Four strangers from different walks of life meet on a cruise and spend an unforgettable week together. All of them on their own self-discovering journeys, and onboard for different reasons.
Texan heiress and ballet prodigy, Brooklyn Brankovich, lon...
"-Bullshit!" My father exclaimed, entering the room.
I jumped and put the hoodie under my pillow and hopped out of bed.
"Dad, what's wrong," I asked with worry.
In walked Mom who slammed the door shut.
"This is ridiculous," she spat. "Do they know who we are?"
"Can someone tell me what happened?" I pled, flailing my arms.
Dad stopped pacing and breathed in and out.
He told me, "Someone took my grandfather's Rolex. How is that even possible, it was locked in a safe?!"
I went "oh no" and genuinely felt bad because I know he valued that watch greatly.
"It's a lack of security, I'm reporting this. Someone stole it, I think it was an employee!" Mother theorized. Of course she blamed "the help." Her superiority complex is beneath me.
"Now, Dana, don't do anything rash; there's no evidence of it being stolen."
"But it had to be, Michael," she spat back. My head was going back-and-forth between them like I was at a tennis match.
"Alright, I see y'all are busy so I'm just gonna go," I excused myself.
"No, Brooklyn, we're going to hang out as a family for once on this vacation," Mother ordered. "Get dressed, something nice."
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Family portraits. Tacky ass, family fucking portraits, that's what my mother had us do all afternoon.
I yawned as we walked back to the room. It was dark out, almost seven, and I was hoping they made plans that didn't involve me.
"Good night, guys," I said, climbing up to my bed.
"Not so fast, missy, aren't you forgetting something?" Mom nagged me. I know it's bad but even the sound of her voice alone sent me into a rage.
I thought for a second and then said, "Nope. Good night!"
"Brooklyn," she sighed, turning the lights on after I clapped for them to be off.
I yanked the blanket from over my face and clapped so they'd turn off again.
Mother, being petty, flicked them on and kept her fingers on the switch.
"Well it's a good thing I don't have epilepsy," Dad tried making a joke, or scolding us, I don't know, he's corny.
"She started it," I grumbled like a child.
"She's going to be the death of me, Michael. You handle it," Mom scowled, storming into the bathroom to touch up her makeup.
