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But that’s not in the cards, is it? And somehow, in raising a grown daughter all on my own, I failed to prepare for this conversation.
Givingherthe sex talk—sure. When the time was right, I sat Meg down and told her all about the birds and the bees. But getting lectured by my adult daughter about how I’m clearly hard up? How do you prepare for that?
“So what are you lonely for?”
The question is so quiet I nearly miss it, but Meg throws out an arm in triumph. “Great question, Clem! Whatareyou lonely for, Dad?”
“For some peace and quiet,” I grumble, snatching back the phone. I’ll delete the stupid app myself. “Jesus Christ.”
Meg snorts with laughter, shaking her head and turning away, and we’ve always been like this. She pushes me until I finally growl at her—then she laughs it off. No hard feelings on either side.
But over at the kitchen table, Clem stares down at her notebook, and she looks ready to cry. As I watch, her little chin wobbles.
Well, hell. I wasn’t telling her off. She just… she asked that question and I…
I panicked. And I guess Clem got caught in the crossfire.
Scrubbing a palm over my face, I listen to the gurgle of the coffee maker and the tap of Meg’s heel against her stool. The tick of the kitchen clock, and the whisper of breeze through the open window.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Finally, I’m level enough to put things right. Clem looks up, alarmed, as I draw out the chair next to hers, but she doesn’t shy away. Thank god.
“Will you delete this for me?” I ask quietly, even though Meg can still hear every word. “My renegade daughter won’t help.”
“S-sure.”
Clem takes my phone, and god, everything she does is so hushed. It’s not just her voice—it’s the whisper of her clothes and the near-silent taps of her thumbs against my phone screen. If you didn’t strain to hear Clem, you might miss her.
It’s funny. I play music for a living, battering my ear drums with loud clubs most nights. But I’m still hyper-sensitive to every rustle of Clem’s t-shirt; every hitch in her soft breaths.
“Done.”
She hands my phone back, but I don’t head over to cook. Not yet. No, I sit beside her a while longer, chewing over what I want to say. What Icansay, with Meg sitting in earshot, her head cocked in our direction.
“You asked me what I’m lonely for.”
Clem turns her pencil over and over between her fingers. There are little nibble marks at the top. “Yes. But it’s none of my business, and I know I shouldn’t have asked—”
“I’m lonely for the little things.” Need to say this quick, before I think better of it. “Holding someone’s hand as we walk down the street. Knowing their coffee order by heart, and bringing a glass of water to their nightstand. Seeing someone’s moods often enough to know when they’re hungry, or sleepy, or scared. Coming home and having them here, smiling like they missed me. Someone to fuss over. Someone to love.”
“Oh.” Clem spins the pencil faster. “Yes. That does sound nice.”
My chair creaks as I shrug. “Wouldn’t know firsthand. It’s all dreamed up in my head. But I think it’s worth holding out for, don’t you?”
Clem nods quickly, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. And my eyes are drawn there,pinnedthere, and fuck, I’m so hungry for this girl. So desperate to cross a line, to say more things I shouldn’t, that the tension between us is thicker than treacle.
Whenever I’m close to Clem, there’s a giant countdown clock ticking away somewhere, counting down the seconds to disaster.
So it’s a relief when Meg shifts her stool, the legs screeching against the tiles. “Boo,” she calls without looking up from her textbook. “Life will pass you by like that.”
Maybe. But in the meantime, I’ve got a good job and a nice house and the best daughter in the world—and Clem. Whole long summer breaks of Clem.
Things aren’t so bad.
“I’ll be back late tonight.” My chair scrapes back as I stand to cook dinner. “Try not to run riot while I’m gone. No more dating apps.”
