Save Me, Daddy

“So, what do you do?” she asks innocently, shrugging. “I never even asked you.”

“These days, I don’t really do a lot," I answer honestly. “After I got out of the military, I thought I would set up a cyber security firm. That went fairly well, but then I also designed an app for a sort of military-style exercise training, and I got really lucky with that. Once I sold the app, I realized I could just start, you know, investing in small projects. Giving back. I’ve been very lucky.”

She nods seriously. I can tell that she understands what I'm really saying. “Small projects like me, for instance?”

I laugh softly, reaching out to cup the curve of her cheek in my hand. “Well, anything that has potential is worth an investment, Kita. You're probably the most precious thing I've run across in a long time. In fact, your Dean mentioned that you have been working on an app as well?”

She looks startled for just a moment. I'm not sure if it's because I mentioned talking to her Dean, or if she's just surprised that I know about the app.

“He did? I’m surprised he even remembers. It's really nothing,” she answers humbly. “Just an anti-bullying protocol that I put together. Nothing serious, really.”

“Oh, don't be overly modest,” I scold her gently, careful not to bruise her too much. “I hear it's really quite a smart idea. Are you looking for investors by any chance?”

“Oh, Daddy, stop!” she exclaims, laughing brightly.

Her hand reaches out and brushes my forearm, squeezing gently. I heard the word. I heard her say it, and I fucking loved it. I want her to say it again. When I’m buried inside her.

“You shouldn't tease me like that,” I warn her, leaning in and lowering my voice. “People will have opinions, you know.”

She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Oh no, not opinions!” she replies. “You know what, I think I’m just about done with other people's opinions. Let them think what like!”

“You're just an extraordinary creature,” I sigh. In the low flickering candlelight, she seems to glow with warmth and vitality. “Do you really believe that?”

She shrugs. “My mother used to say that if you know the truth

in your heart, it doesn't matter what other people think.”

I watch her carefully, looking for signs of stress. She seems perfectly comfortable now, though she hadn't spoken about her mother since we've met.

“That's a good way of looking at things.”

I don't say anything more for a moment, waiting to see if she's going to elaborate about her mother. She seems to consider her options for a moment, then relaxes slightly.

“My mother was arrested. They said she was a spy. She was deported, back to Russia.” Her voice is light, casual, but it betrays the seriousness of the admission.

She searches my eyes, looking to see what I think. I'm sure she wants to know if I judge her for this.

“I'm sorry,” I reply, stroking her soft kneecap under the table. I wish that I could take her in my arms to comfort her right now, but that probably isn't very smart. “It must've been so hard for you.”

She nods tightly, pressing her lips together. “It was. It is… every day. I'd give anything to see her again. But I don't even know how to reach her. It’s like, as soon as she was there, she disappeared. I have no way to contact her at all.”

Her eyes glisten in the candlelight as they fill almost to the brim. As I watch, her tears tremble until she blinks, then they drop down her cheeks in two shimmering lines.

“Oh, Kita, I'm so sorry.”

I reach out and take her hand, holding it between my hands. She smiles thinly but leans toward me. I could feel that she trust me, that talking about this with me provides her some comfort. I wonder how many people she's really ever been able to talk to.

I tug her a little closer, and then feel something hard in my hand. Drawing her hand back into the light, I squint for a moment, not quite understanding what I'm seeing.

She flinches, drawing her hand back.

“Oh, I'm so sorry…” she explains quickly. “I didn't mean to… I just… oh, I'm so sorry!”

I pull her hand back to me, grasping her fingers between mine and turning her hand slowly. The old ruby kind of glitters in the light, probably more than it ever has before.

“I bought this in Russia, a long, long time ago,” I explain to her. “There was a market, people just selling odds and ends. This old woman sold it to me. She said it was magic.”

“Magic?”