Could I have just gone in and asked what’s up? Sure, but I felt this was more of a conversation to have in private.
I’ve been waiting all day for her to come home so I can ask her about it. There’s clearly a reason she hasn’t told me or her brother for that matter. I’m going to find out what that is.
I’m reading in the living room when Calla comes through the door from the garage.
“Hey, baby, how was work?”
Calla stiffens and slowly turns to face me.
“Good. Long.”
“Busy?”
“Very.”
She shrugs off her coat and puts it in the closet.
“Want to talk about it? Looks like it was a rough one, and I’d love to discuss it with you.”
She keeps walking past me. “No thanks.”
“Were you late?”
“No.”
“Did you leave early?”
“No.”
“Did you take a part-time job with Willa, or do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”
She jerks to a stop and spins around.
“What was that?”
“I said, where do you actually work?”
“In a billing department,” she answers without missing a beat.
“For which company?”
She cocks a hip and crosses her arms.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, was I supposed to run every choice I make through you? No. No, I was not.”
A smart-ass response is stuck on my lips. She just called me Daddy.
Do I like it?
I’ve written about it before.
Readers love it.
Yet considering that I actually know her parents and have met her father, it doesn’t sit well with me.
I don’t like it.
“Oh, cat got your tongue?”
