Don't Call Me Daddy

“I need a drink.” He pulls away and reaches for his pants.

I sit on the bed in confusion for a moment as Lawson leaves the bedroom. I’m not sure what just happened. I’m slightly offended by the way he reacted. I expected him to be as excited about the costumes as I am. He didn’t seem to mind the convict costume—we both enjoyed that. I slide on my shorts and my top before walking into the living room. Lawson is sitting at the table with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“What happened?” I sit at the table beside it.

“I think we need to talk.” He exhales sharply. “Goddamn it, this is hard. I love spending time with you, I really do. This may be a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I parrot what he said and stare at him in confusion.

“I get that you have fantasies, and you enjoy living them out. I really do understand it, but there is more to a relationship than that. There’s more to intimacy than that. You’re young; it’s my fault for not realizing there would be such a huge gap between us when it came to this kind of stuff.” He shakes his head and takes a drag from his cigarette.

“Are you saying I’m immature?” My head snaps back slightly.

“In some ways, yes.” He nods. “In other ways, no. You’ve lived a life that is a lot different than most girls your age, so you seem more mature than you should be at times.”

“So I need to tone it down.” A twinge of disappointment shoots through me. “Act more mature. Got it.”

“We moved fast. That’s my fault too.” He sips his drink and stares directly past me. “I don’t know your favorite color. I don’t know your favorite move. Hell, I’ve probably never even heard of your favorite band.”

“Blue. Melancholia. And you’re probably right about the band.” I sigh. “You realize the other side of that is true too.”

“Exactly my point.” He nods. “I think our needs are very different, Ainsley. I like having fun with you. It’s great to pretend sometimes, but not always. I wanted to bring you back to my apartment after an amazing date and make love to you. Instead, I became the warden of Ainsley Max.”

“That’s not fair.” My disappointment gives way to a tremor, and I feel tears building up. “That’s not fair at all. You knew this about me from the beginning. I was open and honest about my fantasies. I’ve never shared that with anyone. Is this because I called you Daddy? I don’t have to. I won’t—ever again. I promise.”

“It’s more than that.” He shakes his head and stabs out his cigarette. “Let’s go back to bed. I’ve had a long week at work. You had a long drive today. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“No.” I pull away when he tries to put a hand on my shoulder. “If this is how you really feel, I’m going home.”

“That’s crazy. You drove all this way. It’s late.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Ainsley. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’m glad you did.” I wipe away the tears as they begin to run down my face. “I’d rather know than keep living in a fantasy that I thought was real.”

I’m trying to wrap my head around what just happened while my heart breaks in my chest. Lawson is such an incredible man. I thought we were falling in love. I didn’t realize I was pushing him away. I didn’t realize he was trying to push me away.

I’ve tried not to be oblivious to his needs. I’ve offered not to call him Daddy and stopped when he wasn’t happy with it. He’s the one who came into the bedroom last weekend and offered to try out the fantasy with me. If he didn’t like it, he should’ve told me then.

I storm past Lawson and go to the bedroom so I can gather my things. I’m not staying here. I don’t care how long the drive is. I’ll buy a couple of Red Bulls and be back in my bed before I know it.

“Ainsley, wait.” Lawson walks into the bedroom behind me. “I really don’t think you should drive home.”

“As you’ve clearly pointed out,” —I turn to him with my bag in my hand— “you’re not my daddy.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He shakes his head. “I’m trying to be a man who cares about you enough to tell you that it’s crazy to drive home at this hour. Just stay. I’ll sleep on the fucking couch if I have to.”

“Sleep in your own bed.” I brush past him. “I’ll sleep in mine.”

I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m hurt. All at the same time. Lawson pursues me to the door, but he doesn’t stop me from leaving. He tries to say more, but I don’t listen. I’ve heard all I need to hear.

I leave Lawson’s apartment with tears in his eyes, but I do everything I can to fight them off. He’s right. It is late. My anger will keep me awake until I get a Red Bull. I don’t even make it out of the parking lot before my phone lights up with Lawson’s number. I let it go to voicemail. It rings again. I force that one to voicemail. I make it to the gas station before my phone starts lighting up with text messages.

Lawson: Ainsley, please come back.

Lawson: Stay here tonight. Let’s talk in the morning.

Lawson: I’m sorry.

I read them but don’t respond. I buy a Red Bull, return to my car, and pick up my phone again. I spend a couple minutes typing a very hateful message, but I delete it instead of hitting the send button.