Duke
Two days later, I know something’s up the second I step into the kitchen to start dinner. You know that feeling when you walk into a room and everyone goes quiet? When the air’s suddenly tense, and the back of your neck prickles?
Yeah. I’m getting that feeling.
“Meg,” I say, raising an eyebrow at my daughter where she’s hunched over the breakfast bar, textbooks spread over the marble. Clem’s over at the table, poring over her own classwork. Both innocent at first glance, but I know better.
Now Clem, she looks like a girl who’s studying. She chews on the end of a pencil; makes notes on a notepad. Her laptop’s close by, but the screen has gone dark, because when she focuses on her math problems, she’s all in. Completely absorbed. It’s cute as hell.
Meg, meanwhile, looks as shifty as a possum caught beside a trash can—and I should know. I’ve been the target of her pranks plenty of times over the years.
Something’s off. I can feel it.
And sure enough, cradled between the pages of her sports science textbook, is the glowing rectangle of a phone. My phone. I know that black leather case.
Ah, shit.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it.” Walking past on my way to the coffee machine, I pluck my phone from Meg’s hand. Need more caffeine before I deal with my daughter in mischievous mode. “I’ve got a gig downtown tonight. It’s a big one. I need to focus.”
Then I look at the phone screen, and nearly walk into the refrigerator. My heart lurches. “A dating app?”
The kitchen tilts, and I glance around, panicked. Are they both in on this? Does Clem want me to start dating too? Meg’s been on about it for years, but if Clem agrees…
Shit. Maybe I made her uncomfortable the other day in the back yard. Knew I should have backed off with that hose.
But: “What?” Clementine whispers, suddenly sitting bolt upright over her notebook. She stares at the phone in my hand, and her cheeks have gone chalky white. “You signed up to a dating app?”
Is it just me, or does she sound horrified at that idea?
Hope and guilt war in my chest, and I don’t know what to make of any of this, so I focus on Meg instead. She’s grinning from her stool, her short hair spiked up in a quiff, rocking her weight from side to side.
My steps thud across the tiles. I thrust the phone in her face. “Delete it.”
She snorts, batting me away easily. “Delete it yourself, grandpa. I can’t keep teaching you this shit. What will you do when I’m in Scotland next year for grad school?”
I’ll mourn her like a missing limb, that’s what I’ll do. But I refuse to ever hold my daughter back, so I don’t tell her that. Instead, I narrow my eyes.
“This isn’t funny, Meg. Delete it.”
She sighs, collapsing over her textbooks like a puppet with cut strings. I smack the phone into her held out palm, but she doesn’t delete it right away. No, instead she sits back up and starts swiping through photos, humming thoughtfully.
“This one looks nice. And this one. Hey look, this lady plays piano too!”
Meg flashes me a photo of a woman in her early forties, her blonde hair cut into a tasteful bob. She’s sitting beside a piano, smiling demurely at the camera.
“What do you think?” Meg pushes.
I think she looks age appropriate. The sort of woman I should date.
Over at the table, Clem still hasn’t gone back to her studying. Hell, I don’t think she’s even breathing, and her eyes must be dry from staring so hard.
“Dad,” Meg says.
I shift my weight. “She looks… fine. Like a nice lady.” Christ, what else am I supposed to say in front of my daughter? There is no good answer here. “But I don’t want to meet someone on an app. You know that, Meg.”
She’s flicking through more photos. She’s definitely put some filters on, because these women are all thirty five and above. Guess that tells me what she’d think of my thing for Clem. “There’s no stigma anymore, Dad. It’s totally normal.”
“I know, but—”
“And we all know you’re lonely.”
Fuck. We do? Am I that obvious?
“I’m not lonely for…” I wave a hand at the phone, lost for words.
“Meaningless sex?” Meg suggests. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, old man.”
Something clatters onto the kitchen tiles. Over by the table, Clem scrabbles on the floor for her pencil, her hands clumsy. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun today, and strands of it are tucked behind her ears, the ends tickling at her white t-shirt.
Now, if Clem’s photo flicked past on that app, I’d tap it or swipe it or whatever you’re supposed to do. Quicker than a heartbeat.
But that’s not in the cards, is it? And somehow, in raising a grown daughter all on my own, I failed to prepare for this conversation.
Giving her the sex talk—sure. When the time was right, I sat Meg down and told her all about the birds and the bees. But getting lectured by my adult daughter about how I’m clearly hard up? How do you prepare for that?
“So what are you lonely for?”
The question is so quiet I nearly miss it, but Meg throws out an arm in triumph. “Great question, Clem! What are you lonely for, Dad?”
“For some peace and quiet,” I grumble, snatching back the phone. I’ll delete the stupid app myself. “Jesus Christ.”
Meg snorts with laughter, shaking her head and turning away, and we’ve always been like this. She pushes me until I finally growl at her—then she laughs it off. No hard feelings on either side.
But over at the kitchen table, Clem stares down at her notebook, and she looks ready to cry. As I watch, her little chin wobbles.
Well, hell. I wasn’t telling her off. She just… she asked that question and I…
I panicked. And I guess Clem got caught in the crossfire.
Scrubbing a palm over my face, I listen to the gurgle of the coffee maker and the tap of Meg’s heel against her stool. The tick of the kitchen clock, and the whisper of breeze through the open window.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Finally, I’m level enough to put things right. Clem looks up, alarmed, as I draw out the chair next to hers, but she doesn’t shy away. Thank god.
“Will you delete this for me?” I ask quietly, even though Meg can still hear every word. “My renegade daughter won’t help.”
“S-sure.”
Clem takes my phone, and god, everything she does is so hushed. It’s not just her voice—it’s the whisper of her clothes and the near-silent taps of her thumbs against my phone screen. If you didn’t strain to hear Clem, you might miss her.
It’s funny. I play music for a living, battering my ear drums with loud clubs most nights. But I’m still hyper-sensitive to every rustle of Clem’s t-shirt; every hitch in her soft breaths.
“Done.”
She hands my phone back, but I don’t head over to cook. Not yet. No, I sit beside her a while longer, chewing over what I want to say. What I can say, with Meg sitting in earshot, her head cocked in our direction.
“You asked me what I’m lonely for.”
Clem turns her pencil over and over between her fingers. There are little nibble marks at the top. “Yes. But it’s none of my business, and I know I shouldn’t have asked—”
“I’m lonely for the little things.” Need to say this quick, before I think better of it.
“Holding someone’s hand as we walk down the street.
Knowing their coffee order by heart, and bringing a glass of water to their nightstand.
Seeing someone’s moods often enough to know when they’re hungry, or sleepy, or scared.
Coming home and having them here, smiling like they missed me. Someone to fuss over. Someone to love.”
“Oh.” Clem spins the pencil faster. “Yes. That does sound nice.”
My chair creaks as I shrug. “Wouldn’t know firsthand. It’s all dreamed up in my head. But I think it’s worth holding out for, don’t you?”
Clem nods quickly, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. And my eyes are drawn there, pinned there, and fuck, I’m so hungry for this girl. So desperate to cross a line, to say more things I shouldn’t, that the tension between us is thicker than treacle.
Whenever I’m close to Clem, there’s a giant countdown clock ticking away somewhere, counting down the seconds to disaster.
So it’s a relief when Meg shifts her stool, the legs screeching against the tiles. “Boo,” she calls without looking up from her textbook. “Life will pass you by like that.”
Maybe. But in the meantime, I’ve got a good job and a nice house and the best daughter in the world—and Clem. Whole long summer breaks of Clem.
Things aren’t so bad.
“I’ll be back late tonight.” My chair scrapes back as I stand to cook dinner. “Try not to run riot while I’m gone. No more dating apps.”
“No promises,” says Meg. I ruffle her hair on the way past, and she leaves it messed up. Her cheek dimples as she smiles at her textbook.
Yeah, I may be lonely, but this is still pretty great.
And I’m not going on that app. Maybe it’s pathetic, maybe it’ll never happen, but I don’t care.
Don’t want any woman touching me but Clem.