One Bossy Dare

God, the mouth on this 'friend.'

“Let me talk to her,” I growl.

“Dude, if she wanted to talk to you, would I be here making you miserable? By the way, a guy from that homeless camp that freaks you out so much saved my husband’s life once. He runs the mailroom at a huge company now, and he takes food back there every weekend. You suck.”

Dakota Burns.

I get it now.

I should’ve recognized that barbed tongue sooner.

“I’ve donated coffee there hundreds of times, for your information. I was worried about my daughter and said shit I never meant.” This is ridiculous.

“Okay, and I’m worried about my friend. I’m nervous she’s getting sucked in with some douchebag who’s just going to break her heart the minute he decides she’s not good enough with her Seattle-sized shoebox apartment.”

“I didn’t mean to cut down her place. I just meant she’d be safer at my house,” I grind out.

“Whatever. Somebody should’ve chosen his words a little more carefully.”

“Dakota?”

“Ohhh, so you do remember me. Don’t wear out the name,” she spits.

“How pissed is she?”

“Ehh, on a scale of cold shoulder to scooping your balls out of your butt with a serving spoon, I’d say she’s probably somewhere around slashing your tires—oh, wait, except it’s your driver’s car. Guess she can’t do that.”

I look down when I don’t hear anything else.

She hung up on me.

I don’t bother calling again. Not while that murder hornet of a woman guards the phone.

At home, I offer to take Destiny out for dinner.

I rattle off a few of her favorite places, even some that would mean driving downtown again. It’s worth it to have one of my girls back on speaking terms.

But at the Mexican place she picks, she sits across from me in the booth and glares at me all through the first course.

By the time our drinks arrive, I think I’d have better conversation with a pissed off cougar.

When I’m picking the last few bites off my plate, I can’t take it. I quickly pay the bill and step outside.

It isn’t until we’re home again that she finally says more than a dozen words. “If Eliza never talks to us again because of you, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Why do you care so much?” I have to know which reason out of a thousand matters most to her.

She crosses her arms.

“She’s my friend. A cool, older one. Like, she would have done things with me the way Christa’s mom does with her.”

I chuckle, rubbing my cheek. “No one’s quite like Christa’s mom. She’s been your homeroom mom since kindergarten.”

“Yep. Christa begged her not to since eighth grade, but everyone else thinks she’s really lucky. Eliza could’ve been that badass, except you chased her away. All because you’re a growly, selfish grumpbutt and—and is anything ever good enough for you, Dad?”

“Not fair,” I flare. “My high standards have never been unreasonable.”

Also, that’s not the point.

“You’ve grounded me for solid Bs on science tests—”

“And you’re an honor student because of it. You always turn it around and ace the class, don’t you?”

She puts her hand on her hip, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right. Because God forbid I ever pass with an A-minus. My test grades aren’t good enough. Eliza’s apartment isn’t good enough. Your dumb coffee isn’t good enough. It needs to be handpicked by flying monkeys and roasted over a volcano. So dumb,” she adds under her breath.

Or so she thinks.

“I heard that, Dess. It’s never bad for a CEO to bring new products into his business line. It’s an evolving industry and that’s part of the job.” I stop, wondering why I’m defending myself to my fifteen-year-old daughter.

Guilt is a powerful kind of black magic.

“Whatever. You were an epic jerk to Eliza, but this isn’t about her and you know it.” She looks away, her little face flushed red with anger.

“Then what’s it about? Tell me.”

She chews her lip. A crease lines her forehead.

“You’re kind of a control freak. You weren’t there when I got mugged. It was a random, crazy thing and you couldn’t stop it. So now the only thing you can do is criticize Eliza like a total dick.”

“Doctor Philiss, you can go to your room,” I growl, stabbing my finger in her room’s direction.

“Gladly. I’d say I won’t come out for a week, but then you’ll probably take the door off. See? Control freak.” She takes off, stomping up the staircase on her way.

I push my face into my palm with a groan that burns my throat.

It’s amazing. I’ve sealed multimillion-dollar deals and motivated whole teams in the blackest pit of a recession, but when it comes to the people I care about the most?

I’ve got a blind rattlesnake for a tongue.

“Dess?” I call after her before it’s too late, rising from my chair.

“What?” she flings back at me from the landing.