Page 15 of More For Me

His grin is a little sheepish. “The Ransome Brothers School of Music Composition and Commercial Production.”

I just stare at him. This is a big deal, right? Like a really big deal. “Are you kidding me?” I finally manage to squeak out.

His grin tells me he is not. “Nope. They want a department that focuses more on the commercial aspects of mainstream music. We give them money every year, so…” He shrugs. “They asked if we wanted to get involved and we said yes. Didn’t realize they were going to name the damn thing after us.”

“Dad!” I laugh. “This is so amazing! Hang on—they know that none of you actually went to college, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, smart ass. Anyhow. Your uncles and I are going to have to do a bunch of PR crap in the lead up to the opening. Appearances and interviews, stuff like that. We were hoping FEA Threads could dress us.”

I gape at him. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “Of course. I know your focus is on women’s clothes but we thought you might be able to make us some things that you think will work—hey.” His voice is immediately worried. “Why are you crying?”

“Because this is so nice.” I cover my face, really crying now. “I didn’t think…you know…you were so mad about the show and—”

“Hey.” He pulls my hands away and fixes me with his dark-eyed gaze. “I didn’t like the idea of cameras following my kid around. That had nothing to do with your line or the store. I’m so damn proud of you, kid. You should hear the way I brag.”

That, of course, only makes me cry harder.

“Come on, now,” he says, rubbing my shoulder. “You know I can’t handle seeing you girls cry.”

“Then you must lose your mind on a daily basis,” a voice chirps, and we look over to see Mom and Vega entering the kitchen. “This is not the place to live if you can’t handle female emotion,” Vega continues, smiling at me.

“I know,” Dad says in a tired voice as I wipe my face. “My life is such a trial.”

“Trial my ass,” Mom says, setting her shopping bags down on the center island. “You should be thanking your lucky stars that you get to live with me. And why the hell are you making my baby girl cry?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m onto you, Mister.”

Dad grabs her around the middle, pulling her down into his lap, and she squeals as he presses loud kisses against her neck.

“God, they’re embarrassing,” Vega says, then turns to me. “I didn’t know you were coming over today!”

“I missed you, baby sister.”

“She missed your baking,” Dad calls in between kisses. “She told me. She was going to go downstairs and raid your stash.”

“Lies and slander,” I shoot back, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the table to wipe my face.

“Seriously, though,” Vega asks. “Why are you crying?”

“I told her she was my favorite kid,” Dad says. “It’s supposed to be a secret—I don’t want you and your sisters to get jealous.”

“Dad’s got jokes,” Vega says, rolling her eyes.

“You do seem to be in a particularly good mood,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes up at him. Suddenly she gasps. “You ate meat, didn’t you?”

I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. He was stupid to think he’d get away with it—Mom always knows what’s going on with her family. It’s kind of freaky sometimes.

“It’s her fault,” Dad says quickly, pointing at me. “She begged me for a sandwich and told me she wasn’t going to eat any of our plant-based crap.”

“Throwing your own kid under the bus.” I shake my head. “Nice, Dad.”

“Hey, speaking of food,” Vega says, tugging on my arm. “I invented a new shortbread recipe—it’s kind of a cross between Asian and Mediterranean flavors. Dad and Pres didn’t like it so I need someone with a more sophisticated palette.”

“Sign me up.” I jab a finger over my shoulder. “Plus it will keep me from watching them fight.”