“Maggie, Princess, tell me what’s wrong.”
She looked up from her uneaten pizza, eyes bleary and sad. I should have known something was drastically wrong when she asked to go for pizza, then ordered a plain cheese pie and chocolate milk. She hadn’t ordered that combination since she was ten. Not even my flowers had gotten much of a reaction. She kissed my cheek. That was all.
The only conversation I’d gotten out of her was short, monosyllabic answers. Tugging on my hair in frustration, I tried again.
“Sweetheart, you can tell me anything.”
“Why are boys such jerks, Daddy?”
I inhaled sharply. That wasn’t what I expected.
“Um, is this a general question, Maggie, or do I need to go find Josh and have a talk with him?”
“I don’t understand him!”
I bit back my amusement. “We generally don’t understand you either, my girl.” I wrapped my hand around hers. “What happened?”
“I asked Josh today if these jeans made my butt look big.”
Oh, God. He hadn’t.
Any male over twelve knew the right answer to that question.
“What did he say?” I was prepared to tell her how her butt was not big and Josh was an idiot.
“He said no. Then he walked away.” Maggie’s lip trembled, then suddenly she started to cry—big, wet tears rolled down her face. I pulled her into my arms, attempting to soothe her, as I tried to figure out how to get Avery to join us.
If he said no, I didn’t understand the problem; so obviously I was missing some huge key in the girl world. Avery would know what to say and do to make Maggie feel better.
After a couple minutes, she drew back and wiped her face.
“Do you want to go home and talk to Mom?” I asked.
“No. I want a guy’s perspective.”
Shit.
Things were s
o much easier when I could buy her a new My Little Pony.
“Did you want to go to the mall and buy a new pair of shoes . . . or something?”
She glared at me, picked up her chocolate milk and downed it, then stood. “I’d like another glass of milk. I’m going to go wash my face.”
As soon as she was gone, I called Avery, and told her what just happened. “What’s going on with her?”
She chuckled. “I think it’s PMS, Daniel.”
Shut up.
“My Maggie? PMS?” I whispered-yelled.
“She was a little emotional this morning, as well. She’ll be better tomorrow. I’ll give her some Midol when she gets home. In the meantime, get her some more chocolate milk.”
Oh, Lord, I was in way over my head.
“Never mind tomorrow, what about now? She wants to talk boys,” I hissed.