Wrong Quarterback | ✓

15 | on the third day of august

          It's been six hours and still nothing.

The clock has just struck one in the afternoon, meaning it's been six hours since Avery was awoken by her mother's sweet, but tone deaf, rendition of 'Happy Birthday'. Six hours since Avery woke up a seventeen year old. Six hours of glancing down at the screen of her phone – hoping, wishing, desperately wanting it to light up with a call from her father. And if not a call, maybe a text. One single sentence would do. Six hours since she woke up. Nine hours since she actually turned seventeen.

         Luke was the first to wish her a happy birthday, texting her an obnoxious text at the ungodly hour of four a.m at which she actually arrived into the world those seventeen years ago. Not shy to tell her how he hasn't known calm since the four months of peace he had on this earth before her.

        Next was her mother with her song and their usual birthday pancake breakfast in the backyard.

        Her grandparents had called during said pancake breakfast, wanting to hear about her day – which had only stretched on for an hour by then – so far. This despite the fact they're seeing her later in person tonight.

       Callie, Lea and Nic soon followed with texts on their own. And as if that wasn't enough Avery had to endure another – much grander – performance of 'Happy Birthday' on a video call with her four friends while she'd been sat astride her bike outside the T.H Publishing offices this morning. Thankfully, she'd had her earphones plugged in, feeling equally mortified and fortunate over the group effort as she tried to choke down her laughter.

       Upon arriving to the office – panting slightly from having run up the stairs – her colleagues had offered her their fair share of birthday congratulations before kicking off the weekly Wednesday morning editorial meeting.

       From a few quick scrolls through the day she knows her dusty old Facebook page is filling up with birthday wishes too. The majority of them are from her fellow classmates at Acebridge West, the generic usual 'happy birthday!', some going as far as wishing her a great day or addressing her by name. There's another few too – family friends such as Tammy and Caia, Luke's mother and sister. The latest one was posted by Barbara, because apparently a phone call and having the next few days scheduled to spend together isn't enough. To be honest, Avery could have done without that last one from her grandmother – considering she included the most unflattering blurry – mid-cake eating – picture from her sweet sixteenth. Now free for all of her Facebook friends, future potential employers and the world to see.

      Even Snapchat lit up her phone with a notification on this 'special day'.

It's been a good six hours, but they're clouded by the tiniest dark spot in the horizon. There's one more person she's waiting for.

A few strings of words from the person she wants it most. But they've yet to arrive and she doesn't know if they ever will. Like clockwork, she glances down at her phone where it lies with it's screen facing up next to the keyboard of her computer. Nothing.

       Some years Robert is the very first to be in touch, often along with long stretched monologues of warmth and memories. Other years her waiting stretches on all through the day until, eventually, the evening hours crosses into night – and as the days come and gone, they finally arrive. Neatly packed up, in a box alongside an excuse or two, tied together with a ribbon on top. In vain, she attempts to swallow back the lump of disappointment growing in her throat, realizing this year will most probably fall under the category of the latter.

They've crossed onto the seventh hour – yet, nothing.

♡♡♡