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Something’s off. I can feel it.
And sure enough, cradled between the pages of her sports science textbook, is the glowing rectangle of a phone.Myphone. I know that black leather case.
Ah, shit.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it.” Walking past on my way to the coffee machine, I pluck my phone from Meg’s hand. Need more caffeine before I deal with my daughter in mischievous mode. “I’ve got a gig downtown tonight. It’s a big one. I need to focus.”
Then I look at the phone screen, and nearly walk into the refrigerator. My heart lurches. “A dating app?”
The kitchen tilts, and I glance around, panicked. Are they both in on this? Does Clem want me to start dating too? Meg’s been on about it for years, but if Clem agrees…
Shit. Maybe I made her uncomfortable the other day in the back yard. Knew I should have backed off with that hose.
But: “What?” Clementine whispers, suddenly sitting bolt upright over her notebook. She stares at the phone in my hand, and her cheeks have gone chalky white. “You signed up to a dating app?”
Is it just me, or does she sound horrified at that idea?
Hope and guilt war in my chest, and I don’t know what to make ofanyof this, so I focus on Meg instead. She’s grinning from her stool, her short hair spiked up in a quiff, rocking her weight from side to side.
My steps thud across the tiles. I thrust the phone in her face. “Delete it.”
She snorts, batting me away easily. “Delete it yourself, grandpa. I can’t keep teaching you this shit. What will you do when I’m in Scotland next year for grad school?”
I’ll mourn her like a missing limb, that’s what I’ll do. But I refuse to ever hold my daughter back, so I don’t tell her that. Instead, I narrow my eyes.
“This isn’t funny, Meg. Delete it.”
She sighs, collapsing over her textbooks like a puppet with cut strings. I smack the phone into her held out palm, but she doesn’t delete it right away. No, instead she sits back up and starts swiping through photos, humming thoughtfully.
“This one looks nice. And this one. Hey look, this lady plays piano too!”
Meg flashes me a photo of a woman in her early forties, her blonde hair cut into a tasteful bob. She’s sitting beside a piano, smiling demurely at the camera.
“What do you think?” Meg pushes.
I think she looks age appropriate. The sort of woman Ishoulddate.
Over at the table, Clem still hasn’t gone back to her studying. Hell, I don’t think she’s even breathing, and her eyes must be dry from staring so hard.
“Dad,” Meg says.
I shift my weight. “She looks… fine. Like a nice lady.” Christ, what else am I supposed to say in front of my daughter? There is no good answer here. “But I don’t want to meet someone on an app. You know that, Meg.”
She’s flicking through more photos. She’s definitely put some filters on, because these women are all thirty five and above. Guess that tells me what she’d think of my thing for Clem. “There’s no stigma anymore, Dad. It’s totally normal.”
“I know, but—”
“And we all know you’re lonely.”
Fuck. We do? Am I that obvious?
“I’m not lonely for…” I wave a hand at the phone, lost for words.
“Meaningless sex?” Meg suggests. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, old man.”
Something clatters onto the kitchen tiles. Over by the table, Clem scrabbles on the floor for her pencil, her hands clumsy. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun today, and strands of it are tucked behind her ears, the ends tickling at her white t-shirt.
Now, ifClem’sphoto flicked past on that app, I’d tap it or swipe it or whatever you’re supposed to do. Quicker than a heartbeat.
