love letters addressed to anonymous
.33. ([ Expectations ])
Atticus Gardner was not a strict man. He trusted his daughter when she said she'd be coming home late. When she said she was going to a party where there'd be no alcohol and drugs, he knew she was telling the truth. And because he didn't bother following her, calling her, tracking her calls and yelling at her about bills and responsibility and the dangers of life like other fathers, she never got into trouble and came home smiling like the little girl he kept thinking he could hold onto forever.
But Atticus wasn't stupid. He could rely on his daughter to be smart and say no at the right times and to keep up her grades while she trained relentlessly for recitals and performances on school-nights. He could guarantee, without checking up on her the entire week, that she'd do her chores and help out her mother with shopping and bank accounts. But what he couldn't be sure of at any point in time was that the boys she hung out with would even come close to doing the same.
They were gangly and tall for the most part, although the one that was short and small according to his dependable daughter was also the sweetest one of the group. His hair turned heads and kept all eyes fixed on the explosion of color and spikes, but after she assured him the boy was good, he took to wondering if the leather pants and chains and collars were a declaration of sexual orientation deviance instead. The other boys were normal-looking but the blond one had a loud and vulgar mouth and the pencil-headed one was bossy and sneaky and a typical enabler. The one with white hair had a suspicious accent Atticus didn't buy as British along with a weak, effeminate nature, and the eye-liner and earring-wearing punk was too smooth and too smart for Atticus to feel completely at ease around.
His daughter was sweet and gentle and she kept away from drama and social circle black holes and he knew she'd never do drugs, have alcohol, have sex or by extension, get pregnant. The worst she could do was in science class and those grades were average still and so, easily forgiven. And because she was the perfect child, Atticus was reluctant to talk to her about her best friends.
Her mother didn't mind them from the beginning and thought they were all charming and adorable and she laughed at their daughter's attempts to mother them. Atticus tried explaining the many dangers and risks of hanging around one-track-mind boys but his wife would stare at him, unconvinced, and he'd back off halfheartedly. Back then, the short and blond and pencil-headed ones were the only boys he had to worry about, but he knew they were bad company when his child was shipped off to a godforsaken island to deal with a megalomaniac obsessed with underage children in an international competition about a strange card game. The night she returned, he sent her to her room without a single word, just a small gesture that meant 'I know this was a one-time occurrence so I won't waste my breath lecturing you.'
But it turned out that her friends really were magnets for trouble and the adventures only got worse with evil masterminds and future dominators and power-hungry tyrants who wanted to kill and enslave all of the world's people, including a sweet brunette who scored a perfect on the SAT. There were many reasons and excuses as to why his daughter had to skip school and why she had been involved in dangerous world-ending activities but absolutely none of her friends' shenanigans were credible enough to be listed as extracurriculars. He bit back exasperated cries of distress and watched from afar as she dealt with heartbreak and friendship and endeavors that depended on card-playing skills.
And her mother just shook her head and told him that the only two dangers they needed to worry about was when their girl would realize she liked one of the boys and when she'd have to separate from them. Needless to say, Atticus ignored his wife's arguments, deeming them too ridiculously mundane.
Atticus wasn't cruel but he desperately wished the boys could vanish, could somehow get up and walk out of his door and never return, just leaving him and his small house alone. He wanted the days back when his kitchen wasn't frequently trashed and when boys didn't stampede up and down his stairs and when he was the sole occupant of the living room and sole silent viewer of games on his prized plasma.
The trouble, his wife pointed out blearily one evening after the kids had departed, was really only with one of them. And Atticus realized she was right – it was the blond one.
The other boys respected his daughter and listened to her, most of the times anyways, and Atticus felt proud seeing them follow her instructions and directions and her harried warnings when she spotted him stomping down, face red. But the blond one, Joey as she kept reminding him, was a problem child. He had untreated ADHD and frequently blurted out strange, long-winded curses that were imaginative at the very least. He stood on the furniture and yelled all the time, excited at everything and anything remotely interesting. His daughter was patient and kind but Atticus was not, and all the general distaste was beginning to ferment into single-minded hate.
There was no use in barring him at the door. The blond continued to sneak in through windows with the pack and taunt his daughter and lecture her on not being wild and free and he was insolent and egotistical. There was nothing good in him, he reminded his wife daily and she just smirked as she got ready for bed. There was nothing good in him, he tried reminding his daughter once, but she was strangely defensive and almost snapped when he tried to ban him from visiting. She marched up to her room when he barked that his word was final and stayed quiet at the dinner table until he read the 'Dennis the Menace' strip in the paper and she tried her best to swallow down a smile.
If it makes her happy, let her be around him, her mother winked and he sighed and relented, as usual.
Then, for a few weeks, he was a no show and the house was intact for a record length of time. The others trooped by but they didn't stay for long and something like graduation hung over their heads as they walked in and out, shuffling and mumbling more to themselves than to each other. About time they grew up, Atticus grinned and settled into his chair but his wife hesitated by the door and his daughter simply blinked back at her computer screen.
Atticus thought he had nothing left to worry about until the day came when he trotted downstairs and found his daughter sitting by herself on the countertop, her daily glass of orange juice untouched beside her. Her eyes were glazed and she looked as if she wasn't quite there and Atticus backed up, holding his breath, feeling the absence as acutely as she.
Days went by, his wife started travelling upstairs into their daughter's room more often, and no more young male voices floated about the house. Atticus prided himself on knowing the two women in his life inside and out but the shock of realizing he missed something about himself came like a swift strike between the eyes. His life was no longer complete without screaming until he was hoarse at boys with bulging cheeks darting out of his kitchen. Moments of silence meant to come as pauses before earthquake-like shakes and rattles turned into long gaping stretches in the day. Whatever had unraveled and broken between his daughter and her band had somehow touched him too, and something like desperation urged him to pick up the phone and dial a number he never thought he'd look for.
When he returned, hair cut, voice clipped, a blond with a sharp, adult face, Atticus almost didn't let him in. His daughter came up behind him but was oddly quiet and for a moment, he wasn't sure if he should close the door on the boy and on the situation brewing into a confrontation. Maybe he didn't know her as well as he liked to believe.
The blond didn't really speak, looking absolutely dumbfounded, mouth slightly open, and his daughter stared back coolly. Atticus was about to leave altogether when his daughter pushed him aside, opened her mouth -
And nothing came out. The three of them stood in silence, the blond awkwardly alternating between staring at a girl trying her best not to cry and glancing at his mud-streaked sneakers. Another minute ticked by and suddenly there was a crack and she started blubbering, the tears trickling down at a speed that was beyond alarming. She stood there, glaring and quietly hiccupping, eyes red and shining when the blond stepped forward and wrapped her up in his arms, saying nothing but just pulling her closer than Atticus would normally have allowed.
Atticus was not an emotional man. He never cried while watching movies and had maintained a hard, unmoving face at every funeral he had attended. It would be a lie to call himself sensitive and so he never did.
But his daughter was the only one he knew he'd ever cry for. She was precious and his darling little girl and despite never knowing how to comfort her, he would move in and pat her on the back and whisper words of encouragement that she accepted, nonsensical though they were. She had disappeared in the mall one day, trying to guide another smaller child back to his mother and Atticus, running the length of the department store on all sides, felt his vision blur from something other than fatigue. She had crashed the car once, just a few days after she received her license, and went to the hospital only as a precaution, but no amount of consolation or repetition of 'she's ok' kept his eyes from conjuring up tears.
His daughter stood there, wrapped up in the arms of a boy he still didn't like very much. He couldn't see her face and could only hope she had ceased her crying…but even if she hadn't, he was surprised to feel relief at knowing she didn't have to. He watched the blond press his mouth to her ear and whisper something he couldn't make out, and he knew right then that his own expectations were the wrong things to judge the boy by.
Atticus swallowed down a cough, made his way quietly up the stairs and found his wife sitting on their bed, folding his socks. She looked up, saw his face and her own broke into a smile.
"I told you, didn't I?"
"Yeah…he's a good kid."
A/N:
Wow...it's been literally forever since I updated this story! I honestly forgot how much fun I have while writing shots for these two, and I will definitely be updating more often! I'm pretty proud of this piece, it was great to imagine Téa's home life and how the boys intersect. Before I restart my writing on the current arc, I am determined to write a kiss shot...wish me luck, it's really hard to do for some reason with Téa and Joey! XD;;
And to anyone who reads this, mind dropping a comment? It really is great motivation and I'd love to hear what you guys think!
Hope you enjoyed!
