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   Chapter 4 Four

Falling For Asher By Stephany Characters: 4617

Updated: 2019-03-24 22:05

When the last bell rings, I almost groan due to it being Thursday, the day that all of my friends are busy after school. Normally I have at least one of them to drive me home, otherwise, I have to walk.

I don't mind walking but because I don't work today, I know that I will just go home and do nothing. Sometimes I regret not joining an after-school activity. Although that quickly changes when I see my friends struggling to handle it all at once.

The parking lot is nearly empty when I finally make my way outside. A few people lingering around and others walking back inside the school.

I walk behind two girls that are a year below me. Entering the neighborhood that I grew up in. Every house being similar on the outside but holding different memories underneath repainted roofs.

My house is near the end of the street, two tall trees in the front yard and a bird fountain between them. The door is unlocked, one of the cars in the driveway, Candice most likely still at work. The first thing I do is kick my shoes off, and toss my bag somewhere on the couch. Despite getting scolded for doing that every day, I tend to still do it.

I hear my dad's voice somewhere in the kitchen. He did mention coming home early since he got his meeting out of the way today.

"Hey dad, " I say, seeing him at the table with his laptop in front of him.

I head straight for the cabinets, taking a pop tart before sitting across from him.

He slips his glasses off, setting them on the table. "How was school?"

I shrug, brushing off the crumbs that fall on my lap. "I learned that I'm terrible at poetry."

Remembering how my teacher praised Paige for her poem and gave me a thumbs up. That was more than enough to let me know about my lack of skills. Not that I ever considered myself to be capable of even being decent.

"Seven hours of school taught you that?" He chuckles.

My glare is weak and not intimidating at all. "You said that my dolphin poem was the best you ever read." I defend with a scoff.

"For a six-year-old." He deadpans.

I roll my eyes playfully, hearing his laugh.

Unfortunately, the conversation turns serious seconds later. I have a feeling of what is about to come. My eyes landing on a random spot on the table.

His hands are clasped together, a sign

that it's a sensitive topic. "Your mother is wondering why you won't answer her calls."

I swallow nervously before sighing quietly. "She can't figure that out on her own?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

His face remains neutral as he responds. "Sweetheart, she isn't the same person. We have both moved on and she wants to get to know you." He defends which isn't surprising.

My dad is always reasonable and tries to give everyone a second chance.

I shake my head with a short response under my breath.

He sighs, "Okay, I'll let her know." His expression causes my chest to tighten.

Although I feel guilty and would love to forgive my mother, it doesn't feel right. And part of it has to do with her not trying until recently. She had over nine years to fix things, but instead got remarried and became a stepmother to three kids.

Meanwhile, I watched my father struggle because she didn't even want to be near us. I stand up, muttering an excuse before heading to my bedroom.

I spend the rest of the evening by distracting myself with a book. One of the only things that I genuinely enjoy doing. Hiding away my own emotions and burrowing my head into a work of fiction.

My phone stays on silent, underneath my pillow to block out the missed calls from my mother.

I almost gave in a couple of times, wondering if I was being a brat for not answering her. Or if it was selfish of me to hold a grudge for something that was meant to happen.

I close the book, setting it down on my bedside table. My phone feels cold in my hands while I contemplate what to do. What would I even say to her? The last time we spoke was when I was seven years old, telling her about parents day at my school. And her promise to be there, but never showing up.

I remember so vividly coming home with tears in my eyes only to find her with her bags packed. And my parents trying their best to explain what was going on.

I didn't understand that then, but I learned as I got older. Realizing that they just didn't love each other anymore. The harsh words spoken between the thin walls swarmed my mind for years.

I'll give her an explanation and hope that when I'm ready, we can reconcile our relationship. I would rather talk when I have a clear head and not risk messing things up.

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