Hunted

Chapter 1

I never fit into my dad's perfect family. Well, at least not after my mother had died. He started going out, and getting drunk with all his buddies, where I was left at home to cook and clean. He would come home in a drunken stupor, not remembering all the important days. I remembered, though.
July 25th, the day I was born. October 16th, the day mom mysteriously died. October 21st, the day of her funeral. October 22nd. The day he forgot.
All those days were a significant mark in both of our lives, but apparently not enough for him to stumble around with a can of beer. Unfortunately, a new date has crossed into the twisted paths of us. November 7th. Hunting season. 
I prepared for the going-away BBQ. Why we had to throw a party for us leaving for a two-week hunting trip was beyond me. But I wouldn't complain. This was the first hunting trip that I was ever allowed to even go on, and I wanted to spend some quality time with my dad.
Would he reject me? Probably, but I could at least try. I have been trying for five years. We used to be close. Back when my mom was still alive. We would talk for hours about anything. The way my dog Sergeant would chew up my toys, or how my favorite teacher would give me a C on a paper. It didn't matter how big or little the thing was, my dad and I were always there for each other.
Until my mom had died. All we knew is that she was murdered. They never found her body, never found her killer. She was killed at our early Carver family Halloween party when she went outside to grab ice from the cooler for more of her signature pumpkin spice punch. I was thirsty for justice.
"Hey!"
That was one of my dad's stupid cronies. "What?" I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Grab me a Coors," he stumbled around his words.
I clenched my jaw, harsh words fighting to be heard. Instead, I threw my hand into the frozen cooler and practically chucked what was probably his fifth beer at his chest.
"Watch the 'tude, 'Liv." He watched me with calculating brown eyes. His gaze traveled from my eyes to my chest.
Sick old man. I thought, and turned, embarrassed. I set off to finish packing my hopeful hunting clothes and supplies in my room, when I nearly bumped into my dad and his tray stacked at least two feet high with an assortment of vegetables ready to be grilled. I grinned up at him sheepishly. "Sorry, Dad." I waited for a punishing glare.
"You're fine. Just watch your step next time," Dad muttered. He didn't meet my gaze.
I stood in shock on the porch and watched him walk away. "Is he... not drunk?" I asked myself. My father, even when he wasn't an alcoholic, was never very apologetic. For a brief moment I wondered if he either reached a whole level of drunk, or if he had changed overnight.
Dad fired up the grill, his brown hair actually styled in some sort of wave that made him look 5 year younger. His moss green eyes scanned the small group of people who were at the house helping us prepare for the BBQ. He actually looked... decent. That was weird.
I walked up to room solemnly, gazing at the crooked family photos hanging on the walls. I wanted to make the frames straight, it drove me crazy, but there was no point. Dad would come home from the local bar, Puzzles, and be slamming doors only to make the frames crooked once again. Many of the pictures were of my Dad, Mom and I camping, fishing, swimming, playing yard games or doing many of the other things your typical suburban family did. I missed that.
My room was small. Not "Harry Potter living under the staircase" small, but definitely too small for a 15 year old girl. I had a suitcase filled with my hunting clothes and equipment on my bed. I was hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, this year I would be allowed to hunting.
Hunting season for the Carvers was monumental. My dad, uncle, grandfather and cousins all went down to the woods of Rochester, Minnesota to do some deer hunting. And it was serious business. I'm talking dorky camouflage face paint kind of serious business. Honestly if my mother, Mariana, were still alive, I wouldn't go. But I was desperate for any kind of family time. I was terribly lonely. My parents were always very busy with work. My mother was a neurosurgeon intern and my father was an orthodontic nurse. Obviously, he lost his medical license. For some reason alcoholism is looked down upon. Due to their hectic schedules I was never given a sibling, though I always prayed for a sister I could braid hair with.
Shortly after my mom died, my golden retriever Sergeant passed away.
I only had my stuffed animal tiger, Tig. Tig helped me through my mother's death. Months of stacked up debt. Dad's drinking. Sergeant dying. However as I was getting older, and having a stuffed animal was embarrassing. Still though, I pondered packing Tig. Just for good luck.
As I was thinking, my door swung open. To my surprise, my dad was standing at the door. No beer in sight. "Uh... hey," my dad mumbled awkwardly.
A blush crept onto my face, and I tried to hide both Tig and my suitcase under my blankets. "Hey! W-what's up?"
Dad snorted, probably at my attempt to hide my things. "I was just... I don't know. Thinking about you." He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his eyes to stare at his feet. He looked back up at me abruptly. "Oh, I made beef kabobs with grilled onions and tomatoes. That's your favorite, right?"
It wasn't. I mean, to be fair, it was when I was 11. The year before mom died, but I decided to give him credit. "Yeah, those are great." I offered a weak grin, the corners of my mouth twitching. Bacon cheeseburgers with sour cream and barbecue sauce, I corrected mentally.
Dad nodded and smiled back. He approached my bed. "May I?" I nodded and he sat. "Is that a suitcase?"
I nodded again, not sure of how to sit. Should I turn towards him? Sit criss cross on my bed? Stand? Awkwardly, I shifted my body so I faced him and put my uneasy hands in my lap.
Dad nodded and also looked very uncomfortable. "For hunting," he said. He said it as more of a comment than question so I nodded slowly, biting my lip. He cracked his knuckles and stood, shoving his calloused hands in his jeans pockets. "Did you want to come? With me?"
I leapt from my bed, my grin now nothing but real. "Are you kidding? Absolutely. Yes." I snatched my suitcase from underneath my blankets, and even tucked Tig underneath my armpit.
Dad chuckled and smirked at my reaction and slowly started backing towards the door. "We leave tomorrow morning, bright and early. We're going to caravan with your cousins and uncles and grandfather. Sound... okay?"
I nodded eagerly and ran past him to the bathroom to gather my toiletries. I waited until I heard Dad walking downstairs, and until I heard the screen door shut signaling he was back outside. I did a small victory dance, all smiles. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe I'd have a Dad again. I packed up my final things and sighed with a small smile on my face that I couldn't seem to wipe off no matter how hard I tried. I tucked Tig away underneath some clothes to insure my cousins wouldn't be able to torment me if they saw it.
A loud crash erupted from outside followed by some screaming. My dad may not have been drunk, but his friends definitely were. I groaned, sure I would be the one who would have to clean up whatever it was on our yard. From the metallic crash I heard, it was probably going to trash from our trash can. I zipped up my suitcase quickly and set it by the door and rushed down the stairs, taking them 2 at a time. I wasn't looking forward to whatever would come of this BBQ, but I figured, by some logic, the faster I went down the stairs the faster tomorrow morning would come. And I sure was desperate for a tomorrow.