2 kids

Femme fetale.

Ashley.

I look at the mess I made. Clothes piling everywhere with an open suitcase in the middle of my room. If only packing was easier.

"You know," Heather says casually from my window. She found her favourite spot right there, and has been observing me for the past thirty minutes. Most of the time she sat there and rambled on about a different topic every five minutes, and helped me cure my frustration at the same time. "We're not moving there. You don't need to pack your whole closet."

I turn at my heel, flashing her a motherly warning glare. I'm not in the mood for reminders I suck at packing. "When are you going to pack?"

"Tomorrow."

"We're leaving tomorrow."

She shrugs and I frown. She's breaking every first impression I've had of her. She's been breaking them since I first met her. Even with messy hair and nothing but short and an oversized t-shirt, she looks absolutely perfect. As if she's running from the 'perfect Heather', but the label has already been glued to her.

"Look Ash," she says. "I have time. We're leaving tomorrow afternoon; I'll pack in the morning."

I contemplate doing the same, but then remind myself I promised my dad I'd have dinner with him. And with someone special he wants to introduce.

"What if I ditch the dinner and just pack tomorrow."

She points the nail filer at me and shakes her head. "Don't even think about it." Then she goes back to filing her nails, shaping them perfectly. "What was the agreement again?"

"That we'd both try to work on the relationship."

"Exactly, both of you. Not just your poor dad. Stop neglecting his every attempt."

I roll my eyes. "It's not –"

"Ashley, honey, drop it. He's trying and you're backfiring all his attempts." Though all her attention is at her nails, I can perfectly imagine the scolding look she'd give me. "Some of us would give everything to have a father that would at least try."

"What do you-"

My question is cut midway through and ignored completely. "So," jumping off the window she claps her hands. "Let's get you packed."

I want to complain that I can pack myself, that I'm not a little kid anymore, but I can't. I'm struggling, and all I can think about is dinner. I'm glad my father seems to have found himself a woman worth his time, but do I really want to meet her?

While Heather roams through the piles of clothes I'm thrown on my bed or floor, I observe her. She's humming to the song playing, dancing ever so slightly.

"What did you mean?" I ask her, breaking the silence.

She freezes.

Only for a second, but I notice it. The unsteady and unsure motion of her hand, the hesitation in her voice and whole body. It doesn't go unnoticed, and it occurs to me I shouldn't have asked. She's tense now, something I've only seen happen once before.

"You don't even realise how lucky you are to have a father who's trying to build a healthy relationship with you, Ash. Too many kids only have parents who work and don't care about them."

"He used to be like that."

"He used to," she turns to me, holding up a dress. "But he's not anymore. He's a changed man, and he wants to know his daughter's life. That's rare, so don't hate it, don't complain and enjoy it. Because soon you'll be living by yourself, with a job and your own life."