Lydia rolled her fat-tired bike the last stair of three narrow concrete flights. Out of nowhere, three black, wide and stretched, military-class SUVs pulled up with the front and rear blocking the street and her father’s parked against the curb. He rolled down his backseat passenger’s window so dark it was illegal for anyone without his power to hide behind. Lydia expected him to show up unannounced sooner or later. With her mother’s help she’d hidden her college dropout status from her father for exactly six months. But she knew he would check her grades himself as she was suppose a new term.

One of his bodyguard flunks locked onto her bike’s handlebars and let her know he’d put it in the back of her father’s SUV. Lydia jerked her bike free of his grip. She then rolled it over to her father and before he could demand answers she informed him that she was late for work. Promised to call him later. 

He commanded her to get inside. The backseat driver’s side door was opened for her and closed once she was in and buckled up. Her father’s window was rolled up. The chauffeur’s speakers were unmuted from the back only until she gave him an address. 

Her father stared at her through his sunglasses while waiting for answers. Pertinent details only: so she reiterated how much she still hated the Ivy League path that he was hell bend to be her path. It would take a miracle for him not to die angry at how she had the grades and automatic acceptance yet had skipped all the top schools. She hated reminded him that she hated academia—research papers were a hell no on her docket. She loved chemistry. Which had lead to her passion for craft brewing. That was why she dropped out. That simple.

And oh yes—she had leased a warehouse in a nice location and plenty of indoor and outdoor space. Her team of like mind chemists brewed speciality beers, seltzers and ciders. She also rented booths for small business artisans and invited food trucks. 

Of course, she did not expect him to feel the slightest bit of excitement for her—doing her thing as he mother called it. It would take a highly improbable metamorphosis for him not to think money. He questioned if it was going well enough to pay herself a worthwhile salary. Enough to invest in personal real estate so she would not be in a dump of an apartment and was she even planning to save for her future.  

She riled her tone as she swore to never ask him for anything even if her life dependent on it. He was scowling, about to snap his normal spiel of concern for her wellbeing when they drove upon a half of dozen busy food trucks spewing sizzling aromas outside her space. The driver pulled into her parking lot. She growled when she was unable to open her door due to the lock she was unable to control. When she could she jumped out and slammed the door behind her. 

Lydia’s father walked behind—a fish out of water taking it all in with apprehension. He focused on the long truck lines then tint-cover dining area with benches and chairs and everything to dispose of waste. He stayed fully tuned into local artist selling bold creations outside. And when they entered the warehouse he scanned booths crowded with buyers in every cornor. He followed and Lydia walked up to a huge L-shaped wooden bar with displays of their tap drafts and every stool and surrounding high-top and more benches for eating were full.

From the first person who found out he was her father until the last, each praised her as adventurous; building somewhat of a movement; bringing people together to celebrate creativity,  and the simple joy of good company. He then felt like less a fish out of water and more on the hot seat and nothing came to mind that he enjoyed more than his daughter’s complimentary pours for a raised toast of celebration to welcome his visit.  

Lydia’s father left her with the understanding that he wanted to support her tenaciousness as her father and an investor. When she started to object he spoke over her. Even though he believed in chasing money as ideal success, he didn’t know anyone else whose daughter was crafting something meaningful. Being that she was his only child and forever baby girl, he loved the spark in her eyes. There because she was not afraid to put her love for chemistry and art to work.