they'll be here in a minute," I stand in front of him, bracing my hands on the edge of the table. He sets a bowl of mashed potatoes on it.

Dad cocks an eyebrow, "So?"

"You're only wearing pants! Gods, dad, at least be decent!" Cooking with no shirt on? That's not unusual, but it'll be embarrassing for the guests.

He shakes his head, grinning, "And I thought you'll be more like your mother."

I give him an incredulous look, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He chuckles, "Nothing. Set the table and I'll go get ready."

"Well, thank you." I grab the placemats and start putting them on the table. I'm not blessed with Dad's cooking powers (even though I'm with him all the time) but I'm also not the kind of person to set a kitchen on fire just with one touch.

"But, Vridge," Dad stops at the base of the staircase, "I don't think they'll mind if I show up like this."

"Get dressed!" I glare at him playfully.

Sometimes I wonder who's the adult here.

My dad and I have been living alone in the house for four years now. Mom left when I was fourteen, because of her being a goddess and all. But she really isn't absent in my life. She's been with dad and I until I turned fourteen, and since then, she'd Iris message me once a week and show up at important occasions.

Like tonight.

Others say I'm more like a mixture of my mom and dad. But I say I'm nothing like them. Like I said, cooking isn't really my forte. As for videogames, I play from time to time but not like dad when he was younger. I'm not the fierce and brave type like mom. I can't draw or paint or have photographic memory. Heck, I only pass with a B in archery. And I'm supposed to be the granddaughter of the goddess who's exceptional with that.

I'm more of the makeup-dress-up kind of girl. I always want things in tiptop shape and not a single object out of place. Okay, so I have a little OCD, sue me. I like knitting and embroidery, which I like to consider as art. I don't do much in fighting, but my best weapon is (obviously) the bow and arrow.