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I can see his smile fade again as he leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek.
“Tell you what,” he says, taking the key from my hand, “you can keep it parked at my house. When you come over to our neighborhood, we can drop the top and take her out for a spin; how about that?”
“Sounds good, Dad.”
I stand there staring at the car along with two valet guys who are admiring her from every angle.
“That’s what he enjoys doing, you know?” I turn to my right where Chantelle, my stepmother, has sidled up beside me. “Giving gifts is one of his love languages.”
“Or maybe that’s an excuse that rich people give instead of actually taking the time to think out something thoughtful or meaningful or just respect the person’s wishes when they said no gifts?” Her lips form into a thin smile and I shake my head. “Sorry, that was rude. You’re just being kind.”
Chantelle is clearly a lot younger than my father, but she’s also probably one of the best things that has ever happened to him. I still struggle with the notion that people can really, fully change who they are at their core, but I also feel like a hypocrite when I see the way my father has changed because of her. When I heard that he was forty, marrying a woman who was my age, I laughed. I didn’t think for a second that it would last; it was merely a cliché life crisis move. But here they are, ten years and two kids later and he couldn’t be happier.
“He’s working on it, Brontë. I know it’s practically a slap in the face to ask for your patience and understanding with him, but I promise you,” she says softly, reaching her perfectly manicured hand out to rest on my arm, “he wants a genuine relationship with you. He talks about it all the time.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s just hard to forgive and forget.”
“I have no doubt. You’re justified in those feelings, Brontë. The boys were upset they couldn’t come tonight by the way, Silas in particular. He and Jenson made this for you.” She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a hand-drawn card that brings a huge smile to my face.
Silas and Jenson are the two little gems that came out of my family’s toxic breakup. From the first day I got to meet them, it’s like I’ve always been their big sister. And one thing that Chantelle always makes sure they know is that we are brother and sister, no half this or half that.
“Aw, those boys. I need to come see them this weekend.”
“They would love that and your father would love it too, so he can take you out in your new car.” She winks at me. “I better go find him, but I want to throw a fun little family cookout in the next few weeks, kick off summer right and celebrate your birthday. The boys will want to show you all their new flips and tricks they learned in swim lessons over the winter.”
“That sounds lovely, Chantelle.” I pull her in for a tight hug. “Tell the boys I missed them and I’ll see them soon.”
I head back inside to find my friends. “Hey, you guys want to go grab a drink somewhere else? I’m feeling a little celebrated out.”
“Oh yes, please!” Taylor says, grabbing her clutch and hopping down from her stool.
“Just a second,” I say, looking around for my dad. I spot him and head over to let him know we’re leaving.
“Thanks again, Dad.” I give him a hug and he squeezes me so tight, like he’s trying to make up for years lost.
“I’m so proud of you, Brontë. Your mother would be too.”
This time I can clearly see the tears and for some reason, maybe because I don’t want to disappoint him or maybe because I’m tired of feeling guilty, I agree to the meeting with his friend.
“I’ll do it. I’ll meet with Beckham Archer for an interview.”
A few moments later, Sylvia, Taylor, and I are making our way into a dimly lit speakeasy type bar in The Loop. This isn’t our usual neighborhood and the bars here are filled with finance bros in overpriced suits and clearly veneered teeth, all trying to shout over each other about their “big win.”
“You sure you want to stay here?” Sylvia asks, looking around, and I shrug, grabbing a high-top table. “Doesn’t seem like our vibe.”
“Yeah, but it’s close by. I don’t feel like Ubering anywhere. I just need something stronger than the glasses of champagne I downed.”
“Did your dad manage to talk you into working at his company?” Taylor asks.
“No, but I did something stupid.” I roll my eyes. “I agreed to take an interview at his fellow billionaire friend’s company, Archer Financial. I guess he needs an admin or something. Ugh, I’m so disappointed in myself that I didn’t just tell him I want to work in nonprofit and maybe start my own someday.”
“Honestly, Brontë, I think it’s a smart idea.” Sylvia shrugs and I look at her sideways. “Remember when you met me in undergrad? I was the teacher’s assistant and I told you that I was unsure about getting my master’s in education? Well, I didn’t listen to that gut feeling and now I’m a teacher and honestly, I kind of hate it.”
“You hate it?” Taylor’s ears perk up.
“I don’t hate it all the time, but it just doesn’t feel like it was my passion, what I’m meant to do; it’s something I’m good at so I convinced myself it was my dream. Sometimes I don’t think I’ve even figured out what my dream is yet, but I know it’s not in the education world.”
“So you think taking this job, if I get it, would be a way for me to try out the financial world before I either fully commit or walk away?”
