I smile.
Her frown deepens.
I laugh.
“Ugh, God! Why are you so difficult!”
I take a bite of the lettuce wraps. They’re delicious if I do say so myself. “Because that’s my job. I am here to make sure you get into college and adulthood without dying, contracting a sexually transmitted infection, or coming down with - you know - a baby.”
Faylor rolls her eyes and sits at the island. “Why do you have to be so dramatic?”
I bite my lip but remain silent.
“God! Fine! Mike from school was going to come over to talk physics.”
Remain calm. Remain calm. Remain calm.
“Physics?” I take a bite and chew, giving myself a few minutes to compose my response. I figured“oh, I just bet he wanted to show you his physics”was not the helpful answer to her statement.
“Yeah,” Faylor looks down at her plate. “I’m getting a B.”
I shake my head. “Sweetheart, that’s okay. It’s not the end of the world if you get a B in that class.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“But you have all the degrees. At my age, you were in college. I’m barely making it as a high school sophomore.”
I stand and walk over to Faylor, putting my arms around her shoulders. “Sweetheart, we are all smart in our own ways. There’s no way in hell I expected you to graduate high school at 14. I wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone, much less you.”
“Hell?”
“How do you think it went for a skinny nerd-brain to go to high school at the age of 12, then graduate two years later?”
She leans back and considers me. “You were skinny?”
“As a rail. I didn’t get a growth spurt until I was working on my second degree.”
“Geez. Then, you were probably beat up in high school.”
I snort. “Nah. I had Faye looking out for me. My first day in high school, she kicked the biggest bully in the nuts and told him to leave me alone, or he’d have to deal with her.”
Faylor laughs. “I wish I knew her.”
I rub her back. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
I return to my seat and pick up a lettuce wrap. “Now, let’s talk about this Mike character and why you think he’s the best person to teach you physics when I have an advanced degree in it.”
She rolls her eyes in that teenager kind of way, then changes the subject. “I want to go somewhere for Spring Break.”
“Where do you want us to go?”
Faylor won’t meet my eyes.
Ah shit. She doesn’t want dear old Dad to go along.
“Sweetheart, you’re 16. I’m not letting you go to Spring Break with a bunch of other teenagers. End. Of. Story.”
