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I look down at the elegant yellow, sparkly, off-the-shoulder dress Ariel let me borrow, and for the first time since I put the dress on tonight, I don’t feel like a beautiful, sophisticated woman. I feel like a child who did something wrong. Realizing one of my shoes is still out in the yard somewhere, I probably even look like a child as I limp-walk around the dining room table and closer to where my dad is standing in the doorway, I stop a few feet away from him.
“Yes, Daddy, I snuck out of the house tonight, but it was just to go to a charity gala. It was perfectly safe, and I was with my friends the entire time,” I explain softly, growing sadder by the second when my explanation does nothing to soothe him.
Each word I speak makes his face change a different shade of red, each shade more alarming than the last, until I start to worry that his head might explode.
“I knew it!” he bellows, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “I’ve heard rumblings around town about these new friends of yours, but I shooed it away because I thought, ‘Oh no, my Isabelle is too smart to hang out with riffraff like those women’!”
And just like that, I forget all about being a sweet, respectful daughter.
“Riffraff?! Did you just call my friends riffraff?!” I shout. “You don’t know the first thing about them! They are kind, and they are wonderful, and they’re my friends! Do you have any idea how nice it is to have actual, real-life friends who aren’t fictional people in books, and who aren’t related to you by blood?!”
“What’s wrong with having your father as a friend? I am a wonderful friend to have!” he argues, clearly missing my point.
“I don’t need you as my friend, I need you as my father! But you can’t even do that right lately!”
I start to feel a little bad about saying something so harsh, but the next words out of his mouth make me not even care.
“You’re hanging out with hookers and doing hooker things! You think that just because you sneak out of this house and keep secrets from me that I don’t know what’s going on?! I’m your father! I was born with eyes in the back of my head, young lady. I know when my daughter is being hookerish!”
“THAT’S NOT EVEN A WORD!” I scream. “For your information, I’ve been sneaking out of the house to start my own business with my friends WHO ARE NOT HOOKERS! And you know what? This business has taken off and it’s doing amazing! But I don’t get to really appreciate all of this amazingness of a business I helped start until I can behave like the grown woman I am, experiencing new and exciting things, and not have to sneak out of my father’s fucking house every night like a child!”
“HOOKER LANGUAGE!” he roars, pointing a finger at me. “A recent study shows that swearing is a result of a lack of education, laziness, or impulsiveness. In twenty-five years, I would never use one of those words to describe you, until now. Until you started hanging out with riffraff hookers with questionable morals! And now you’ve started a business with these hooligans?! What has gotten into you, Isabelle?”
He folds his hands together under his chin and stares up at the ceiling.
“Why, God, whyyyyyyy?!” he wails.
“Will you stop with the dramatics? And stop treating me like a child! You need to let me go, Dad. You need to let me make my own choices and, yes, my own mistakes. You can’t shield me from everything and everyone. Don’t you understand? I’m dying living like this all the time. I don’t want to sneak out of the house, and I don’t want to keep secrets from you, but you’ve given me no choice!”
With a huff, he drops his hands down to his sides and lifts his chin in the air.
“Fine. If I’m killing you so much by loving you and putting a roof over your head and spending every waking moment making sure you’re safe, then you should leave. Pack your things and go. I hope you’ll find everything you need with your new prostitute friends.”
With that, he turns and walks out of the room, but of course I feel the need to have the last word.
“FOR THE LAST TIME, THEY ARE NOT PROSTITUTES! BUT THEY ARE STRIPPERS! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I’M GOING TO BE A STRIPPER TOO! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?! I’M GOING TO TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF FOR MONEY BECAUSE I’M AN ADULT AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT!”
I emphasize my point with a stomp of my foot, even though my dad is already down the hall and in his bedroom, evident by the loud slam of his door. Which is good, considering I just screamed at him that I was an adult and then stomped my foot . . . but whatever. I’m finally free! I’m finally getting out of my father’s house and away from his ridiculous rules and overprotectiveness!
