It’s Friday again!
This story is a little more upbeat than last week’s story. I personally needed to write something a little happier since that one was pretty heavy.
Sometimes we just really need someone on our side.
Prompt: “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen.”
Emilianna threw her socks at the door, screaming.
“Get out! I hate this!”
“Emmy,” her mom replied. “Emmy, please.”
“No!” she screamed. “Get out!” She charged the door and her mom jumped back just as she reached it, slamming it shut. She turned around and leaned against it, sliding to the floor, and sobbed.
It was her 17th birthday. It was even a Saturday. Everything was supposed to be perfect, then she woke up to a text from Andre, her boyfriend.
Hey babe, last night was amazing. I can’t wait for you to do that to me again. We woke up thinking of you, me’n’Jack. 😉
Emmy had worked the previous night, so clearly Andre wasn’t talking to her. And Jack? Who was that? Was he seriously one of those dudes who named their dicks?
She puzzled over the text for a few minutes before he called her to wish her a happy birthday. When she asked about the text, he stammered, clearly caught. He tried to play it off as a dream, but when she pressed, he confessed to cheating on her with her sworn enemy at school, Brielle. Emmy screamed that she hoped he got an STD and that she never wanted to see him again.
Her mom came running upstairs, and that’s when Emmy kicked her out. She couldn’t explain this to her mom. Not right now.
This was the worst birthday ever.
Emmy didn’t know how long she’d sat on the floor before a soft knock came at her door.
“Emmy,” her father called softly through the door. “Em, let me in please.”
She heaved herself off the floor and opened it.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Whatever,” Emmy said and walked over to her bed, flopping on it.
“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t scream at your mother and slam your door in her face. What’s going on?” He sat at the end of her bed.
Emmy didn’t speak, but unlocked her phone and pulled up the message from Andre and tossed her phone at her dad and buried her face in her pillow.
He read the message and looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.
“I’m not sure I understand. Weren’t you working last night?”
“Exactly.” Emmy turned to look at him out of one eye. Realization dawned on his face.
“Oh, I see. With whom?” He clicked her phone shut and slid it back toward her.
“Brielle.” Emmy wanted to vomit just saying her name.
“Brielle. Don’t you, kind of, hate her?” He spoke slowly, as though searching for words.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s no good is it?” He rubbed her leg.
“Dad,” Emmy said, rolling her eyes.
“Okay, well, I was going to tell you that we got tickets to Justin Timberlake for you and Andre, but it seems now that you have a free ticket.”
Emmy sat up, in shock. “Justin Timberlake?”
“Yep, tonight,” he said, turning his attention to his fingernails. He always did that when he was making a big deal into nothing. “It’s a bit of a drive, but I figured you might not mind. And now that you don’t have a date, maybe you’d be okay with your dorky dad taking you?”
“To Justin Timberlake? You’d go with me?” Emmy couldn’t even believe her ears.
“I admit, I’m not very familiar with his music, so maybe I wouldn’t be the perfect date.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “But, if you want to go, we have to leave in an hour in order to eat ourselves stupid at Hard Rock Cafe first.”
He wandered to the door, Emmy watching, still stunned.
“So, ah, if you’re ready in an hour, I’ll be downstairs.” He stepped out of her room and closed the door behind him.
Suddenly everything he said registered and Emmy shot out of her room and ran downstairs. Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee and reading something on his Kindle.
“Are you serious?”
He glanced up. “Why would I lie? Isn’t it your birthday today?”
“Well, yeah,” Emmy looked around. Her parents had decorated the kitchen with a banner that said happy birthday, 1’s and 7’s hanging from streamers on the ceiling. An array of donuts sat on the counter.
Her mom appeared at her side and squeezed her around the shoulders.
“Happy birthday, sweetie,” her mom murmured.
Tears filled Emmy’s eyes again, but this time they were happy tears. Who cared about stupid Andre when she had streamers and donuts and tickets to Justin Timberlake?
Emmy gasped. “I have to get ready!” She grabbed a donut, stuffed it in her mouth, and ran up the stairs, squealing.
This was the best birthday ever.
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