College Fund

//We aren't close friends, yet//

I watched my dad as he dragged his suitcase down the hallway from his bedroom. When he got close enough, I grabbed his backpack for him, trying to lighten his load.

"Is the taxi outside?" He asked.

I nodded. "Yes, and they've already honked their horn once. You better get a move on." I was only joking, and he knew that.

He stopped and leaned his suitcase against the wall. "Man, Cass, I'm gonna miss you so much. How am I going to survive for a week?"

"It's not a full week, Dad," I reminded him. "It's only 5 days."

"Well, that doesn't mean I'm going to miss you any less." He pulled me into a tight hug, and I realized how much I was going to miss my dad's hugs for the next five days. I wished that he would have left yesterday or Saturday, even, so that I could bring him to the airport. As it was, I was going to have to sprint to the bus stop to make it to work on time.

"Okay, Dad, you better get going before the taxi actually starts honking," I told him, and broke away from his embrace.

"Right," he agreed, and took his backpack from me. "Be good while I'm gone, work hard, and don't make a mess of the house."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Seriously? I have rules? I'm eighteen, Dad."

"And I'm your father. And as long as I live I'll be your father, and you'll have to listen to me and my rules. Besides, they're good rules, right?"

"Whatever Dad."

He gave me one last hug and kiss on the cheek before opening the door and carting his suitcase outside. "Bye, Cassidy. I love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

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Later that day, I found myself behind the counter at Milky Way, scooping up ice cream. Mondays were always the hardest days, I had just had a two day break and now I needed to jump back into the swing of things.

"Did you have a nice weekend?" Eric asked. He was on cash, and I was taking the orders and scooping the ice cream. It was a good system, and it's what we usually did when things got busy.

"Yeah, I suppose," I responded while scooping a chocolate kiddie cone. "My dad left on a business trip to New York this morning."

"Oh that's sick! Are you home alone, then? But I guess your mom's home, though, right?"

It amazed me how I could work with someone five days a week for two months and they still wouldn't know some of the most important details of my life. I figured there was no point in not telling the truth. "No, I'm alone. My mom died when I was eight."

Eric paused in his job of pushing buttons on the cash register. "That'll be $8.25," he informed our customer. While she was digging out her change, he turned back to me. "I'm really, and truly sorry about that," he said, and I could tell he really meant it. "Even though I'm sure you hear it all the time and it sounds stupid."

I shrugged my shoulders. I heard people say that a lot when she first passed away, or got those sad glances from people that made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. But I didn't get that much anymore. Most people who needed to know had already been told.

The customer finally found her change and passed a handful of quarters over to Eric. "Thanks," he said. "Have a nice day."

"So," Eric continued, trying to get my attention again. I looked up at him, wondering why on earth he kept talking. This was the longest conversation we had ever had, and frankly, we were supposed to be working. "Are you throwing any parties while your dad's gone?"