CHAPTER EIGHT
Michael
I pronounce what she already knows. She’s in trouble and there will be consequences. I quickly ask, “Why were you afraid to tell me?”
Her bottom lip trembles and though I want to comfort her, now is not the time. “I . . . I was afraid I’d disappoint you.”
I sigh. “Bullshit. Try again, little girl.”
She looks confused for a moment and says, “But . . . ” Then, she sighs and kind of deflates completely. “I was afraid that, if I told you, then you would make me face it.” She’s quiet now, not crying. “I didn’t really realize that until now. I mean, I knew I couldn’t face it but I thought . . .” She shakes her head.
“Little Girl,” I say. “Do you know what the hardest thing about coming back together with you was?” She shakes her head slowly. I say, “I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to get a text or a call that says you’re breaking up with me, that you’re afraid if you don’t we’ll end up hating each other.”
“But, I would never! I would never do . . .” her voice disappears and her face takes on a horrified expression as she realizes I’m actually quoting her from the breakup long ago. “Oh, God!” she says in a horrified whisper.
“I never stopped loving you,” I say.
“I never stopped loving you,” she whispers back quietly.
“But, we lost all of those years, because you were afraid of what might happen, of how we might fail. You were so afraid of failing at our relationship that you broke up then and there instead of failing later. You were so afraid of failing at your ceramics that you hid it from the world and now, you’ve lied to me for three weeks, because you were afraid of failing, again.”
She swallows hard and says, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Do you want me to be your Daddy?”
She nods eagerly. “Yes! Yes!”
“And you submitted yourself to my authority about your passion, right? You asked me to hold you accountable for focusing on your ceramics?”
She nods, bottom lip quivering. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Then you need a lesson,” I say.
She stares at me, not sure where it’s going. I say, “Get undressed and go to the studio. You’re going to craft an introductory letter and we’re going to send emails to each of the studios right now.”
“But, Daddy, I—” She presses her lips together when she sees my expression and then nods. “Yes, Daddy,” she says.
She strips slowly, trying to delay things. I just wait, staring impassively at her. Finally, she’s naked and she can do nothing more. I follow her to the studio, where she sits at her desk, and I stand behind her. She crafts the letter and it’s very good. I can’t understand her fear, but I am determined to make her face it. She finishes and we take pictures of her fine art pieces.
When it is all done, we get the first email ready and right when she’s about to press send, I say, “Wait.”
She looks up at me and I say, “It’s up to you. I’m not going to force you. You can click send or not. But, you need to face this, without my threatening you to make it happen. If you don’t send the email, there won’t be any punishment and we’ll work on building your confidence.” With that, I step out of the room and return to the living room.
God it’s hard!
She’s in the studio for five minutes, and I feel like rushing in. Then, she’s in for another five and five more. She’s in there for almost an hour and I am just about to get up when she comes out. She has been crying and I wonder if I have pushed her too far. She walks up to me and says, “I sent twenty-five emails.”
I look at her and smile. “Good girl. I knew you’d face up to your fears.”
She smiles at the praise and then falls to her knees. I think she’s about to initiate something sexual, but I’m wrong. Her face is crumples and she’s crying. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so afraid. What if they hate my art or even worse, don’t think it is art. What if I’m not good enough?” There are so many sobs between the words that it takes quite a while for her to get everything out.
I lift her chin and I nod. “You’re good enough, Little Girl,” I say. “Even if they hate your art or don’t think it’s art, you’re good enough.”
“But . . .” she sighs and says, “Okay, Daddy.”
I intended to spank her for lying to me, but for some reason it doesn’t seem like it will serve any purpose. “Little Girl,” I say. “What if I’m not a good enough Daddy and you leave me?”
“What? No! Never!”