“His name is August, its a nickname,” she explains as she helps me flatten out the bottom of the tent. “He really likes music,” she says next, and I’m surprised by the information. “All the stuff I like.”
“Yeah?” I look up at her, and she’s smiling softly as she lines up the Velcro. “So are you like…”
“Dad,” she groans. “Please don’t.”
“Oh, come on, talk to me.” It’s not a plea, or a demand, and Daisy knows this because her body goes slack and she scratches the back of her neck. “I just wanna know what’s going on in your life.”
I’m trying. Please let me try.
“He hasn’t asked me,” she blurts.
He hasn’t asked you, but he’s kissed you…I hold my tongue, and in the distance, Rhea gives me a goofy thumbs up as she unpacks more stuff. It takes everything in me not to shake my head at her while Daisy has a teenage crisis in front of me.
“Have you talked about it?” I question, snapping the last pole in place. The tent pops up nicely, and Daisy hands me the rain cover from the bag.
“I can’t just be like, ‘Hey Auggie, so am I like your girlfriend or what?’” she says in a bundle of slang I barely catch. “That’s so not smooth.”
“So teenagers don’t talk about their feelings anymore?” I’m confused, and I catch Rhea covering her mouth to stifle the laugh. When Daisy disappears around the tent, I shoot Rhea a death glare. She throws both hands up in surrender.
“Also embarrassing Dad,” she whines. “We’re friends…”
This time, when Rhea catches my eye, something stirs.
“Isn’t that the best way to start something like that?” I swallow hard.
“Yeah, but what if it ruins it?” She proposes, and I can feel her worry. The fear that by bringing it up with Auggie, there’s a chance she destroys the friendship she cherishes. Rhea pretends like she’s not listening, but I see her pause briefly at the question, her shoulders roll back tightly before she starts piling the wood for a fire.
“If telling him how you feel ruins the friendship, then he isn’t a very nice boy,” I say, trying to avoid the thoughts that crawl around my subconscious. “Besides, he kissed you at that dance, didn’t he…”
“Dad!” Daisy yells and throws a stick that she swipes off the ground in my direction. “Please stop talking now, maybe forever. Just never speak again!” She throws her hands in the air and stomps away to help Rhea, who’s back to laughing.
Before long, the three of us have found a groove, and the campsite actually looks pretty livable, with lamps and a good fire burning in the middle. Rhea throws some blankets down on her air mattress inside the large tent and surveys the surroundings with pride.
“I still hate camping.” She looks over at me, dead serious—except her cheeks are flushed and her eyes aren’t sad, so I know she’s lying.
“Mmhm,” I say. I open my mouth to suggest we start dinner when she screams at the top of her lungs. “What, what?” I step closer as she swats at herself, still yipping as she checks herself over.
“Something fucking bit me, Brighton!” she snaps and keeps looking for the bug's location.
“It’s probably just a mosquito,” I say, reaching out to try to calm her down, but she’s two seconds short of a full-blown mental breakdown with tears in her eyes as she rubs at her skin. “Rhea,” I try not to laugh as she whips off her sweater. “You’re alright.”
“What if that was a poisonous spider? Or a hornet!” She panics further.
“It wasn’t either of those things, it was probably a horse fly,” I tell her, and realize my mistake when her brown eyes widen in shock. “They’re not deadly, calm down.”
“Stop laughing at me!” She shoves, and I catch her wrist.
“Let me look.” I squeeze, and she finally inhales, her shoulders still tense and her eyes still searching around frantically. My eyes scan over her skin, searching between patches of ink for any sign of a bite that might actually be worrisome, but I don't find anything except for the fact that her body is more distracting than I remember.
“It was up here somewhere.” She wiggles, pointing to her back.
“Turn around,” I tell her. She shifts on her feet, and I brush my hand across her back to move her ponytail out of the way. Her skin is smooth and delicate beneath my rough, scarred hands. I inhale because now both of us are a little panicked for very different reasons, and inspect her skin to avoid the feelings kicking up in the base of my stomach.
“Right there,” I say, finding a small red mark on her left shoulder blade. “It’s just a horse fly bite,” I confirm. “Stay here.” I move to the truck and grab the first aid kit from the truck. When I return, Rhea is still searching around for the culprit, but she’s not going to find it. If she finds anything, it’ll be a bigger bug that scares her more, and I try not to laugh at her hatred of them.
“Hold still,” I say to her, squeezing a little lotion onto my finger and massaging it into her skin.
“Are my limbs going to fall off?” she asks me nervously, and a chuckle leaves my throat.
