Page 83 of The Daddy’s Girl

She shrugs, a brave show of fierceness that makes my lips twitch with a smile. “Fine. But you can’t just ignore me now. I still need you.”

Those four words pierce my chest, and I love the way it burns. I hope she always needs me, which is a very selfish thing to want.

“I will always be here for you.”

Gazing into my eyes, she lets out a heavy sigh. I see the disappointment in her reaction, but she tries to remain stoic through it all. “I’d rather have you like this than not at all.”

“You have me, Trouble.”

This makes her smile, and she clings to my arm, resting her head on my shoulder. “Good. Because you have to come help with this project since it’s your fault I’m doing it in the first place.”

With that, she drags me down the street toward the club.

I have myself convinced this is the right choice.

I can refrain from wanting her too much.

I can stop myself from crossing that line again.

I can.

But I really don’t want to.

Rule #23: Let him spoil you.

Amelia

Ifeel him watching. And then I feel when he’s not watching. Even without looking up from my sketchbook, I can sense whether his eyes are on me.

My lo-fi station is playing on the Bluetooth speaker as I go back and forth from sketching designs to making to-do lists to writing emails. Matis is sitting across the room, reclined in an office chair. His shoes are propped up on the table as he reads a faded paperback with yellowing pages and a wrinkled cover. It’s an old mystery novel in French he picked up at one of the riverside booksellers.

Outside it’s started to rain, and the pitter-patter on the roof of the building has created a calm sense of ease in the room. The club hasn’t opened yet, but I can hear the rest of the team working down the hall. I hardly noticed three hours fly by as I was working on this project.

Erasing the form lines on the dress I’m working on, I swipe the dust off the page as I look up at Matis. Whether he knows it or not, his presence grounds me. When he’s around, I don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my skin or trying to run three different races at once. I’m not scrambling to catch up or lagging behind.

I wish I knew why.

Thinking about that moment under the tree, I realize that I meant what I said. I need Matis in my life, even if it’s just like this. Even if we keep things as innocent as possible forever.

Granted…that seems incredibly unfair. Curating our lives to fit the comfort of others. So what if my dad wouldn’t like it? If he had worried about what other people thought, he would have never married my mom.

Glancing back down at the drawing in front of me, my mind wanders, latching on to a memory from when I was only six or seven years old. The only time I could ever remember my parents facing judgment. The only time I saw my mother truly angry.

I don’t even remember who the woman was or why she was directing such harsh vitriol at my father. I only remember the things she called him. The cruelness in her tone.

And I can still hear the way she asked him, “What is wrong with you?”

For my little mind, I always wondered what she meant. There was nothing wrong with my dad. There was nothing wrong with my family.

Who was this stranger to imply that there was?

She was no one. Not really. A stranger we never saw again. A memory from my childhood we never revisited. Other than my mother briefly apologizing afterward for losing her temper and using some very bad words toward that woman.

But then that was it. The four of us went back to our daily lives where we loved each other, doing nothing wrong.

I glance back up at Matis.

Would people direct those insults toward him? Either because he’s old enough to be my father or because he held me as a baby.