You Think You've Got It, Don'tcha?

I woke up early Saturday morning to the sun shining through my purple curtains and sat up, rubbing my eyes and yawned. I switched my line of focus to my alarm clock, watching as the bright red numbers read 7:45 am. It was early for me, usually I never really woke up this early unless I had training, over at Joseph's College of Beauty not too far down the street from where I lived. I got up, slipping on my Hello Kitty slippers and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, walking downstairs to the living room where dad, with his freshly brewed cup of coffee, was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper from the previous day. I leaned in the living room doorway for support, (it takes me a while to wake up completely, so there's little to no function of balance) as I crossed one leg over the other.

"Dad." I called, waiting for him to turn around to face me. There was no response. He was probably too caught up in the paper. I decided to shuffle over to the couch slowly, and instantly plopped down on the couch, poking my dad's shoulder. "Dad." I repeated. This time, he actually acknowledged me, and raised his eyebrow, not turning his focus from the paper.

"Hm?" He responded, his eyes scrolling up, down, and over the paper repeatedly. I turned to face him and let my left leg dangle off of the couch.

"Where's mom? Did she not come home from work yet?" I asked, propping my arm on the back of the couch. He shook his head and shrugged. My dad's shrugging is like my maybe. It always turns out to be a no. "So she's not?" I asked again. He nodded in response.

"Yeah. Late shift I guess. Told me to wake you up whenever, but I guess that's already done for me huh?" He chuckled, closing the paper. "When are you gonna start packing to move away?" He asked, rising from his seat to walk to the kitchen. I shrugged also, getting up to follow him and shoved my hands in the pockets of my Hello Kitty onesie.

"Dunno. Not sure if I wanna leave yet, honestly."

"Well, you might want to start soon, Ry. That college you applied for starts in a few weeks, and it's gonna take some time to clean up what it looks like, what Hello Kitty threw up in your room." he was right. I was possibly over-obsessed with Hello Kitty, and I had no shame in that. Hello Kitty was one of my favorite little things ever, plus there was some pretty cute Hello Kitty shoes and whatnot that they came out with.

I was only training at Joseph's College of Beauty so I would at least have some experience with what I was going to be working with when I moved to California. Going to the Cinema Makeup School was one of my dreams. Plus I had some old friends from there that I wanted to catch up with. Usually when dad asked if I was going to be packing, I would tell him that I wasn't wanting to leave yet, just because I was too lazy to pack my things. When in reality I couldn't wait to get out of this hellhole of a city called Hastings. I cared about all my friends and family here but hey, something's gotta give. Sure, my parents were good to me, but then it was the drama. Really, I'm cool with everyone here just not the problems that a majority of them cause. But whatever makes them sleep at night, I suppose, right? And even though I was still living with my parents, and technically a legal adult, I couldn't cuss around my parents. To them, I was still 15. I was still their baby girl. My older brother, on the other hand, going to college for computer animation, or something like that, got to do whatever he wanted when he was my age, but that was because he was the oldest, I think. Honestly I never really cared. "I'm too lazy to start packing now, Dad." i whined, walking over to the fridge to get the left overs from the previous night. Dad's lasagna never ceased to have me drooling and arguing over the first piece. It wasn't such a big deal now that it was only my parents and I, and I didn't have to worry about knocking my brother over the head with the back of my hand. Honestly I never got the first piece, and my pain in the ass brother always did.
I grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer and stuck the plate in the microwave, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching dad fumble through the cabinets and run his hand through his hair. Usually he'd already have breakfast done for him and mom, but he had gotten off track. That wasn't really normal for him. I shrugged it off and turned on the kitchen radio, then turned to the CD option. Then all of a sudden, Of Mice and Men's You're Not Alone Anymore filled the air. I grinned, knowing that he had gotten ahold of my CDs again. I sang along.
"It's not over, you're not alone anymore,
There's always hope for the willing"
Dad chuckled, flipping the scrambled egg he had made for mom. His hair was turning grey, but of course, that's what happens when you're 47. I ran my hand through my hair, secretly hoping that my hair wouldn't turn out like that when I grew older. I kept watching him, his every move was flawless. Then I forgot that's also what happens when you live with a complicated woman such as my mom, who's used to being served when she gets home. Dad loved cooking for her. He had no problems with it, because I guess that's how it is when you truly love someone. This year would be their 23rd year together. Amazing.
"When's mom gonna be home? I want her to help me pack my shi-" I clamped my hand over my mouth and dad raised his brow at me. "I meant… I want her to help me pack my things. Yeah. Things.." I nodded slowly, shrugging, and grabbed my plate from the microwave, setting it on the counter to cool off.
"Watch your language, young lady." He said, I rolled my eyes.
"Whatever, dad."
"I'm serious, Ryden James."
"…Don't call me that, dad.."
"Don't give me a reason to, and I won't."
My dad always called me Ryden James when he was upset or disappointed with me. Or when he just wanted me to call him that. It didn't bother me too much, though. I just didn't like it. James wasn't the proper middle name to give a girly girl. It just wasn't. I think my mom was on drugs when she suggested that, and dad just didn't want to argue.
A few minutes later, mom walked through the door just as dad set the eggs and a couple of pieces of bacon on the plate, snagging my fork from my hand and mouthed, "You can get another one." as he set it on her plate and sat the plate down on the table, sitting down also. I put my leftovers back in the microwave and decided that I could eat it later anyways, then shuffled back to the living room

Notes