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Me: Ugh, I know I’ve been an awful friend. I’m so sorry! Been crazy busy, got a lot to fill you ladies in on. Definitely down for brunch this weekend. Mimosas on me! XO.
* * *
“Come with me!” Jenson grabs my hand and pulls me through the entryway toward the staircase. “Lemon, Lemon likes to play with this ball and when I frow it he says eeeeyyyyoooowwww!” He gives me his best cat impression and it makes me laugh.
“Jenson, sweetie, let her get settled for a moment.” Chantelle gives me the mom look and he sticks out his lower lip.
“Ooookay.”
“It’s okay. We’ll go up and see the kitties in just a second, okay?” He nods and Silas runs over to give me a hug.
“Boys, you get fifteen minutes to play with the cats before we need to wash up for dinner.”
“Moooom, that’s like barely enough time,” Silas groans.
“You can play after, you know that, but dinner first.” She embraces me. “Hey, Brontë, you okay?” She looks at me suspiciously and I shrug.
“Been better.”
She looks over her shoulder as my dad approaches. We’ll talk later, she mouths to me as she steps aside, my dad’s outstretched arms embracing me.
“Hey, kiddo, how are you doing?”
“Hey, Dad. I’m good.”
“You sure?” He pulls back to look at me. “You’re looking a little thin and tired.”
“Jonas.” Chantelle smacks his arm and rolls her eyes. “Man has such a way with women.”
“She’s my daughter, I’m worried,” he says, chasing her down and pinching her butt, making her squeal. He catches her, spinning her around and dipping her before planting a big kiss on her lips.
“Grosss!” Jenson yells and Silas shrieks and covers his eyes.
It makes me smile, knowing my dad is happy and that the boys are getting a good example of love and what marriage and a home should be like.
“Okay, boys, let’s go see some citrus,” I say, taking a hand from each of them.
“What’s citrus?” Jenson asks.
“That’s what lemons and limes are, Jenson; they’re citrus fruits.”
“No, they’re not, they’re kitties!” He laughs as we climb the stairs to go play with the kittens for a few moments before dinner.
After dinner my dad and I head to his study to share a glass of whiskey, or rather, he drinks his whiskey and after a single sip, I simply swirl mine around in the tumbler till he drinks it as well.
“So, I have made a decision.” I feel my shoulders tensing. I know my dad said I can be more open with him but I’m still nervous. “I quit working for Be—Mr. Archer.”
“Oh? Did something happen?” He sits up, immediately into dad mode.
“No.” I wave my hands. “I just know that it’s not what I’m meant to do. After we had our talk the other day and you mentioned regrets, I just realized I was wasting valuable time. I’ve started developing my business plan for my nonprofit and I’ve found two really sound startups I want to invest in. I’d love your input on them, if you have time?”
“You are just like your mother.” He smiles and it warms my heart. “She was a go-getter. That woman decided something and”—he claps his hands—“bam, she was doing it. I’m proud of you, sweetheart. And I’m not just saying that because of our talk about it. I mean it.”
“Thanks, Dad. Seriously, that means a lot.”
“I’m happy to introduce you to my finance guy; he’ll be a real asset as you start planning things out, budgeting, and he’ll help you with your own investments.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a stack of business cards, shuffling through them till he finds the one he’s looking for. “Here, this is him,” he says, reaching to hand it to me.
“You’re so old-school.” I smile, sliding the business card into my pocket. “You know you can share his contact information to me via text.”
