vibrant

eight; coloured pencils

"You know I don't like your friends," Reid states, making Ophelia silently roll her eyes at him, "They're disrespectful."

    Ophelia takes a small breath, not wanting to pick a fight, "Maybe if you tried to get to know them, you'd like them."

    "No, and here's why," Reid starts, tying his tie as he speaks. He's getting ready to leave for work, "That Maybank boy is bad news just like his father," Ophelia clenches her jaw at this, "Pope is a smart kid, but just like you, he runs with the wrong crowd. John B was written off years ago and-," Reid pauses, straightening out the fabric around his neck, "I actually don't mind Kiara."

    Michael, who is listening intently, matches Ophelia's expression, "Reid, you haven't really given them a chance, they're kids," Then, Michael gives him a knowing look, "You remember who you used to hang out with when you were a teenager, right?"

    "I do," Reid nods, "Then my father told me to get my act together, and I listened. Look at me now," Reid holds out his arms, "I have a wonderful husband, a brilliant daughter, a great house, and I hope this doesn't sound arrogant, but I'm a damn good surgeon. All because I listened to my Pops."

    Michael scoffs, "Yeah, because he's thrilled about the husband thing."

Ophelia gives her dad a reassuring look before looking back at Reid, "Pa, When have I not had my act together? I've known John B and Jj since we moved here and I think I'm doing okay."

"She's still on the Columbia track," Michael comments.

"Yale," Ophelia corrects, and Michael just shrugs, raising his coffee mug to his lips.

Reid sighs, picking up his briefcase and putting a few sheets of paper that had been scattered around the kitchen into it, "Look, Ophelia, all I'm asking you to do is try. Spend some time at the Island Club, make some friends. There are good people there."

"You say it like it's easy," Ophelia frowns, "Everyone there already has an opinion about me," Both of her father's raise a brow, urging her to continue, "I'm an art nerd who can't string a sentence together. And I'm a Pogue."

"You take after your dad then, minus the weird Pogue thing," Reid says, looking over to Michael with a smirk. Closing his briefcase and picking it up by the handle, "He was a mess when I met him. Look at him now," Michael sits there, an awkward smile growing across his face, having only woken up about twenty minutes ago, "He grew out of it, and so will you. Just please, try, Sweetie."

Ophelia purses her lips, "I'll think about it."

"And I'll consider that a win," Reid smiles, looking down to his watch, "I need to go, I have rounds with the interns before surgery, both of you, have a great day," Reid steps around the counter, kissing his husband, and placing a peck on Ophelia's cheek, "I love you both."

Ophelia and Michael both call out in unison, "Love you too!" And when she hears the front door close, Ophelia rests her head against the counter, releasing a loud sigh.

"Go easy on your dad, he's had a hard life," Michael urges, reaching out and rubbing a gentle hand up and down Ophelia's back. Ophelia turns so she can see Michael as he speaks, "He grew up in Kansas City with barely anything, throw in the fact that he's not only a black man in America, but a gay black man in America. He's had to fight for everything he has, and it may not seem like it, but he's just looking out for you, he didn't have many good people around him, growing up."

"I know," Ophelia sighs, sitting up straight with a pout on her lips, "Do you like my friends?"

"I like them if they make you happy."