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"Good Lord, no. I'm not a spring chicken, Katherine. I've been around the block a few times. Why, once upon a time, I too was a young man out pitching woo." He grinned.
"Pitching woo," I said and smiled. I exhaled, my cheeks a bit heated at what he'd said. "Things just can't work out between us."
"I thought you two were so right for each other," he said. "That's why I invited him to the concert. Why, I've been told by women who know about these things that he's very attractive." He wagged his eyebrows at me and smiled. "I could tell he was attracted to you at the dinner party, the way he kept following you around like a dog after a bone. When we were at the health club, he raved to me about your writing, especially your piece on Africa. You know how important Africa is to him. I thought he might bring you out of your shell. Lighten you up a bit. You've been a bit reclusive since your mother passed and since that business after Africa..."
That business after Africa. My father couldn't admit that I developed clinical depression.
"Kurt was obviously a jerk, but I though Drake was more your type. Strong. Confident. Competent."
"You were matchmaking for me, Daddy?"
He smiled. "Someone's gotta do it. You don't seem all that good on your own. I wanted you and Drake to meet for quite some time, but you've been so reclusive and Dawn isn't much better. Didn't she join a nunnery or something?"
I laughed, in spite of my sadness. "No," I said, smiling just a bit. "She volunteered in India with Mother Theresa's charity. She's trying to set me up, too."
"The Greg fellow? He was a bust."
"Daddy! He was a nice young man. He just finished his MFA…"
"Extremely milquetoast, if I recall…" my father said, shaking his head. "Not your type."
I frowned and examined him closely. "What is my type?"
He picked up his glass of scotch and took a sip. "Someone like Drake Morgan, I'd say. Or at least I thought so, which is why I encouraged it."
Someone like Drake Morgan…
I sat there, frowning to myself, surprised at this turn of events.
"And what is Drake Morgan like?"
"He's very intelligent, capable, strong, confident, professional. He's a man's man, but he knows how to treat a woman, I'd say, judging by the attention he gave you at the dinner party and the concert. I know him very well, Katherine, and I thought he was just about perfect for you." He shrugged. "But I guess if you don’t like him, I was wrong. Usually, I'm a very good judge of character. I pride myself on it, given I have to judge people all the time."
"I do like him, Daddy. It's just not going to work out."
"Shame." He drank the rest of his scotch down. "Why don't you get your old man a refill and get yourself something to drink? The sun's over the yardarm. There's a girl."
He handed me his empty glass and I nodded, returning
to the living room and the bar. As I refilled his scotch, I felt such conflicting emotions. My father actually thought about the kind of man I needed…
He thought Drake was that kind of man.
After a casual dinner with Elaine, we three sat in the den and listened to music, something way too abstract for me, modern classical, chatting about nothing in particular. I forced myself to stay with them as long as possible, the sadness building inside of me. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and faked a yawn and stood, ready for escape.
"I'm going to bed early. I've had a busy day and I've got lots of work on my plate tomorrow."
"Good night sweetheart," my father said when I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "Sweet dreams. I'm sure things will all work out with Drake."
"I don't think so, Daddy."
"Well, these things have a way of working out for the best eventually."
I went to my room, a sickness in my gut that this was not going to work out between Drake and me the way my father thought. I was tempted to check my mail to see if Drake had written or texted me, but I fought the urge. After washing my face and brushing my teeth in my old bathroom off my bedroom, I crept onto the huge four-poster bed and under the quilt. I lay in the darkness, thinking about Drake. He was strong, competent, professional. He did know how to treat a woman. Make her feel as if she was the center of his attention.
I tossed and turned for quite a while, wondering if I'd ever see him again, finally dissolving into tears at the thought I might not.
I skipped classes the next morning, deciding to work on my paper instead. I tried to work at my father's apartment, but had left an important file at my apartment, so after lunch, I said goodbye to my father as he sat in his study, on the phone. I went to my front door and of course, someone had propped open the door. I kicked the cardboard out that was used to prop the door open and went up the stairs. Inside, I found my files and put them in my backpack. A light flashed on my answering machine on the landline, and I checked the record of callers. Drake showed up several times as did Dawn's number.
