“Here it comes,” I told Briana as soon as I recognized my bag on the belt.

She clapped her hands and did a couple of jumps in the air like a mini cheerleader.

“Oh, she’s adorable,” an older white woman commented. She looked at me and Michelle and added, “You all are gorgeous.”

All we could do was stand there and smile. It was an awkward moment, but it was true. I was a professional model, Michelle looked like a model, and Briana was the child. I mean, I still had to take a paternity test to make absolutely certain, but it was pretty obvious to me. Briana Marlon Deveraux was my daughter, and she had modeling chops already. You put us together in a picture, and I was the dad. It was just that simple. She had the eyes, the facial structure, the smile lines…No wonder Michelle wanted me to see her. She didn’t even want an argument from me, and she wasn’t going to get one.

I grabbed my bag off the belt and followed them to the parking lot area. I led my luggage, and Michelle led Briana.

“Where are you from?” my daughter asked me.

“Gary, Indiana,” I told her.

“Indiana? Is that far away?”

She had great diction for a three-year-old, or at least I thought so.

“It’s far enough.”

“Is it far like Louisiana?”

“Yup, it’s about the same distance. Only Indiana is north and Louisiana is south.”

Michelle smiled at me and said, “Watch out, she’ll talk you to death.”

I smiled back and said, “Yeah, she reminds me of…” and I stopped myself.

Michelle looked me right in the eyes and didn’t say anything.

I looked away and mumbled, “My mother.” I didn’t say it loud enough for my daughter to hear me, but I’m sure Michelle knew. But she had never even met my mother, nor had I met her family. I only knew her brother from her talking about him. Sean had just gotten called up from the minor leagues when I first met her. I guess we had a whole lot of introductions to do.

We made it into the parking lot and stopped at a teal blue, S-model Jaguar, where Michelle popped the trunk.

I looked at her and asked, “This is your car?” It looked too masculine for a woman. I mean, Jaguars had pretty curves and everything, but they also had very masculine muscle.

She smiled. “I like Jaguars.”

“The real ones, or just the cars?” I joked with her.

“The car-r-rs,” Briana butted in. She had this way of extending certain words that was as cute as ever.

I tossed my bag into the trunk, and we all climbed into the car. Briana had a child’s seat in the back passenger side. I sat in front of her and started to adjust the seat, but I found that I didn’t need to. I had plenty of leg room up front.

I looked at Michelle and asked her, “What tall guy’s been sitting over here?”