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“And I didn’t get you through school with two degrees expecting you to need to move back in.”
Frowning, I defended, “First of all, you didn’t get me through school. My athletic abilities got me through school.”
“Okay, but what about the spending money I deposited into your account every other month?” he challenged, the question leaving me speechless as my father chuckled and groaned, “Exactly.”
Losing the argument -and just losing in life, in general- made my frown tighten as my father climbed from the bed and expressed, “I’m sorry you’re going through all of this, baby girl. I mean, if I would’ve known you were struggling up there, I would’ve helped you out long before it even got to this point.”
Truthfully, I felt like I shouldn’t have needed his help. I mean, I had my degrees, I was equipped with an ambitious spirit and a desire to make waves in the sneaker industry, and I was an adult who’d prided herself on independence which meant I definitely wasn’t running to my parents the second shit got tough.
That pride had gotten me nowhere though. And now here I was, standing in my childhood home on the verge of tears as my father pulled me into a hug and insisted, “Don’t worry, Bri Bri. You’ll land on your feet. And until you do, you can stay here for as long as you need to.”
“I don’t think Lady Tremaine agrees with you.”
“Lady Tremaine?”
“You know, the Wicked Stepmother from Cinderella.”
Chuckling, my father mentioned, “You hated fairy tales as a kid. But you’ll forever be my little princess.”
Even though I’d always loathed that particular sentiment, hearing it now brought a level of comfort I desperately needed as I sank deeper into my father’s embrace, only to end up dodging his attempt to kiss my forehead a few seconds later.
The move left him confused until I reminded him, “Your lips have been places I’ve only seen on accident and do not ever care to see again.”
That made him chuckle once more as he sighed and admitted, “I’m happy you’re here, Briyana.”
“Me too, Dad,” I replied honestly, giving him a final squeeze before I started to leave his room. But once I hit the doorframe, I realized I had one more thing to tell him, turning back his way to say, “Oh, and Dad? Please never ask me for lube again.”
