Bechloe Week

Day 1: The Accidental Kiss

Beca Mitchell sat in the family room of her modest home with kids, Sophie and Dylan. Dylan's fifth birthday was today, and they had just finished cleaning up from the party and decided to watch a movie. Her wife joined them and snuggled into Beca. Beca kissed the top of her head and pulled her in closer.

"Mama?," Sophie said getting Beca's attention.

"Yeah, Soph," Beca responded.

"Can you tell us the story of how you and mommy got together?," Sophie asked. "You know, the accidental kiss one."

"You've heard that story a hundred times," Beca said.

"Come on, babe," Chloe said. "It's a fun story."

"Fine," Beca said giving in. "I'm going to start the story from just before I started at Barden."

Beca's mind flashes back to the day of her father's fiftieth birthday party.

I hated family gatherings. My aunts always wanted a kiss and they always aimed for the lips. It took me 18 years and quite a few tries to master the quick face turn so the kiss landed on my cheek instead of on the mouth. It was even worse today as I stood in her father's house celebrating his 50th birthday. It seemed like every old woman in the family showed up. I managed to avoid most of my aunts and great-aunts and even a few second cousins, but not all of them. I finally escaped and made it up to my room where I worked on some of my mixes.

I had been in my room for about two hours when I decided to take a break. I was thankful I did because I suddenly heard my father's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I could hear voices drifting up from downstairs so I knew the party was still going on. I jumped up and dove into my bed pulling the covers up over me.

"Beca?," my dad, your grandad, called as he knocked on my bedroom door and walked in. "Come on, Beca. Come back to the party. People are leaving and want to say goodbye."

"Oh, gross," I thought. "This is the hardest part of the night to keep from getting kissed."

"I'm not feeling well, dad," I told him, burying myself under the covers. "I don't want to make anyone sick."

"What's wrong?," my dad asked walking over and sitting on the side of the bed. He put his hand on my forehead checking for a fever.

"I don't know," I said. "But I threw up a little bit ago. Maybe it was something I ate or maybe it's a bug. I'm not sure. But I don't want to take any chances of someone catching anything."

"Okay," dad said. "You stay here and rest. I'll let everyone know you're not feeling well."

"Thanks, dad," I said, and he left the room. I let out a grateful sigh.

Once I was sure my dad was gone, I got up and put my pajamas on. I laid on my bed with my laptop on my lap and went over the list of things I needed to take with me for college. In one week I was moving into my dorm on the Barden University campus, and I was not happy about it.

I wanted to move to L.A. and start paying my dues and become a music producer. I loved music and making mixes; still do. I wanted to have a music career and being a producer had been my goal since I was ten years old. But my dad thought it was a hobby and convinced my mother that I needed college so I could get a respectable, well-paying job. I felt betrayed by both my parents for conspiring behind my back. I made it abundantly clear to them both that I was going to live on campus and not in my father's house. Much to my surprise, they both agreed.

Move in day at Barden was a chaotic, disorganized time and I couldn't wait to set up my equipment and lose myself in my music. As I was plugging in the last cord, my father showed up.