Daphne Vs. Daddy

Apparently, my moment of self-reflection is scaring Daph because she blurts out, “Because I’m okay just being fuck buddies. I mean, who doesn’t want to have a fuck buddy? I can tell Carla that’s all we are. It’s okay, really it—”

“I don’t want to just be fuck buddies with you,” I say, interrupting her avalanche of words. It didn’t seem like she was going to be stopping on her own anytime soon.

“You don’t? You want…more?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, squeezing her hand tightly, in lieu of fucking her on top of our table. Sad choice to make, but even as much as they love me here, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be okay with me fucking Daph right here on the tabletop.

“You do?” she repeats in a breathy whisper, staring at me as if she isn’t quite sure I’m real. “But Heather…you said that she got too clingy, that you felt smothered by her. I don’t want to smother you.”

The waiter comes back just then to pour our whiskey, and after the little ceremony, which includes me swirling and tasting it and giving my approval to the waiter, he disappears again.

“Hold on, don’t we need to order?” Daph says, staring after our waiter. I shrug.

“I’ve been here often enough. They know what I like.”

“Oh. Right. Well…” she stops and just stares at me, and I can see it in her eyes; she isn’t sure she can believe me.

“I really do want to be with you, Daph. I know it’s fast, but at the same time, I’ve known you for so long. It’s like I’ve always known you. I don’t want to walk away now. I want to be in your life…if you’ll have me.”

She nods, not saying a word, pressing a fist into her mouth as she stares at me. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” she finally whispers. “But Dominic, we have to tell Mom. I can’t hide you from her. She’s not going to be happy, but she is my mom. She should know.”

“You’re right,” I say with a confident smile. “And how can you be so sure that she won’t be happy? I think she’s going to be thrilled. You know we parted on good terms, and she still calls me for financial advice.”

“She does? I didn’t know that.”

I shrug. “I like helping her out however I can. I set her up for life when we divorced, but she’s starting to enjoy learning how to play the stock market, and I give her hot tips whenever I come across them.”

“How is it that I didn’t know that?” she asks me wonderingly.

“I don’t know. It isn’t like I’ve tried to hide it from you. I guess your mom just didn’t think she needed to tell you.”

Which is when our plates of sushi arrive, and I smile to myself.

Time to hand-feed Daphne.

15

Daphne

Mom and I bustle around the kitchen, working on my mom’s specialty—vegetarian lasagne—while her wife works in the office on her latest novel. I like my mom’s wife, Trish, but it’s also nice to just spend some alone time with my mom.

After getting over the shock of me saying Dominic’s name, my mom seems to have taken the news pretty well. At least, she has so far. Then again, she hasn’t had a chance to grill Dominic to a nice char-broil. Yet. Sometimes, I think my mom thinks she has to make up for me not having a dad—at least, one that stuck around—and so she plays the part of both parents. If she owned a shotgun, she’d totally clean it when my boyfriends came over to meet her.

Thank God she’s a vegetarian lesbian pacifist who refuses to actually do something like own a gun. She’s scary enough without one.

“How is work going?” mom asks as she hands me greens to tear up for the salad.

“Pretty good. I got to operate on a patient the other day. Came into the ER with a perforated—”

“I think my imagination can take it from there,” my mother interrupts me with a pained smile.

I definitely didn’t get my love of the human anatomy from my mother. Blood, needles, and puke, or even the mention of such things, makes her squeamish. Not that puke rates very high on my list either, but as an ER doctor, I got more than my fair share of it.

“Anyway, they’re going to send me to a conference in Florida. In July! I think my boss hates me. Everyone knows you don’t visit Florida in July.”

“You don’t?” my mom says, surprised.

“It’s hot and humid and miserable in Florida in July. You go to Florida in January, when you’re sick of slipping on ice—”