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Brianna's face is covered in chocolate when I round the corner and she lets out an adorable scream. "Mama!"
Mom helps her off the counter and Brianna runs full speed into my waiting arms. I pick her up and twirl as we hold onto each other as tight as we can.
"I missed you," I whisper as she cups my face in her hands and presses her nose to mine.
"Me and Grandma made chocolate chip pancakes for dinner," she beams.
"I can't wait to try them," I tell her.
"You're not going to pizza night?" Mom asks.
I shake my head as I put Brianna down. "I've been gone all week. I want to spend as much time with Brianna as I can this weekemd."
"Then, we'll have pancakes for dinner," Mom smiles.
"Is Dad working late tonight?"
Mom shakes her blond head. "No, he should be home any minute."
"Can I ask you a question?" I grab a chocolate chip from the open bag on the counter.
"Sure."
"Let's say, hypothetically, someone you once dated when you were younger bought a...abusinessbecause it reminded them of you," I clear my throat. "That's weird, right?"
Mom raises an eyebrow. "What did Brady buy that reminds him of you?"
"Mom!" I chastise her. "I said it was hypothetical."
She laughs, the sound like a melody. "You might be 31, but I can still see right through you like I could when you were 8."
"He bought the Glorious Pig," I blurt out.
"And?"
"What does it mean?"
Mom shrugs. "Why does it have to mean anything?"
"Because normal people don't buy bars in shady parts of town because they shared their first kiss with a former love there," I guffaw. "It's weird and gross."
Mom runs a hand over her face, trying to hide her laughter. "It's weird, but sweet."
"Not sweet," I point a finger at her as Brianna clings to my legs. "It's gross."
"I think there are places that are special to people," Mom hitches her shoulder. "Brady has good memories of the Glorious Pig and he bought it, so what?"
"So, I'm working for him now," my eyes widen.
"Is this the hill we're dying on today?" Mom purses her lips.
I groan. Mom has this annoying phrase we use togain perspective. It started the summer after freshman year when I might have taken Dad's jeep for a joyride and I might have knocked one of the sideview mirrors off when I clipped a tree.
Dad was having a meltdown over his beloved yellow car in the driveway when Mom stepped in and said, "Matthew, is this the hill we're dying on today?"
Dad said it was, but Mom said the mirror could be replaced. My feelings and emotions, however, were going to be more difficult to fix in the future. Dad died on the yellow jeep hill that day. Come to think of it, that's really when we started butting heads.
I never should have driven his jeep without asking—and without a license. But I was so sure I could drive because Ava was taking lessons and she made it look so easy. I just wanted to drive around the neighborhood to prove I could.
