Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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I attempted to call Gabi back as I walked to Harry's, but of course she didn't answer. It's been like this for days now. An endless game of phone tag created by our differing schedules. Volleyball is in full swing for her, and classes and tutoring have kept me busier than I expected.
I really just need a chance to fill her in on dinner at my dads house. It's been a few days, but I still feel like my cortisol is spiked. Like my body is just anticipating the next fight just around the corner and doesn't see a point in calming down. I could just send her a message, but it would require me to type a novel. It would be the kind of text that's followed by feelings of guilt for trauma dumping on her yet again.
It's starting to feel like that's all I do with her.
Every time we do talk, I spend the entire time walking her through my life. She doesn't complain. She just listens silently and throws her thoughts in when needed. Just because she's willing to do it though, doesn't mean I like it. It never used to be like this between us. I feel like all we have time for anymore are the front page headlines and none of the other filler that is what really makes her my best friend.
But maybe that's what happens when you live hundreds of miles apart. Instead of living through it with me, I've reduced her to nothing more than someone to hear me complain and give an opinion on something that doesn't really involve her anymore.
Alyssa tried to talk to me, but I shot her down. There's no reason to bring anyone else into this. My dad assuming the worst in me could probably be traced back to the day I was born. I had just hoped that some distance would let him see growth in me. Me showing up to that dinner should have been proof enough that I'm trying. But once again, I've put more energy into the atmosphere than he has. To him, it doesn't matter. Nothing ever has besides his job and his reputation.
I slide into my favorite booth, my bare legs sticking slightly to the vinyl as I do. Harry's isn't empty, but having a booth all to myself is exactly what I need. I waste no time unpacking my computer, followed by my planner and an assortment of pens and sticky notes.
Living nearby means I've been here a lot. I used to agree to come to campus with my dad just so I could sit in Harry's for hours on end. Even with my countless trips here, I don't recognize the waiter who takes my order. It takes more energy than I should admit to not stare at his bleached hair and unique arrangement of tattoos covering ninety percent of his body.
I just really needto know if the one across the knot in his throat actually does say "Eat Me" or if the shitty font is undermining a much deeper message.
He returns with my coffee and I decide he looks too much like Pete Davidson to not try to sneak a picture for Gabi. He's her ideal celebrity crush, and the fact that he brought me fries I didn't order means he probably won't work here by the time Gabi is home for Thanksgiving.
