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CHAPTER NINE
Maxwell
“I don’t need to be fixed!” she shouts.
I think this is the first time I hear her raise her voice angrily. It shocks me but my Daddy instincts take over. “Don’t take that tone of voice with me, little girl,” I warn.
She breathes in deeply and says, “I don’t care how sexy you are when you’re strict. If you don’t show me respect, how can you expect me to show you respect?” I realize the deep breath wasn’t to calm herself. It was to deal with arousal from my tone.
I don’t know how to respond.
I mean, I don’t have any idea how to respond at all.
I can tell you how to determine control limits on a sequence of data so that operational processes can be effectively managed for optimal results. I can tell you have to do value-added flowcharting, which tracks all of the steps in any given activity and makes clear which steps add value and which don’t so that the ones that don’t can be eliminated if possible.
I sit down and say, “We’ve been together for almost a year now and I can’t think of any time I’ve been disrespectful to you.” I say it quietly because I’m unsure now.
“Every time you try to get me to give you goals you can manage for you you’re disrespecting me. You’re just unwilling to accept that I’m completely happy and excited about my life exactly as it is!” She shakes her head and says, “You know, everybody always thinks I’m just stuck when they first meet me. They think I’m homeless or that something bad happened in my life or something. They think I’m just doing what I can to survive until I catch a break.”
God, she’s livid. She’s worked herself up to real anger now. “I don’t…” The only thing I actually don’t is don’t know what to say. I finally just finish with, “…know what to say.”
“You want somebody to fix!” she says. “I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t need to change. I am happy with my life and happy with where I am. Who knows? Maybe that will change someday but right now, I’m happy with the idea of never having more than my truck with my camper shell. I mean never. I mean, the idea of only having that when I’m fifty doesn’t seem bad to me. It doesn’t seem even close to bad. It seems like a pretty damned good thing, in fact.”
“What are you afraid of?” I ask.
I see her eyes narrow and I expect her to scream at me. Instead, she stands up. She’s calm on the outside but I can tell she’s seething on the inside. “It was nice while it lasted, Max,” she says. “I think I love you, even.” She walks to the door and says, “but you don’t hear me. You just can’t. Goodbye.”
“Wait!” I say as I stand up. “I don’t think I love you. I know I do. Please. Don’t leave.”
She shakes her head sadly. “You don’t love me, Max. You love what you think I can become. If I were a real little girl, I mean physically a child, you would love the adult you think I’ll grow up to be. I’m already grown up. You love someone who isn’t ever going to be.” She opens the door and walks out and it occurs to me we both declared our love for each other.
And it’s over.
I sit there stunned for a moment. Then I rush to the door and when I open it, I see her truck driving down the street. I back inside and close the door. I make my way to the table and sit down. Dinner is half eaten. I stare at everything and for what might be the first time in my life, I don’t feel like cleaning it up. I don’t feel like making sure the leftovers are all securely placed in containers or zip bags. I don’t feel like loading the dishwasher or even the sink.
I feel like only one thing.
I feel like the most important thing in my life just walked out of it.
I walk to the cabinet and open it. I reach for a bottle of fifty-year-old scotch. I don’t actually reach for that bottle. I just grab it randomly. I have it poured before I realize I’ve got a tumbler one-third full, about seventy dollars’ worth of this particular scotch. Again, that kind of thing just doesn’t happen to me. I don’t just do things without thought or attention to detail. This scotch, saved for a special occasion, is instead a part of the least special moment of my life.
I sit down and take a sip. I hate that it’s the best scotch I’ve ever had. I hate everything at the moment.
Except for Daisy.
I love her.
I think about her, of all that she is and all the times she has me staring in wonder at her attitude, her sweetness, and her simple desire to make people smile. I think about her and take another sip and then I put the glass down.
She’s perfect.
I bring the glass to the sink and pour it out and then clean up the table and the dishes. I don’t feel compelled to do it but the activity helps me think. Finally, I leave my place and drive to the RV Park. As I pull into the park, I realize she might already be gone. I look at my watch. Three hours have passed since she walked out. I feel a panic attack coming on but I drive and see her truck.
A minute later, I knock on the door and there’s no answer. I realize she’s probably asleep and I decide to just sleep in my car. As I start to turn away, though, the door opens. “Max?” she asks sleepily.
“Can I please come in?” I say.
She hesitates for a moment but then hears the whirr of the stairs as they come down.
A minute later, I’m talking a mile a minute and trying not to be distracted by the fact that she wears nothing but a tee shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh but that somehow makes it look even more erotic. She’s listening intently and finally, I say, “When you left… I just kept thinking about how perfect you are. You’re sweet. You’re beautiful. You’re so damned smart. You’re honest. You’re bright and cheerful. If you see someone who’s sad, all you want to do is ease their pain. If you see someone who’s not sad, you want to make them happy. If you see someone who’s happy, you want to make them happier. If someone smiles, you want to make their smile broader. I love you, Daisy.”
“But…”
I hold up a hand. “You don’t understand what I’m saying. I love you. Not future you. Not theoretical you. I love the daisy standing in front of me right now. If you ever want help with anything, you got it. Other than that, I’m your Daddy. I’ll love you. I’ll care for you. I’ll protect you. I’ll never try to get you to change.”
I have no idea if everything is still lost and the next three or four seconds are torture.
Then, Daisy says, “Oh, Daddy!” and rushes forward and into my arms.
