Page 6 of Big Daddy

In that light, I’m making this appointment for Winniefor Brielle, and when it’s put like that, it’s a selfish deed. I’m fine and even comfortable being selfish.

Now I just need to find Winnie and tell her how selfish I’ve been.

Then I can get back to my legal brief.

Where Iwantmy focus.

chapter three

winnie

Flipping the newspaper open,I bite down on the Sharpie cap and yank it off, spitting it across the room. Spreading the paper across the coffee table, painfully covering up unread issues ofEntertainment WeeklyandVogue, I ready my pen for options.

Ten minutes in and I’m pretty sure my red pen will dry the fuck up before I get to circle a damn thing.

I read past a slew of “General Help Wanted” ads for temporary gigs, one for long-term child care (snotty noses and dirty diapers? No thanks), and a few for part-time sales associates (no way). Nothing that will pay my loans and everything else. I mean, those jobs are soul sucking hourly jobs and I’m fine to get my soul sucked. The universe can suck merealgood. That’s fine. But I need that sweet, sweet cash in return.

“Well, fuck,” I groan, dragging the end of the pen down the paper, reading on. “There has to be at least one thing I can apply for.” The silence of Brielle’s apartment grates on my frayed nerves, so I flip on the television, letting daytime TV fill in the space around me.

After reading through the entire first page of classified ads, I am utterly depressed and therefore require a treat to help me continue. Standing in front of Brielle’s open refrigerator, I tap my lip, my mouth watering at all the options.

Picking up a white box, I flip the lid and sniff up all the delicious scents of Cantonese food. “You’re a maybe,” I tell the Char Sui and noodles. Another container, another option. “Woof, B hasn’t had Italian in, like, weeks.” I do my bestie a favor and toss the moldy carbonara. The grease-stained brown paper bag at the back of the fridge grabs my focus, and I snatch it up, knowing just what it is.

Chicken tenders. Brielle never finishes them.

After “borrowing” a Diet Coke from her fridge, I grab the BBQ sauce bottle and plop down on the couch, bag of leftovers in my lap. I’m wrist deep in cold chicken when the lock on the front door twists. It’s mid-morning, and I know for a fact Brielle is at her apprenticeship.

That only leaves one other person it could be.

With a cold tender hovering at my lips,The Viewproviding a soundtrack to the moment, the door swings open and Big Daddy steps inside, this time without groceries.

My stomach twists, likely at being caught in such a feral state. Old, cold food, sweats, unwashed hair, spread open wanted ads and daytime TV—it’s not a good look.

His gray eyes come to mine. I give the middle finger to the way my veins flood with fire under his gaze. With my mouth stuffed, I say, “What’s up, Big Daddy?” I point the crumbling chicken toward the TV. “Did you come to watchThe Viewwith me?”

He glances at the TV, pure disgust on his face.

“Don’t like this show?” I lean forward, dunking the chicken strip into the flood of BBQ squirted onto the paper bag. “Isit Joy?” I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Or do you miss Babs? Probably helps to have someone your age on the show, huh?”

With a foul expression dusting his features, he narrows his gaze on me. Judgment radiates off him in palpable waves, I swear.

“Okay, so you’re not a fan ofThe View. Well, that’s fine.” I pick up the remote while the last bite of chicken dangles from my greasy lips. Flipping the channels, I stop on a rerun ofEverybody Loves Raymond. On screen is the elderly father, Frank. A smirk curls my lips. “There, someone your age.” I pat the couch next to me. “Come sit. I’ll help you get back up, don’t worry.”

His glare is so hateful, I swear. Swiping my fingers on my sweats—because these are my bad sweats anyway—I get to my feet and stand in front of him, watching as his eyes trace out each stray, wild curl poking from my bun.

“I said,” I blurt, becoming egregiously and unreasonably loud, like he’s hard of hearing,“come sit down, Big Daddy.”

“I heard you just fine.” He glances at the TV where Frank now argues with his adult son, Raymond, then back at me. “Why are you here?”

I fold my arms over my chest, tapping my bare foot on the linoleum floor. “Why areyouhere?”

I know what he’s going to say before he says it, so as he says it, I mouth his answer.

“I pay for this place.”

His glare shouts at me.

“So what? You pay for itfor Brielle. Not so you can pop in and check on her.” I unfold my arms and drag my ass back to the couch, where I fish out the last chicken strip, collect my red pen, and get back to hunting. He can stand there and watch if he wants, what do I care?

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