Chapter 7
MYA
My stepdad walks into the kitchen just as I’m putting the final touches on my famous seven-layer dip that he begged me to make for game day. He’s wearing a Philadelphia Eagles jersey, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
I’m a Cowboys fan, inherently because of my dad. But Devon is an Eagles fanatic, which makes us arch-nemeses.
We’re a huge football family, so Sundays aren’t just for dinners in the Dessen-Jones household.
“You ready to lose, loser?” When he doesn’t respond, I look up; his expression is solemn, and I immediately go into worry mode.
“Are you okay?”
He heads to the fridge, grabs another beer.
“I’m just thinking…” he starts, his serious tone making my stomach flip, “about how sad you’re going to be once my team kicks your ass!” He breaks into wicked laughter as he hunts for the bottle opener.
I swat the back of his head playfully. “Don’t be an ass!”
My stepdad and I have always had a great relationship.
When he came into our lives, he brought sunshine with him in the form of his smiles, his warmth, and Tiana, who instantly felt like a sister to me.
At first, I was hesitant. I was ten, still grieving my dad, and the idea of another man stepping into the picture felt like a betrayal.
But even at that age, I could see how happy he made my mom.
The house soon began to feel alive again; brighter days replaced the gloomy ones.
My mom sat me down once and explained that Devon would never replace my dad, never erase his memory. And he echoed the same promise. That’s why we still talk about my dad openly, and why his pictures still hang proudly on our walls.
Devon pops the cap off his drink and takes a swig, smirking at me over the rim.
“You know, when the Cowboys choke this season—and they will choke—I’ll be here with tissues and your seven-layer dip to comfort you.”
I scoff, grabbing the tortilla chips. “Please. The Cowboys have more fight in them than your precious Eagles. I’d start stocking up on tissues for yourself, old man.”
He lets out a dramatic gasp. “Old man? You wound me, MJ.” He flexes his arms like he’s in a commercial, which only makes me laugh harder. “Do I look old?”
“Like a fossil,” I shoot back, grinning. “But a lovable one. Don’t worry, Mom still thinks you’re hot.” I grimace and gag a little at the thought.
Devon chuckles, shaking his head. Then, his expression softens as he watches me fuss with the dip. “So, any word on that job interview yet?”
The question is like a punch to the gut and my hands freeze on the cheese. I force a smile that doesn’t quite make it to my eyes. “Nope. Never got a call back.” I try to keep my voice light, but the lump in my throat betrays me. “Guess I wasn’t good enough for them.”
Devon’s brow furrows. He sets his beer down and steps closer, nudging my shoulder with his. “Hey. Don’t do that. Even if they didn’t pick you, that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. It just means they weren’t smart enough.”
I huff out a shaky laugh, blinking quickly before my eyes can betray me. “Yeah, well, doesn’t make it sting any less.”
“Of course it stings. But you’ve got grit, Mya. And that’s worth more than any one company’s decision.”
Just then, Mom walks in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She takes one look at me and narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Mya’s beating herself up about the job.” My step dad gives her a look that says help me out here, and before I know it, they’ve flanked me, like some kind of motivational tag team.
Mom cups my cheek. “Oh, sweetheart. Listen to me. One job doesn’t define you. You are brilliant and hardworking; anyone would be lucky to have you.”
I glance between them, my chest tightening at the way they’re both looking at me, like I’m capable of so much more than I ever give myself credit for.
“You two really need to take your act on the road,” I murmur, trying to disguise just how much their words mean to me.
Mom laughs, pulling me into a hug. “We’ll be your cheerleaders as long as you need us.”
“Even if it means wearing Cowboys gear,” Devon adds with a groan.
That gets a real laugh out of me, and the heaviness in my chest feels a little lighter.
Devon finally drifts out of the kitchen but Mom lingers, leaning against the counter. Her eyes soften, and I already know what’s coming.
“Hey. There’ll be other jobs. Plenty of others. You’ll find your place.”
I swallow hard, trying to focus on smoothing out the dip. “I know… It’s just hard not to feel like I’m disappointing Dad.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Mom pushes away from the counter and steps closer, taking my face in her hands again so I have no choice but to meet her gaze. “Sweetie, your father would never see you as a disappointment. He’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Her reassurance should ease the guilt gnawing at me, but it only makes my throat tighten more. “I want to make him proud. And every time I fall short, it feels like I’m letting him down.”
“You’re not,” she says firmly, her voice carrying that no-nonsense edge I’ve known my whole life. “The only person putting that pressure on you is you. Your dad would want you to be happy, Mya. That’s all. And I know for a fact he’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you right now.”
Her thumb brushes away the tear I didn’t realize had escaped, and I lean into her hand.
“You carry him with you, Mya,” she whispers. “Everywhere you go, in everything you do.”
My chest aches with the truth of her words. Grief has a cruel way of twisting love into expectation, making me believe that if I stumble, it somehow erases him.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Mom presses a kiss to my temple, her hand lingering at the back of my head the way she’s done since I was a kid. “That’s all you can do.”
Before I can respond, Tiana struts into the kitchen, tossing her purse onto the counter. She takes one look at Mom holding me like I’m on the verge of collapse and quirks a brow.
“Yikes. Who died?”
I roll my eyes, wiping quickly at my face. “Really, TJ?”
Mom chuckles and gives my arm one last squeeze before stepping away. “I’ll let you girls talk.”
Tiana eyes me for a second, then she smirks. “I know what’ll make you feel better.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
She bumps my hip with hers and grabs another chip. “Let’s go out tonight. Blow off some steam. A little dancing, a little drinking… there’s nothing a few cocktails won’t fix.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right,” she fires back, grinning. “C’mon, MJ. You need this. One night out won’t kill you.”
I sigh, already knowing where this is headed. “Tiana…”
She widens her eyes like I’ve just said no to free money. “Don’t ‘Tiana’ me. You’ve been moping around for days waiting for that call. You need to stop sulking and live a little.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not really in the mood.”
“Exactly why you should come. You sit at home, you’ll stew. You come out with me, you’ll laugh, dance, maybe even flirt a little. Boom. Problem solved.”
I give her a flat look. “You make it sound like some kind of miracle cure.”
“It is a miracle cure.” She loops her arm through mine dramatically. “Now say yes before I blackmail you on my socials.”
Despite my resistance, a chuckle slips past my lips. My sister is impossible to argue with.
“Fine. One night. But you’re buying the first round.”
Her grin spreads wide. “That’s my girl.”
The Cowboys do, in fact, lose, and my stepdad is insufferable.
He struts around the living room like he personally led the charge, jersey stretched over his chest, a smug grin plastered on his face. I swear, if he says “told you so” one more time, I might retire from watching football altogether—and throw my dip at him.
Eventually, dinner is served, and the noise of victory chants is replaced by clattering silverware and laughter. My little brother finally bursts through the door, back from his friend’s house, and the table feels whole again.
A while later, when the plates are cleared, Tiana grabs me by the arm and drags me upstairs to get ready for our night out. Instead of going home to change, I decide to borrow one of TJ’s outfits.
We’re halfway through hair and makeup when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
An email notification.
From Worth Miller.
My heart lurches and my vision blurs for a second.
“Uh… why do you look like you just saw a ghost?” Tiana asks, eyeliner in hand.
“Worth Miller just emailed me. Why would he email me on a Sunday night at eight p.m.?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Open it!”
“I can’t.”
“Mya.”
“No, I’m serious, Tiana. What if it’s bad? What if he’s telling me I didn’t get the job? Or worse?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
My heart slams against my ribcage, my eyes darting back and forth across each line.
“I—oh my God. Tiana.” My voice cracks. “He hired me.”
Tiana’s jaw drops, her mascara brush freezing mid-air. “Wait—what?”
I thrust my phone towards her with shaky hands. She snatches it, scans the email, and then looks back at me like I just announced I won the lottery.
“You’re starting tomorrow? At nine a.m.? Oh my God, Mya!”
I nod frantically, barely able to contain the giddy scream bubbling up in my throat. “I can’t believe this. I was sure I didn’t get it. And it’s Sunday night! He sent it from his own personal email! Who even does this?”
“Worth-freaking-Miller does this,” Tiana says, her grin splitting wide across her face. She sets my phone down and grabs my shoulders, shaking me.
“Girl, I guess we’re celebrating tonight!”