Just a Number(82)

“So, you seemed surprised to see me,” he speaks up after I finish searching my bedroom with no luck. “Were you expecting…your, uh, boyfriend?”

Inhaling sharply, I freeze, dropping the couch pillows I’d just lifted. Slowly, I turn around, trying to smile and really hoping it doesn’t come across as creepy. It probably does, though. “Y-yes?”

“So maybe I’ll get to meet this guy before tomorrow?”

His chances are increasingly good with every second that passes that I don’t find my damn phone!

“I, uh, I suppose that’s possible…”

…unless I can stop that from happening! I continue silently. My panic continues to grow because this situation is completely uncontrolled, and that’s not what Owen and I wanted. This has the potential to blow up in our faces, and I don’t want that.

“You go to a party last night?” Dad asks, drawing my full attention to him. He’s staring past me and toward my bed where my gown still lays across it. What was once the reminder of a wonderful fairytale night has now transformed into evidence in what he’s sure to think is the biggest scandal since Watergate.

I dash across the apartment and toss the dress into my closet. I don’t know why, but I panic and this seems like a good idea. “You bet. Tons of fun.” He eyes me suspiciously, and I know he’s picking up on my spiking anxiety.

“So, where are you staying?” I ask, hopeful that he didn’t just assume he could stay here. It’s not that he’s not welcome, but maybe, if he says he plans to stay at a hotel—or even Owen’s place—I can get him out of here before the hypothetical shit hits the fan.

“I know you don’t have a lot of extra room here, so I wasn’t going to impose. I actually stopped by Owen’s place, but he wasn’t home—he’s probably out with that girl he’s been seeing.” He sounds proud of his best friend…for now. “Anyway, I figured I’d come over here before trying again.”

“Did, uh, did you try calling him?” I ask, checking between the cushions on the couch with no luck and then dropping to the floor to look under it. Seriously, where the hell is that damn thing!

I realize right this second that I’m royally fucked. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get a hold of him before he shows up here with an armload of Chinese takeout, and my stomach rolls. Dad parks himself in one of the stools at the kitchen counter, and I rush to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.

That’s when I hear it. The special ringtone I’ve picked out for Owen. As I Touch Myself by The Divinyls fills my small apartment, I silently curse myself out for not putting it on vibrate. I rush out of the bathroom, ready to apologize and explain away the horrible song choice as an inside joke between Liz and me, when I stop in the hall, terror grabbing me and holding me in place.

There, in my father’s hand, is my phone. He’s looking down at it, confused. Soon, though, his eyes find mine and he holds the phone up, the screen facing me. I hold my breath, because while I figured I’d be able to laugh about the song with him, I know he’s seen who’s calling me.

He knows, and he knows because I was so fucking careless. Again.

“Wh-where’d you find that?” I ask, reaching for my phone. He’s not so willing to relinquish it just yet, but I keep my arm outstretched, just in case.

“On your front table,” he replies, his voice eerily calm. I swallow thickly, my knees threatening to give out on me any second. “Amelia?”

“Y-yes, Daddy?” My voice shakes, and my vision darkens around the edges. He never uses my full first name. I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out or throw up. Possibly both…probably both.

“Why is Owen calling you?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before finally holding my phone out to me. “And why is there a picture of the two of you together, in what appears to be your bed?”

The picture he’s talking about was from a week or so ago. Owen and I were lying in bed, and I wanted a picture of the two of us. He was only too happy to oblige, so I grabbed my phone, snuggled in close and took the picture. I then immediately attached it to his name in my contacts folder so that it would pop up whenever he called me. Seemed like a good idea at the time, because what were the chances anyone was going to look at my phone before we’d come out as a couple?

I should have known better than to assume all was good.

“I can explain,” I say, hugging the phone to my chest as though that can somehow make him un-see. Tears sting my eyes, threatening to spill over onto my cheeks, but I hold them back for now.