Great Girls(Victoria Pedretti)

C. 15🕰

I gently slammed the front door of my childhood residence, disregarding preparation for the unexpected. Because when I walked past the living room, my mother was sitting down on the turmeric-colored Knole. Her right leg was slung over the other, and the kettle was brewing in the kitchen that was not too far from the living room, hence the sound of the fire coming from the stove. And resting adjacent to the professor was no one other than my father.

Well, at least, the face of my father on the professor's Macbook was placed on the couch.

"Dad, oh, my God. This is a surprise. If I had known that mom was going to hold a family gathering virtually, I would've—" "Salinger, enough of the jelly beans. Jerry, your daughter has committed an offense." 

"It was only a minor offense, daddy," I stated in a calm tone. "Besides, there was no sign when I parked there that evening." I plopped down on the blue love seat, only to get up when I recollect that Claudia had given a handjob to some Yale preppie.

My dad in his mid-fifties with a full-grown black beard and a black mustache, shined his pearly whites at me through the Macbook opposite the living room. "It's okay, my Sallie. What matters is that you have your car and now you know not to park your car where there is a Tow-Away sign," my father reassured.

"But that's the thing...there wasn't any, to begin with," I defend. "Mmm," my father says in a wary mien that he uses to undermine my trust whenever he feels that I am being dishonest. Am I being dishonest? Yes, but I would appreciate it if he could be a bit more trustful of what I say, even if I am lying.

I know. I know, I'm a bad daughter. I should receive a good slap on the wrist, stick a bar of soap in my mouth, or be chastised by my parents with a belt.

Okay, I get it. Lying is not good, but it is healthy, and it is me.

"Right, then," I mutter to myself, nodding with a sigh as my eyes fell to the soft rosewood carpet that had imprints of my black leather ankle boots. I looked up to my mother and asked, "So, professor. How much was the damage?"

My mother, who was gazing fiercely at me, did not utter a word. What she does do is attend to the fat lady singing opera in the kitchen or as normal people would call a whistling kettle.

When she left my father and me alone, my father smiled and whispered, "Is she gone?"

I looked at my mother over my shoulder as she was taking a packet of a teabag from a mason jar. I turned my head back to my father and nodded. My father turned to his side to pick up something off-camera, and when he finally got ahold of it, my heart melted.

"Oh, my gosh," I say, walking closer to the laptop. I picked it up and sat down with it. "Is that mom's..." "Birthstone? Yes, it is. It's a bloodstone necklace. You like it?" he asks in an animated tone.

"Are you kidding, it's beautiful. Is it real?" I inquire. Dad nodded. "How did you manage to get your hands on it?" I ask, becoming intrigued by the lively adventures of my father in Europe. 

"I got a buddy in Jalivya, who knows someone who finds jewels and makes 'em, " he informs me like a pupil who received an interesting piece of an artificial artifact at a gift shop.

◽◽◽◽◽◽

NOVEMBER-WEEK TWO

"Thank you, " I say to Ray, a classmate of mine in Anthropology, who held the door open for me to exit the lecture hall, located in the Abbey Corridor.

Ray carries a smile and responds, "Yeah, don't mention it. Listen, I'm sorry that I talked over you today, I was only trying to be heard. You know, I was trying to voice my opinion."

As we were both walking outside of the campus, I reply, shaking my head with a chuckle, "Ray, it's completely fine. You're entitled to your opinion; I'm entitled to mine. It's fine."

"Right, " he anxiously chuckles as I proceed to walk along the lusterless corridor. I sensed Ray following behind me as I paced towards the exit of Abbey.

When I reached the doorway of the passage, I quickly opened the door and closed the door on him to avoid any more inquiries. It's not that I thought Ray was a weirdo. I just needed to handle lady business because I'd been sitting in what feels like the diaper of the Red Sea for the past forty-five minutes, and I really needed to head back to my dorm to change.

I thought I had packed an extra pad, but I was heavily disappointed when I was looking for one in my knapsack while Professor Devlin was on the topic of human variation.

Growing weary of Ray's random, eerie obsession with me, I halted in my black leather mid-heels and sighed. I scratched the back of my head, let it fall against my thigh as I spun around on my heels.

"Is there something I can I do for you, Ray?" I inquire, placing my hands on my hips.

"Well, actually, yes. There is," he said in a desperate tone as I lowered my eyebrows. "Your friends with Claudia?" "Yep, we're roommates," I confirmed. He raised his brows in astonishment and replied, "Really? That's great. Could you maybe tell her to..." Oh, boy. Why do I get the feeling that he's going to ask if Claudia's single?

"Yes, of course. She's available," I answer. Ray lets out a laugh, "Well, this is perfect." "Yes."

"Then, it's set." "You got it."

"Well, this is great. Do you know what time she can come to my dorm to give me her urine sample?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, her what now!" My eyes shot open in fear that I might have crossed paths with a creep, who had ghastly intentions with my roommate's waste.