4. Lyla
Chapter four
Lyla
I’ve been told that getting a bikini wax wasn’t as terrible as it sounded. The first time hurt like a motherfucker, but by your fourth or fifth visit, it became more of an inconvenience to schedule the appointment and go. You built a tolerance to the pain, and in the end, you left feeling fabulous and fulfilled.
When did that shit happen with people?
I wasn’t sure what was more concerning, that I just compared my father to a bikini wax or that I was bracing myself for the shots he hadn’t fired yet. It was our annual end-of-the-summer catch-up lunch. Dad and I got together at whatever luxurious location he flew me out to so we could pretend that what we had was normal. He felt obligated to talk with me because I was his daughter, and I felt compelled to comply with his requests because he was in charge of my trust fund.
It was a small price to pay for the money I needed to build my life after graduation. Some people would frown at the concept of engaging with a parent who was terrible because they had money. Unless those people offered to pay my lease in Chicago and support my business, they could politely sit the hell down. I had no shame. I was too close to getting what I needed to throw it away now.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Lyla.” Dad sipped his wine and then wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “To understand what I just said, you’d have to pass our licensing exam, and we know you couldn’t do that. Too many numbers. Too complicated for someone with your logical thinking skills.”
I accepted the comment, impressed by his ability to delay the first shot for so long. We were halfway through lunch, and Aaron Brooks hadn’t insulted my clothing, hairstyle, or the fact that I was going to school to earn a degree in business and English literature.
I studied him from across the table with his black hair slicked back and perfectly pressed cream-colored suit; other than the green eyes that had somehow slipped through the gene pool, we had nothing in common.
“Did you mean to have your hair uneven like that?” He pointed, and I followed his gaze as if I could see myself by looking up. “You never do leave yourself enough time to do . . . well . . . anything. Did you rush over here? You did come by yourself, didn’t you? Or is some lowlife back at the hotel waiting for you to finish here?”
And just like that, I spoke too soon. Disregard the fact that Aaron Brooks made it halfway through lunch without a single shot. He just decided to deliver them all at once.
I smiled politely and gripped my water glass. “It's the humidity. My hair doesn’t do well in Florida, especially in July.”
I told you that last year, asshole.
“Your mother’s never did either. But she never gave herself time to get ready.”
“Lovely,” I said, wishing I could turn my ice water into a vodka on the rocks. “Could we discuss the matter of my trust fund? No lowlives on this trip. ”
Dad raised his eyebrows and took another sip of wine. He had to be thinking of our lunch in Orlando last year. I might have invited my pool friends up to the penthouse suite and ushered one of them out later that night. I had a fabulous time. Dad was furious. His whole reaction was theatrical, drawn out, and boring.
Aaron Brooks would never survive Parents Weekend at BG. He would probably sue the school and somehow win whatever bullshit lawsuit he created. That’s how it worked for Dad. He always came out on top.
“You actually sound put together when you try and talk business,” he said with a smile. It was creepy, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to compliment me or reload his gun.
I prepared for more rapid word fire. “I was going to move back in with Mom for a month after graduation so I could look for a place to lease. I’d like the store to be downtown, but I’m willing to wait and see if—”
“Once I give the okay, I’ll release the funds in a few weeks. It’s a pretty straightforward distribution. As we discussed, you’ll get the money after you graduate.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say back. Dad didn’t want to hear how someone would waste their money on books and dreams. I came into this lovely reunion needing clarification on the timeline and got my answer.
We ate the rest of our lunch in silence, but I wasn’t mad about it. Eventually, one of us had to say something so we could leave. Dad drew me in for an awkward hug, and when we broke apart, he walked outside where his driver was waiting.
Most dads would ask their daughters if they had a ride home. Most dads would offer to drive their daughters back to the hotel so they knew she made it there safely. Most dads would find their daughter’s dreams interesting.
Aaron Brooks wasn’t like most dads.