The thought of my little girl turning eighteen and entering the realms of womanhood only deepens my dark mood. Where did the time go? And how did I miss so much of it?
Dana picks up a cloth and comes to stand in front of me. She takes the mug gently from my hands and runs the cloth over thebottom and the sides, clearing up the spilled coffee and saving me from anymore stains on my white t-shirt.
She hands me back the mug, and our gazes meet. Her dark brown eyes, so much like her mother’s, peer up at me with concern.
Hell, turning eighteen in a month is a formality. Dana’s been acting like an adult for the past four years.
“Sorry.” I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for the swearing or for missing so much of her growing up.
She smiles, a rare sight, and gives me a peck on the cheek.
“I’m just fucking with you, Dad. Swearing doesn’t offend me; it’s all part of the beautiful human experience.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. Trust Dana to turn a cuss word into an expression of humanity. “That may be the case, but don’t cuss. It doesn’t sound clever.”
“You just said fuck twice.”
“Okay.” I hold my hand up and let out a long sigh. I know when I’m beaten.
“What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Study break.” She goes over to the coffee machine and makes herself a drink. She’s got exams coming up soon, and I’ve yet to see her open a textbook.
“Which means you should be studying.”
She leans over to watch the water drip into her mug. “I’ve just handed in my video assignment for Media Studies.”
Memories of the camping trip flood my mind, and I turn away to my desk so Dana doesn’t see my reaction to the memories her words evoke. Brooke’s creamy thighs, her shy smile, and the way she came undone under me. But not just that; every interaction I had with her has been playing over in my mind since we got back from camp four weeks ago.
I put my coffee down on my desk and grip the sides, trying to shake the memories from my head. I realize Dana said something that I missed.
“What was that?”
She peers at me over the top of her coffee mug. “And I wanted to check up on you.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Check up on me? Why?”
She smirks. “In case you’re burning your fingers on hot drinks.”
It’s hard to get a serious answer out of my daughter.
She sets her mug on the table and puts her hands on her hips. “Look at you, Dad, you’re a mess.”
I release my grip on my desk and straighten up. “No I’m not.”
“You haven’t shaved in weeks, you haven’t been working out, and you’ve got coffee stains on your clothes.”
“That’s not fair. You saw me do that.”
“You’re sweary and grumpy and you stink.”
“Wow, don’t hold back.” You can always count on family to be brutally honest.
I surreptitiously sniff my armpits, and I guess I could step up my personal hygiene. It’s just hard to want to look after yourself when some days it feels pointless getting out of bed.
“You’re not taking care of yourself, and if it’s because of some misplaced noble notion that you can’t date Brooke because she’s my teacher, then I’m here to tell you that that’s bullshit.”
“Dana…”
