Vacation Styles

*Two- Pretzels and Problems*

"Tell me why I'm doing this again?" I ask my dad as I step through the metal detectors at the Los Angela's Airport.

"Three-thousands dollars remember and you're doing your dad a huge favor, which I'm very grateful for by the way." He states before handing me my carry-on bag.

"Yeah, yeah." I shoo him before we begin making our way to the gate for my flight. "I'm pretty sure I can find my way to the plane by myself, dad." I laugh as he scopes around, looking at all the given signs for directions.

"Ha, that's funny." He sarcastically remarks and I scowl at him for not having faith in me. "You couldn't even find the hospital when your mom was in labor with Jacob."

"My gps broke and the traffic was really bad that day. Lets not forget, the weather okay? It was raining really hard." I say offensively as we step on the escalators.

"Whatever, Mr. Styles is going to be here anyways, so I want to show him how responsible of a dad I am." He smiles at me and I huff before rolling my eyes.

"Yup, father of the year." I joke.

"I'm a pretty good damn father Liv. Don't forget that." He points his finger down at me.

"Yeah, I know you are pops." I smile before warming him with my hand on his shoulder.

It was true; my dad is a great father. He was probably one of the best, at that. We have a great relationship. He's always there for me which is great and he always helps me through rough patches and helps with grown up things I'm not mature for yet. I can't even imagine what it's like for those people without dad's or the ones that get completely neglected by them. It must suck, but I'm glad my dad isn't like that.

"Gate twenty-three is.... this way." He states and I follow him as he turns a corner. We enter the part of the airport where food booths are set up for peoples enjoyment.

"Ohh they have Auntie Anne's Pretzels." My dad points to the pretzel booth.

"Ehhh." I sound, remembering the last time I had their salted pretzel. It wasn't very good and it ended up giving me a killer stomach ache.

My dad looks down at me like I'm a loon as we continue on our feet, "You're so weird sometimes."

"You're the one that made me, so..." I say, making his eyes roll back.

As we continue to walk through the crowded airport, my dad's phone begins to ring and both our attention is gathered by it. He quickly pulls out his phone before swiping his thumb across the screen, "Hello?.... Yes, we are passing the McDonald's right now." He says through the other line and his hand shoots up, catching me by surprise whilst hitting me in the face. He mutters an apology before waving it in the air freely, "I see you!" He says and hangs up the phone, picking up his pace towards the chairs set up outside of the Subway.

I comfort my injured cheek before picking up my feet to catch up with him.

"Mr. Styles." He greets a very good-looking older man who's standing next to one of the tables. He looks a little bit older than my dad, forty-five maybe? His hair is browner than mine, a lot more shiny and flawless which is quite embarrassing for me. His clean cut suit clings nice to his slim body and when his hand meets my dads, I can tell his handshake is firm and very professional just like everything else about him.

The only thing I know about this man is that my dad works for him. My dad works at one of those big professional office buildings that I never know exactly what they do or run. I always just nod my head along whenever he talks about his work. He uses all these big words that are too advanced for my vocabulary and brain.