Don't Call Me Daddy

Bourbon glazed chicken—my grandmother’s recipe, broccoli sauteed and then fried in a pan with cheese, and a salad to round it out. I really was trying to put my best into this. I knew it was crazy, but I wanted it to be special.

That parade just got rained out.

“I guess I’ll…” Her voice drifts off for a moment. “…Wait in the living room.”

“Okay.” I reply without turning around.

My own head is the worst place for me to be right now. I might as well be taking a bath in poison. It’s just so fucking frustrating, but I can’t be angry at Ainsley;

I’m angry at myself. I should have just let her clean my office and leave. Hell, maybe I should’ve just called the damn cops and avoided it altogether.

I’ve lived my life. I had a family. I owned my own company. I pissed it away, and I don’t deserve a second chance. I promised Ainsley a meal, so I’ll give her that, and then she can be on her way. Maybe she’ll find what she’s looking for someday, but I’m not it.

I stay in the kitchen the entire time the food is cooking, even for the thirty minutes it takes the chicken to cook. I could go into the living room, I could talk to her. I just don’t want to. I avoid it as long as possible, but once the food is on the table, I really don’t have a choice.

“Dinner is ready.” I poke my head into the living room.

“Okay.” She nods and stands.

I’ve lost my appetite entirely, but I need to eat something if I’m going to drown my newfound sorrows in my latest bottle of whiskey. Nothing has really changed. It’s just the same shit as always with a pretty new ribbon attached.

“Salad if you want it.” I motion to the bowl.

“I feel like I really pissed you off.” She sits and looks at me—God, there is hurt in those beautiful emerald green eyes. I hate the sight. “I won’t call you Daddy if you don’t want me to.”

“It’s…” I sigh. “It’s more than that.”

“Can we talk about it? Please? I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since you walked me to my hotel this morning…” She tilts her head slightly.

As much as I hate it, I do owe her that much. She told me how much she struggled with being rejected. I’m a bad enough statistic as it is, and I don’t want to be one of hers.

“I think we’re searching for two very different things here.” I shrug and reach for my glass of whiskey. “I shouldn’t have been looking for anything in the first place.”

“I like you…” She sighs. “I’m sorry if I went too far with the Daddy thing, but I was caught up in the moment.”

“Exactly my point.” I take a drink of my whiskey. “We’re looking for different kinds of moments. I had fun last night, but like I told you then—I wasn’t there with a zombie cheerleader, naughty cheerleader, whatever. I was there with you.”

“I was there with you too…” She picks up her wine and takes a sip.

“Were you? Really?” I narrow my eyes.

“I was.” She looks down. “I don’t know how to explain it exactly. I get in this headspace where I see myself differently, but I’m still the same person.”

“Except that you’re living in a fantasy instead of reality.” I grab the salad and move some to my bowl.

“Is that so bad?” She tilts her head slightly. “Haven’t you wanted to live in a fantasy instead of reality sometimes? I sure as hell have.”

“Reality isn’t going anywhere, no matter how you try to sugar coat it.” I shrug. “Seems pointless. I’d rather have what’s real, even if it’s just a heaping pile of shit; you’ll get used to it eventually.”

Where did that come from? I haven’t gotten used to it at all. I just watch it get piled on and suffocate on the stench of my own failures. I’m a cynical old asshole.

“Maybe you’re right.” She nods. “I’m sorry.”

All the light drains out of her beautiful emerald eyes. They get dim and dull. More proof that I still have a heart beating in my chest, because I don’t like the sight of it. I don’t like knowing that I caused it.

Fuck, I’m so desperate to screw up my life that I’m stomping all over hers. Maybe it’s more than a fantasy; it isn't like she’s ever had anyone to explore it with.

“No.” I sigh and shake my head. “Don’t apologize. I understand what you’re saying. I overreacted.”