Kissing My Dad's Friend

A couple of days, Dad said. I can handle that. “I’ll be ready,” I tell him, taking a slow sip of my drink, my eyes not leaving my father’s as I rise to his challenge. If he thinks I’m going to fall flat on my face now, just because he pulled some shady underhanded controlling stuff to try to get me to do what he wants, he’s sorely mistaken. After all, he raised me. I know by now the best way to stand up to him.

Though not as well as Russ knows it, apparently.

“I’m sure she’ll surprise you,” Russ is saying, and I can tell by the way the heat in my body creeps up from my neck to turn my face red, that his eyes haven’t left mine. They probably haven’t strayed since I first walked into the room. I flick him a warning glance.

Much more of this and even my oblivious Dad will start to notice something is up.

But Russ doesn’t look apologetic. If anything, he looks happy. Triumphant. “I know Maggie surprised the hell out of me, with how quickly she’s grown up into… quite the young woman.”

If my father notices the way Russ lays on the word quite, he doesn’t let on. He just claps Russ on the back and clucks his tongue. “You would say that. Always the diplomat.”

“Me? You’re the one who deals with the board and all the snake talk. I just sew the wounded back together after the fallout.” They chuckle together, and Dad cracks some in-joke from their time in med school that has them both grinning. But I can still feel Russ’s gaze on me, even as I murmur an excuse about checking if Mom needs help, and sliding back toward the main house.

I only make it a few steps, though, before Mom herself emerges with a tray of drinks, trailing a handful more partygoers, the late arrivals. She stops at the sight of the empty pool and tsks in disapproval. “Nobody’s braved the water yet?” she calls out, her voice loud enough to cut through the din. “I thought I made it pretty clear that this was a swimsuits required gathering.”

A few of her friends laugh and protest about the cold outside.

Mom’s having none of it. She sets her tray of drinks on the side table and pulls off her own cover-up. “Nonsense. Since it’s cold outside, that is precisely why we need to take advantage of this decadent oasis.” Her eyes sparkle with mirth as she gestures at my father. “After all, back when my darling husband was just a broke med student living off boxed ramen above my bar, we could only have dreamed of luxury like this.” Her favorite stories all start with “when we were poor med students.” It’s like she has some kind of nostalgia for her broke days.

Then again, thinking about my times in nursing school with my friends, caffeinating each other through our exams, piling into our tiny studio apartments to swap notes and study… I can almost understand it. Med school was a simpler time for Dad, before he had to make decisions like the ones he does now. Back when they had more time for each other.

Done with her speech, my mother dives into the deep end of the pool, in a perfect arc that would make even Michael Phelps jealous.

A couple people even clap. I just watch, amused, aware of what’s coming. My father leaps into the pool next, summoned as he was by mother’s wave. He’s wearing swim trunks and his T-shirt still, and unlike her, he actually cannonballs in, making a huge splash. A few partygoers squeal.

But this is just how they are together. It’s the only time I can stand my dad, most of the time. Mom pops up to bow, and Dad splashes her. Which only gets her going. I watch the two of them goofing off, while a few of the other guests dutifully peel off coverups or jeans to reveal that they did in fact wear bathing suits after all. Guess I’m not the only one who knows my mother well.

I’m still watching the splash-fest when a warm hand comes to rest at the small of my back, setting off fireworks in my veins that stretch all the way down to my fingertips, tingle in my toes.

“Please tell me you’re wearing a bathing suit under that slip,” he murmurs. “I was really looking forward to seeing more of you tonight.” His breath is hot, right beside my cheek. He smells amazing, like mint and wood smoke and a hint of citrus from the drink in his hand. It makes my toes curl. I lean into him without even thinking about it.

“Show you mine if you show me yours,” I reply with a pointed glance at his outfit. Jeans and a T-shirt? Not exactly swimwear ready.