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I’d say my dad has undisclosed abandonment issues. Every time I talk to my mom—a rare occasion as it is—he checks that I don’t want to book my next flight away from him.
“If I weren’t about to turn 22 this year, you’d probably make me wear one of those leash backpacks to keep me within a five-foot radius.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “Don’t tempt me because that idea sounds pretty good right now.”
His vigilance worsened once I started college, with him being unable to control the desires of horny boys and F1 racers alike. The situation got to the point where he conveniently paid for me to go away every single summer—all coinciding with his F1 traveling.
I shoot him a glare that could melt steel. “Can you please relax? You’re not going to be able to protect me from every male who crosses my path.”
“I can sure try.” My dad’s teeth run against his lower lip as he goes through our itinerary. He can’t suck the fun out of this summer. I want to meet new people, explore different cities, and make a few mistakes because Lord knows I need to. People underestimate how tough it is to be the perfect daughter for my dad, always striving for greatness to appease him. I’m talking straight A’s, honor societies, and the equestrian club—all very uppity of me.
“Remember you need to finish the semester with all A’s for me to fulfill my end of the bargain. I’ll be checking your GPA before you get on the plane.”
“Would you also like me to sync my study calendar to your phone? That way you can log all my hours?”
He fights a smile. “I don’t know why I raised you to be such a smartass, but it comes out at the most inconvenient times. I only want to make sure you’ll graduate on time.”
I have one year before I walk across the big stage with an accounting degree in hand and a fake smile plastered across my face. My dad claims numbers are safe. They scream independent financial stability, except the only one genuinely screaming is me. But I chose the degree for my dad’s peace of mind because he’s endlessly supported me through the years. He sacrificed part of himself to be everything I needed and more, never adding a new woman to our duo.
“But I’ve always dreamed of being like other F1 principal’s daughters with a limitless credit card and more Chanel purses than Coco herself.” I bat my lashes at him.
“I better lock up my wallet at night.”
“Oh, Dad. Everything’s digital nowadays, so I already have your Amex added to my Apple Wallet.”
He fake shudders. “Hopefully you don’t run up my bill with all that European shopping.”
“I hope you know I have other plans besides shopping.”
“I can’t wait to hear about them.”
I recoil at the thought of my dad getting a hold of my list. My Fuck It list is sexy, daring, and risky for a rule-follower like me, with some items that would make the nuns in the local convent blush. They’d probably throw a bottle of holy water at my head, hoping it knocks me out and saves me from a life of impurity and eternal damnation.
He shoots me a soft smile. “You know why I do this all, right? The rules and stuff?”
“Because you enjoy less messy versions of torture?” I drop onto a chair.
My dad offers a dramatic eye roll, similar to my own. “No. Because you don’t understand the F1 world. You’re pure-hearted while others aren’t. I raised you away from it all, and sometimes I worry that I protected you too much, hoping to save you from being hurt.”
The sincerity of his words hits me in the chest like a one-two punch. It’ll be a disappointing day for my dad when he realizes his baby girl is not exactly a baby anymore. Honestly, it won’t hit him until I have a baby of my own because women crush their parents’ abstinence dreams once they give birth.
“I’m not going to get eaten alive out in the real world. You raised me better than that. If I survived an all-girls school and three years at uni, I think I can make it out there. Honestly, we’re lucky the plaid skirts and mean girls didn’t cause any psychological damage.”
“You’ll always be my little girl. The same one who put pigtails in my hair to match yours or drew fake tattoos with pens all over my arms.”
“Speaking of tattoos, I was prepping myself for the real deal by testing out designs. That reminds me of my full sleeve idea. Thoughts?”
His eyes narrow, and his smile turns into a frown.
“I’ll take that as a no. Darn.” I snap my finger in mock frustration.
“Show up with a tattoo, and you won’t be on the next plane to Italy. Oh, no. You’ll be off to Antarctica attending a once in a lifetime trip to see penguins and melting icebergs.”
“I wonder if Leonardo DiCaprio would be down to assess climate change damage with me. I heard he likes to visit the South Pole too.” I flash him a mischievous smile.
“Get out of here before I revoke your plane ticket and all-access pass.”
I scoff in fake horror. He gets up from his chair and pulls me in for a quick hug, squeezing the air straight from my lungs.
I’m grateful for his leniency on the F1 issue. I get to trade virgin cocktails for champagne, bounce houses for gala events, and my princess costume for evening gowns. Finally, I’ll live the life my lavish tastes deserve.
Men should be the least of his worries because, excuse my language, but I’m ready to fuck shit up.
