"Yes, sir. My mom and grandmother would be tremendously disappointed. They've both worked very hard to get me here. I plan on finishing this semester strong, for them—for me."
"Glad to hear it. Well, looks like we're here. I'm going to let you ladies out and go park the car. Brianna, I'll be up to finish our discussion, and then we can pick someplace to go for dinner. You're welcome to join us, Keila."
"Thank you so much, but I'm going to grab a quick snack, and then I need to get to work. Tonight, I'm finishing what should be a group project."
"Okay, well, next time." Michael was around the car and opening both doors in the next moment.
"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Somerville. I'll see you again sometime. I need to dash. See you later, Bri."
Michael was holding Brianna's dance bag and standing directly in front of her. There was no way she was getting around him and she knew it. She was already in a crap ton of trouble for giving him so much lip when he picked her up, especially since she was the one who came out twenty minutes late, after whining about missing him and pleading with him to drive over. Seeing Keila on the street brought her a tongue-lashing reprieve, but it was slipping away quickly.
"I'm pretty sure Keila thinks I have the strictest dad in modern times." Bri attempted to giggle away her nerves, by making light of their meeting, but she was falling short on selling it and she was completely aware. Finally, she dropped her eyes to her banged up dancer toes peeking out of her flip-flops.
"She's half right. I certainly didn't mind giving her a lift, but you need to know that I know what you were up to and I don't like being manipulated. Sign a pass and leave it at the desk for me. Put a do not disturb note on your door and put yourself in a corner."
Brianna was fixed in her position. She wanted to move, but she wasn't exactly in the mood to hurry things along, either. What the hell had she been thinking? She knew better, and she also knew if she didn't respond and move in the next breath, she would only be making things worse for herself. Taking her bag from his outstretched hand, Brianna had no choice except to do what was expected of her and say a silent prayer that he had no intention of swatting her backside in front of her building.
"Yes, Michael."
He bent down to buzz her cheek with a quick peck. Michael would never approve of her having a public outburst the way she had in the studio lobby, but there wasn't a person alive he'd come to love more than his Brianna. They would talk, she would deal with her consequences, and things would slip back into order, exactly the way he liked them.
It was much later that night when Brianna and Keila ran into one another in the hallway. Bri was finishing her floor walk. She always took a few laps around the whole floor after curfew for boys to be gone. Keila was getting off the elevator. Although she should have been exhausted at that time of night, Keila appeared energized. She'd had a breakthrough on her project and even one of her shitty partners had come through with his part and he brought a pizza. They were both confident that what they had could incorporate the rest of their deadbeat teammates, if need be, or still be quite successful without their input.
"So, it looks like the project was a success. You don't look nearly as aggravated as you were earlier."
They were standing between their rooms.
"Yeah, I think it'll be okay. I have to remember that people work differently. We didn't do very many group projects in my high school. I think my teachers preferred quiet to the chatter of groups."
"I bet. Well, I'm glad things are working out. Oh, I'm also sorry about earlier. I hope you didn't feel like you were being put on the spot. He can be a little intense sometimes."
"Well, I didn't grow up with a dad, but I got a really good sense of what it might have been like. I bet you never got away with anything."
"Yeah, something like that. Has Rain been back, since your last hash out?"
"No," Keila answered while shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder. This had become their thing, over the last few months. Whenever they ran into each other later at night, they both had intentions on having a quick chat and then going to bed but, inevitably, stood in the hallway chatting it up until something broke their flow. It was usually security coming around to check things out.
"She was less than happy with me when I laid down the law about parties in the room. I think she's been seeing one of the frat guys we used to hang out with and she's probably staying at his place."
"I really didn't mean to cause a rift between the two of you. It's not my job to push or get personally involved. Sometimes I don't know when to keep quiet."
"I'm glad you didn't. You know that. I've told you that. Rain was a lot of fun, but let's be honest. I was not pulling off that level of fun and academic success. You were right, even when I was acting like you weren't."
Keila was a solid four—almost five—inches shorter than her friend. It always made her look up to her when they were standing. It seemed fitting. She'd been looking up to Bri, in every other way, for a while now.
"You know we do this all the time," Keila said.
"What? Stand in the hallway talking for an hour when we both have perfectly good rooms. Don't worry; it's late, so no one will see you being extra chummy with the RA."
"You got any snacks?"
"How about splitting a little rocky road cheesecake?"
"Oh, I don't know what that is, but it sounds heavenly."
Bri unlocked her door and Keila followed, dropping her things on the floor next to the desk. The girls were chattering on about dessert and discussing how much exercise they would need to do to work off late night cheesecake, when Keila fell silent as her eyes fell on the papers stacked on her friend's desk. Bri was backing out of the mini-fridge, about to tell Keila to grab two forks, when she stood up and saw where she was looking. One wasn't sure what she was seeing or why, and the other knew exactly what was being seen and was horrified.
There, on a stack of about four sheets of loose-leaf paper, double-spaced and in perfect penmanship, was the repeated sentence: I will not be disrespectful and I will learn to control my temper.
It was absolutely some form of punishment lines. Keila remembered doing them in elementary school for talking too much. In second grade, Mrs. Baxter did not have an appreciation for her non-stop ability to fill the silence during class time. But, that was second grade and she'd been seven years old. She was having a hard time wrapping her brain around someone making her do it at eighteen, no less near twenty years old, like Brianna. She was in college, living on her own, and still, she had sat down at her desk and written out a punishment sentence. What the hell was going on? Keila really wanted to know, but she also knew it was none of her business. Sure, they'd gotten close, but not close enough for this not to go down as the most awkward moment ever. She opted to go with zero inquiry.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't snooping. I was just going to clear a space. I didn't see anything."
This was not how Bri wanted to explain things to her friend. Actually, she was only lukewarm on explaining anything. If she hadn't been getting her butt chewed in the car earlier, she probably wouldn't have even let her meet or know about Michael. Damnit. If she freaked out, there would be problems. She would be twenty-years-old in two months, and her parents weren't exactly supporting her financially, but they would still be more than a little upset about her arrangement with Michael. How does one go about explaining their forty-two-year-old dominant boyfriend, who could easily pass for their father? Keila might want to drag her to student health for a mental evaluation or, at a minimum, tell as many grown-ups as she could, in order to save her friend. Now, she started to understand Michael's ire over her lack of impulse control. He knew what outing their relationship could mean. Her self-preservation tactic of giving Keila a ride could surely spiral out of control. She probably needed to say more out loud than in her head. Keila was asking another question.
"It's none of my business, really. You don't owe me an explanation. What do I know about dads
and how they behave? I don't even know mine."
Keila's hands shook as she turned the papers over. She kept staring at the chair in front of the desk and refused to make eye contact with her friend. She didn't want to embarrass her, but it's pretty hard to avoid it in a tiny room with only one door and the person standing two feet away from you. She and her stomach were regretting her greedy desire for late night cheesecake.
"I kind of made it your business. I'm not sure if it was my subconscious, acting out or what, but Michael was right. It's something I need to work on."
"You call your dad by his first name?"
Bri brought the container of cheesecake over and reached around Keila to grab two forks out of her desk drawer. Then she climbed on her bed and plunked down in a most ungraceful college student fashion. Keila didn't move a muscle, her eyes still glued to the chair in front of her.
Waving a fork in her direction Bri soft shouted her name. "Keila, you eating or what? I shouldn't finish the whole thing, but I definitely will."
Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Keila was doing some internal self-chanting in an attempt to not make it weird. Fleeing the room would make it extremely weird, she decided.
"Of course, I'm eating. You can call your dad whatever you want, as long as I get my fair share of that cake."
As she took the fork, Keila sat on the bed and scooted back so her back was against the wall. The container was between them, and Bri stretched her legs out, with her back against the footboard. She was blocking any immediate runs for freedom. Keila would have to hurdle her legs to get out.
"Pay no attention to my hideous feet. I'm a musical theatre major, but I've been studying dance in some form my entire life. I take ballet five days a week off campus. These ten sausage stumps are the result of dancing on pointe. It's worth it, though. If you're going to really take a shot at making it on Broadway or touring, you have to be a triple threat. Singing, dancing, and acting. Singing isn't as tough for me, so I only go to voice lessons on Saturday."
Keila silently nodded her agreement but remained focus on getting the fork to her mouth without spilling any of the graham cracker crust. Bri's room did not look like an environment where crumbs in the bed were acceptable, although she wasn't acting the least bit concerned. For a few moments, the silence got comfortable. Only the occasional satisfied moan slipped from either girl's lips.
Chapter 3
"He's not my dad."
"Huh?" Her latest bite sat mid mouth, and for the first time since entering the room, Keila's eyes looked directly into Brianna's.
"Michael is not my father. He's my boyfriend." Now, it was Bri's turn to look away. She heard the fork hit the container before she saw it.
"Michael is your boyfriend? The man who grilled me a few hours ago, like a dad, isn't your dad."
"He isn't anyone's dad, well, not biologically."
"He's your boyfriend."
"Yes. I will eat it all." Brianna was finally looking up. What she saw in her friend's eyes was certainly more shock than disgust.
"Right. How old is he? How long have you been together? Does he have some weird issues?" Keila clamped a hand over her mouth. That was too far. Too pushy and definitely rude. Hell, maybe Brianna was the one with daddy issues.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."
"But, you still want the answers. I hope I'm not making a mistake, but I want to talk to someone about things, and since I'm the one who opened this door…"
"Oh, yeah. You can totally trust me."
Why was she committing to keeping a secret that she hardly understood? Was it a secret-secret or just something that shouldn't be repeated? Keila wanted to be that kind of friend to Bri, but she wasn't sure she could put all her judgments aside. This was weird.
"Remember, you asked. I'll start with the easy one first. He's forty-three. Stop doing math in your head. He's clearly old enough to be my dad."
"I know. I already jumped to that conclusion, wrongly. Are you with him because your dad isn't around? I mean, I would get that. I don't know about sex, but it would make sense. I guess."
"No. I mean I shouldn't say it like the no is obvious. Of course, it's easy to think the old guy is a creeper and the young girl has daddy issues, but that isn't us. My dad is great. He's way different than Michael on pretty much every level you could imagine but still great. He and my mom have been married since they were teenagers—right out of high school and never separated a day."
The cheesecake was gone. Interesting fact, when shoveling in a dessert at rapid speed, to avoid dealing with the person you're with, it will disappear at a faster rate.
"We should rinse these off," Keila suggested.
"Silly, just give it a good lick. I'll wash them in the morning."
"You could just trash them and get new ones the next time you're in the cafeteria."
"These aren't from the cafeteria. Besides, Michael would have a fit when he found out and the next time he's here and has to eat with a spoon."
"So, he bought them for you?"
"Off topic, but that's my fault. Let me get it all out, and then I'll answer as many questions as I can. I'm already in hot water with him, so staying up late is more like an 'in for a penny, in for a pound' sort of thing."
"Huh? You have anything to drink?"
"Water and diet Pepsi. Pick your poison."
"My poison would be tequila, but I gotta feeling that Michael has a strong opinion regarding underage drinking."
"Not the way you would think, but as an RA, this room stays very dry."
"Fine. Diet Pepsi it is. Next time we do late night confessions, though, let's do it in my room. I keep tequila. Oops, not supposed to let the RA know that. Don't tell."
Laughing as she got up with their dessert debris, Brianna dropped the dirty forks in a mug on her desk and the cheesecake container in the trash. She wasn't in the mood for washing a bunch of dishes, so she handed Keila the Pepsi can and hoped she wouldn't ask for a cup. More comfortable with her decision to share, she flopped down on the bed and sat with her back against the wall mirroring Keila.
"So, this is a deep breath, dive right in moment, huh?" The look on Keila's face made her add, "Rhetorical."
"I wasn't going to answer." Keila peeked over at her friend and laughed again, knowing that was exactly what she planned on doing.
"Michael and I didn't start out dating. Ours was more a business arrangement. I sought him, well his type, out specifically. Online. Look, my folks are wonderful. They're a real slice of middle America and they are boring as sin. Actually, sin would make them more interesting. My town is boring. My brothers are boring. Their big annual vacation is ice fishing. It was a good childhood, but I actively sought to get out after graduation. We aren't state assistance poor, but we're not rolling in extras, either. I'm the first of my siblings to even go to college, no less leave the state. I have student loans that I'll be paying off well into my fifties, and you know I probably wouldn't be doing it as an actress. I'll be stuck moving back to Indiana working some boring, life-sucking job, married to a boring man, and mothering some soul-sucking kids."
"Tell me how you really feel. Sounds bleak and like you've thought about it a lot."
"Keila, when I went home for the summer, it all hit me. Smack in the face like a frozen washcloth, I had an ice cold wake up call. I spent seven weeks answering calls at an insurance company and I wanted to swallow a bottle of pills just for the excitement of an ambulance ride to the next town over. There was no way I was going back for longer than a week and certainly not forever. But, that was all I knew. I had zero plans beyond finishing school. I already had the RA position lined up, so that was taking a few thousand off my bill, but it wasn't enough.
As she sipped from her bottle of water, Bri looked over and saw that her audience of one was still captivated and continued.
"So, I'm trying to finish this online sign up for a dance class that I can't afford, and this banner pops up for this dating website.
It's called Purposeful Mate. Sounds all sci-fi, right? Like, build a mate. I swear, when I clicked it, I wasn't even looking to date. Honestly, I was looking for a distraction. People basically sign up and get matched up based on their needs and desires, but mostly need. I was shocked. I had never heard of anything like this back home. I started doing research, and there are a bunch of sites like it out there. As a college student, I could agree to keep company with someone and flat out ask for an allowance to do it."
"You're a hooker!" Keila yelled, then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth.
The girls stared at each other. The word bounced around the room, at the volume and intensity it was delivered, and assaulted them both. Keila didn't mean to be harsh, but it was her honest gut reaction. Her friend was flat out dating for profit. Wasn't that the definition of being a hooker? Just thinking about it made her blush. Jewish or not, her mom would pull her out of school and drop her off at the nearest convent. That so wasn't the point, though. She was supposed to be being a friend and not a Judgmental Judy. Brianna looked like she might cry and stop the conversation. Keila couldn't really blame her.
Keila slid closer and put an arm around her. "I'm sorry. Name-calling is never okay. You did catch me off guard, though. My fault. I thought I already knew what you were going to say, and obviously, I wasn't as committed to listening as I thought. Forgive me? I'm stupid and I have a big mouth. I'm zipping it and I'm going back to listening. For real, this time."
"Name calling is never okay, and yeah, it was kind of stupid and a little mean." Bri elbowed her in the ribs. Keila couldn't even complain. She had it coming, but more importantly, Bri didn't move out of the hug. That made her happy.
"I'm not a whore. I swear."
"I'm, I didn't—"
"It's okay. I know how it sounds, but I just need you to know that. Keila, you would be amazed at some of the non-sexual, seriously boring stuff someone will pay for. I went to the opera with one man. That was it. He was married and his wife was disabled. She didn't like going out to fancy places anymore and he didn't want to give up their box seats. He paid me five hundred dollars to go to fabulous restaurants and wonderful shows. Plus, he sent me to get completely made over for the night—hair, makeup, clothes, shoes, the works. He got a date and I got the experience and some great gifts. He really taught me a lot in those few months."
The Daddy Arrangement (Sugar 101) Page 3