Expectations

Chapter 3

My dad, Bob, and I navigate our way through the busy backstage halls in search of Chris. Bob and my dad are having a light conversation I can't even force myself to focus on, I'm in too deep with my own thoughts at the moment.

What do I say to him? Do I shake his hand? What if he's a germaphobe? Do I just politely smile and wave? Do I even look him in the eye? Can I even bring myself to look him in the eye? What if I say something stupid? What if he hates me at first glance? What if he backed out and decided to hire someone better at last minute? What if-

"Chris!" Bob yells, pulling me from my mini panic attack.

Oh shit.

A man standing at the end of the hallway surrounded by a group of people snaps his head back in our direction. I see him hold up a finger to the group, signaling that he'll be right back, and he starts walking towards us.

The man, who is more than likely Chris, is dressed in a blue flannel, dark wash jeans, and a pair of white sneakers that probably cost more than any piece of clothing I'll ever own. His dark hair is lightly gelled back and he has a full face of light facial hair. I'd guess he's in his mid to late thirties.

"Bob," he acknowledges as he makes his way over to us.

We're all practically standing on top of each other against the wall as people are still running around trying to move equipment, pushing my anxiety to an all-time high. I grip the handle of my suitcase tighter in attempt to ease some of my nerves.

"Chris, this is my friend, Jeff," he says briefly, gesturing to my dad. "And this is Joslyn," he says with a little emphasis in his voice.

"Joslyn," Chris says, pulling his eyebrows together for a moment, and then raises them in realization. 

"Hi, I'm Joslyn. Joslyn Trett. Nice to meet you," I say with a polite smile, prying my hand off of my suitcase and sticking it out to him, deciding to go with that option.

"Nice to meet you as well," he says, giving me a firm hand shake and a nod of his head.

There's a brief silence after he lets go of my hand and he eyes me up and down. His dark brown eyes finally land on mine and there's some sort of emotion I can't quite decipher. Confusion possibly? Oh no, he hates me already.

"Sorry," he says, lessening his gaze on me. "I just didn't expect you to be so... young."

"Oh," I say, slightly taken aback, not really knowing what else to say. What did he expect? "Well, a lot of people would say I'm basically a seventy year old woman trapped in a twenty year olds body," I try to joke and lighten up the mood.

"She may be young, but trust me, she has years of experience. If she can handle wrangling four rowdy pop punk boys for years in a twelve passenger van she can do anything," my dad says, coming to my defense. "Plus, she's kind of a control freak. She can plan and execute everything down to the second."