The Folgers, Rated T
From the moment she’d been born-three weeks early, redfaced and screaming, and always prone to colic from day one-LJ had been a handful. It’d taken years for Lilah and Robert to realize just how much of a handful she was, but they had accepted her entirely nevertheless when they inevitably understood. They'd looked the other way at some of her worst behavior; they'd even let her have a relationship with her much older bodyguard. After all, who were they to deny their daughter happiness after the end of the world? The rules of the old world didn’t matter, they told themselves. It didn’t matter that that excuse had never sounded convincing in their heads.
“Give me that,” Lilah huffed, irritated. It’d been a long day, and LJ had not let up.
Her daughter pouted, clinging even harder to the lighter in her hand, “But it was a gift, mom.”
“From who?” Lilah questioned, her gaze steely.
LJ rolled her eyes, “Eric. Duh.”
“LJ, sweetie…” Robert piped up, “There’s a time and a place for black market gifts. Using them to light a tablecloth on fire because you’re bored and don’t like dinner is neither the time nor the place.”
LJ glared at him, “I just wanted to see what would happen. Watching Ruth flip her shit was pretty funny, you have to admit.”
Robert and Lilah exchanged a glance. Lilah was the one to speak next, “While that might be true, that doesn’t make it appropriate.”
LJ sulked, “Fine.”
She handed the lighter over. Her parents exchanged another glance at how quickly she’d relented. LJ smirked when they turned away from her-no longer paying attention. It was too common an occurrence-especially these days.
Little did they know-it was not the only lighter Eric had given her. But that-that was her little secret.
She exchanged a look with the man in question, who gave her a barely perceptible smile back.
LJ liked secrets, she decided happily as she leaned back on the sofa to stare at the ceiling and blew hair out of her face.