After eight years of estrangement, the untimely death of her father calls Keyser Gooding back to her family home, forcing her to relive the physical and verbal abuse she endured growing up at the hands of her foster brothers, Deon and Joel.
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The tiny white porcelain cups in front of us are half empty and I avert my glance from the street, onto him. My heart flutters with the way he looks at me with such pride and confidence.
"What?" I asked, smiling. He has one leg, crossed over the other, admiring me, the same way any man would admire their daughter who's grown to be so accomplished.
"Just proud of my little butterfly, is all." He winces, returning my smile while running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper goatee. "You're an editor-in-chief now. You've accomplished so much, baby."
"Thank you, Daddy." I reach for his awaiting hand across the small round table, feeling his lips warm against the back of my knuckles. "That means everything to me, to hear you say that."
The scent of freshly baked croissants and coffee fills my nostrils as we sit outside the café with my father, watching New York's busy morning transition into noon.
"Keyser," he sighed, looking down. "You should come home... for a little. I've renovated the house and your brothers come every now and then to visit. And they've asked about you, in their own way."
I cock my head to the side, knowing where the subject of conversation was going.
"Daddy," I cut him off, squeezing his hand a little. "You know how I feel about them."
"I know, baby. But... they've changed so much," he said, using his other hand to stir his latte absentmindedly. "Especially Joel."
"Joel?" Hearing his name roll off my father's tongue made me feel uneasy and even if he was right, that Joel has actually changed...I wasn't ready to believe it.
"Just promise me you'll think about coming home." His hand found mine again.
"I roll my eyes but when it comes to my dad, I'm almost always willing to compromise. "Alright, I'll think about it."
"Good," he smiled, dropping some money on the table. We stand to take each other in for a deep embrace and he kisses my forehead tenderly. "I'll be waiting for you, always."
ಇ.
A tear escapes me, tracing a hot path down my cheek. My eyes are closed but I can feel Joel's arms wrapped around me, growing tighter by the second. I'm afraid to open them, but I do it anyway, finding his soft gaze fixed on me.
I'm aware of the dream I just had, one of the last conversations and memories I shared with my father, replaying in my mind. And It hurts, more than anything, knowing that I can't bring him back. No one can.
"Hey," he whispers softly, his thumb brushing away the glistening trail from my skin. His touch is reassuring and we're still naked, pressed against each other.
