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I didn’t want handouts. What I wanted was a life I knew I could work for.
What began as the idea of a pissed-off nineteen-year-old soon blossomed into a clothing store that I opened two years later. My father had been insistent on purchasing the store property for me, but I had only taken him up on it once he agreed to a repayment schedule I could keep up with.
My parents had helped me take care of Brody while I had opened the store and taken weekend classes in design and fashion at the community college. Finally, after eight years of blood, sweat, and tears, the name of my store was recognized on a coastal scale as the premier fashion outlet for plus-sized women: Curvy Belle.
“You know, I sometimes look at this place and still can’t believe I made it a reality,” I said.
“Well, believe it. This was all you.”
“And you,” I said.
“I came in later when you needed a manager, but you were the one who paid your father back less than two years in. You were the one who became a marketing expert and a financial expert and a design expert. You were the one who did this. And I’m taking you out Thursday to celebrate.”
“Wait, Thursday? What are we celebrating?” I asked.
“Are you kidding me? That’s the seven-year anniversary of the store. We’re going out and celebrating like we do every year.”
“Geez, that’s right.”
“It’s okay. You always forget because you’re doing everything else this place needs, and I always remind you because I really like excuses to go out,” Kristi said.
“Mom?”
“I know, sweetheart. Time to get ready for our water balloon fight,” I said, smiling.
“You already know your parents will watch Brody for the evening. They have every year so we can go celebrate. Let them know you’ll be dropping him off. Then be prepared to have a night on the town.”
“Is this night on you monetarily?” I asked.
“Depends. Will my boss give me a raise?”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want for all the shit you do for this place.”
“Then it sounds like the night is on me.”
“Now, who’s ready for a water balloon fight!?”
“Me! Me! Me!”
Brody launched himself off the chair and came running into my arms. I wrapped him up and lifted him off his feet, peppering the top of his head with kisses. I knew he wouldn’t mind spending time with my parents. They always spoiled the shit out of him. I would pick him up Friday after breakfast and my guess was he’d have at least two new toys in tow and a bag of sweets to torture me with later that weekend.
But as far as a support system went, I had the best: parents who had helped me instead of hurt me when I had told them I was pregnant at eighteen, a father who bought the building for my clothing store so I could follow my dreams, a mother who babysat on the weekends so I could take my classes, and a best friend who managed the store when she really could go anywhere and do anything else.
I had the family I wanted.
For the most part.
Tyler
“Come on, Tyler. You’ve been in town for almost two weeks and we haven’t once gone out yet.”
“Have you ever thought that’s because I don’t want to?” I asked Brandon over the phone.
“You’re twenty-seven years old. You’re at the top of your career.”
“I’m not anywhere near the top.”
“Your paycheck tells me differently. There are so many women out there who would love to spend a night with you and that mind of yours.”
“Yeah, and by mind you mean dick, right?”
“That, too. Come on, I’m not asking you to find your special someone. I’m only asking you to get out there with your best friend and throw back some drinks.”
“And possibly get laid.”
“If you don’t want to snag some ass, then wingman for me so I can. You may enjoy your drought, but I sure as hell don’t.”
I chuckled as I shook my head.
“I guess I could spare a few hours to help you get laid,” I said.
“Perfect. Want to start with a drink or two at Varnish, then come up with a game plan?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes to Varnish. No to the game plan. But glad to see you’re still listening, because I know where your mind is.”
“Uh huh. And where is it?”
“On her.”
I fell silent as I gazed out the window of my apartment. It wasn’t quite what I wanted. One day I wanted to be on the penthouse level of one of the more prestigious condominium complexes in Los Angeles, but my two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment that sat close to the water was good enough for now. If I opened my window I could smell the salted air, and I found myself frequently opening it at night and falling asleep to the smell.
