Lost & Found

Christina

Christina’s POV

    “Christina!”

    “Is it true that your father's company is looking for new talent to represent?”

    “What’s going on with you and Logan?”

   “Christina! Look over here!”

   As I was bombarded by paparazzi, I didn’t answer a single question thrown my way. Of course, I still flashed empty smiles for the cameras but that was just out of common courtesy. Plus, if I wasn’t giving them answers, I may as well give them something.

   I stepped into my hotel and breathed out a sigh of relief. I could avoid all the flashing cameras and overlapping, invading questions for the rest of the day. I got into the elevator and rode up to the penthouse suite.

    As the elevator doors slid open with a cheerful ding, my phone buzzed loudly in my purse. Fishing it out, I caught a glimpse of the caller ID. I gladly accepted the call and pressed the phone to my ear.

    “Hi, Dad!” I said into the microphone.

    “Hey, princess,” he said. “How was your trip?”

    “It was fun, but it was too bad that you had to leave early,” I responded, walking towards the balcony. I hope he didn’t hear the disappointment that hid under my tone at the end of that sentence.

    He didn’t seem to notice anything different as he continued. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. When work calls, I can’t very well ignore it. You know that.”

    “I know,” I told him, fully letting him hear the extent of my disappointment. The sliding doors opened with ease and I sat in one of the lawn chairs, sinking into the seat.

    “Don’t be upset, princess,” he said. “I’ll be able to come home for the weekend.”

    I immediately lit up. He was home so rarely that it was always an automatic good weekend if he was. Work and events and life got in the way so much that I hardly ever saw him. It was pure luck if he could even get on the phone to call me instead of a coworker or business partner.

    I mean, we’ve always been close. He wasn’t away nearly as much when I was younger, or when Mom was still around. When I started college, though, he made less time for me and even less time than that when he and Mom separated. When they divorced, it was like he just couldn’t be around anymore. He would always make excuses, but I know it was because the walls were closing in on him. That’s how I felt for a while, too. Mom would still call or come over sometimes, to check in on us. My dad completely buried himself in his work when she stopped contacting us. It was around then that he got transferred three hours west. When I'm not asking myself if he asked for the transfer, I wonder if he’ll ever be okay.

    “Chrissy? You still there?”

    “Yeah, still here, Dad,” I answered, snapping back to the present. I was about to ask him how he was doing when I heard muffled yelling and arguments in the background. Even though my dad covered up the mic, I still heard him yell at them to hold on. When he came back, I knew what was coming. A frown had already plastered itself onto my face.

    “I’m sorry, Chrissy,” he began. “I have to go. Mike needs me and there’s no way I can-”

    “No, it’s okay. Go do what you have to do,” I reassured him, looking down at my hands.

    “Thank you, Chrissy,” he said, already sounding hurried. “I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I love you!”

    “Love you, too. I’ll talk to you later.” A click sounded, indicating the call was over. Downhearted, I whispered into the microphone, “Bye.”

    I took my phone and started going back inside. I started down the hall to my bedroom. The suite felt extra quiet. Between the tall windows and chandeliers and glass tables, all I saw was empty space. There was nothing. Every family picture had been turned down and was now collecting dust. Most personal tokens were stowed away in places no one could see, like bedrooms, cabinets, drawers, closets. This wasn't a home. It was the cover of HGTV magazine.

    When I finally got to my room, I closed the door behind me. I tugged at the curtains until they almost completely covered the windows. I sat at my desk and stared at my laptop, the most recent article with the name 'Matthys’ in the headline pulled up on the browser. As per usual, there was a picture of my dad at the top, under the date and byline. It was only of him.

    I knew he wasn’t going to call back. Not until the weekend when he said he was coming over but it’s already eleven o’clock at night. You will still be awake, waiting for him. When he finally calls, you expect him to say traffic was terrible or his flight was delayed but instead hear that work needed him to do something or go somewhere and he can’t come home. You will go on and on about how he promised he’d be able to make it but it won’t make a difference. He will tell you that he loves you. Yet, if he really loved you, he would try to get home, no matter what.

    The screen’s brightness in my dim room started to burn my eyes so I closed my laptop. My head fell into my hands, my elbows rested on the desk. I tried to hold in the coming sobs.

   I am nothing. I am nothing except a name in some Wiki pages. I am nothing except a few posed pictures on the Internet. I am nothing without my last name. Not even my own father can be bothered to hang up with Steve in Accounting to spend time with me.

    Wow. Some 'relaxing afternoon’ this turned out to be. What happened to basking on the balcony until nightfall? First, being ambushed outside of my home by paparazzi, then a disappointing phone call with my practically nonexistent father, and now crying in the dark over one of a thousand articles.

    I wiped the tears from my cheeks and left my room. I ended up at the dining table, listening to '90s pop on the radio. All I need is a thicker skin. Then, nothing can get to me.