complicated than that . . .
But he made it seem so simple when he wiped my tears away and kissed me.
P.S. He called the baby Peanut. It’s silly, but cute. For more than one reason, I obviously hope Peanut has his hair and dimple. Sigh.
Daddy’s Girl
T he parents were out to torture us. I was sure of it.
The day after the Fourth, Mel’s folks had a barbeque and invited my family over like it was something we did all the time. Not.
But I was anxious to see Mel after our emotional night on the beach, so I pasted on a smile and went with it, Mom’s potato salad in tow.
Her dad answered the door with a Coors Light in his hand. “Hi, Robert, Samantha.” His eyes seemed to frost a bit. “Reed.” He patted my little sister’s head as we walked in.
My mom went right to work helping her mom in the kitchen, and Izzie tagged along. I lagged behind, looking for Mel. Her brother, Chris, was lounging on the sofa, video game controller in hand. His uncertain gaze raked over me. “Hey.”
Nodding, I searched his face for how he felt about me. Did he hate me? Could he be sympathetic at all, being around our age? Didn’t look like it. “Hey,” I said, wishing I could go back to “perfect kid” status like him. But, then again, Chris was hard to compete with.
“Melissa’s finishing up getting ready,” her dad said, interrupting my thoughts, his hand clasping my shoulder with a squeeze. “Why don’t you and your dad come out back and help me man the grill?”
“Uh, sure.”
I followed them outside through a sliding glass door, onto the large wooden deck after he offered my dad a cold beer. He didn’t offer me anything.
We stood around the smoking pit for a while, our dads talking about their jobs and politics, football season and Chris being on the Varsity team this year. I tried to act interested, but my gaze kept straying to the sliding glass door. Where was Melissa?
“So, Reed,” her dad cut into my thoughts. “How’s the job going?”
I glanced up into his face. He was studying me intently, his eyes narrowed, sweat streaming down his brow. He sipped his beer, waiting for me to answer.
“Good.”
He nodded. “And what are your plans now?”
“Plans?” My voice cracked. I looked to my father for guidance, but he averted his gaze as if the Summers’ backyard was the most interesting place in the world.
“Yes, Son. Plans? School. Your future.” He tilted his head. “With my daughter and grandchild.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Uh . . .” In a godsend, the back door opened and Mel appeared in a loose pink sundress and made her way to me.
“Hi,” she said, brushing a kiss to my cheek.
“Hi,” I said back with a genuine smile for her. Saved by the bell.
“Well, Son?” her dad interjected.
Maybe not.
“Oh.” My gaze shot back. I felt like a cornered mouse.
“What’s going on?” Mel asked, her hand unconsciously gripping mine in support.
“I was just asking your little boyfriend here how he plans to support you and the baby—”
“Now, wait just a minute,” my dad interrupted.
“Dad!” Melissa shouted at the same time.
“What?” her father demanded, slamming his beer down on the picnic table, sending out a rivulet of white foam. “I think I have a right to know how this is going to be handled.” He turned to my dad. “Don’t you wonder, too? They made a baby, now I wanna know what they’re gonna do to support it. Namely him!” He pointed a shaky finger in my face.
My dad’s mouth fell open. “What about her? It takes two to Tango.”
My gaze snapped to him, shocked. But thankful.
Both of the moms came out about then with Chris and Izzie tagging behind. Mel’s mom rushed over to put a hand on her husband. “You’re absolutely right, Robert.” She turned to my dad, her eyes calm. “This is both of their problem.”
Mel’s father took a deep breath. “Right. I just . . .” He turned sad eyes to Melissa. “She’s my only
But he made it seem so simple when he wiped my tears away and kissed me.
P.S. He called the baby Peanut. It’s silly, but cute. For more than one reason, I obviously hope Peanut has his hair and dimple. Sigh.
Daddy’s Girl
T he parents were out to torture us. I was sure of it.
The day after the Fourth, Mel’s folks had a barbeque and invited my family over like it was something we did all the time. Not.
But I was anxious to see Mel after our emotional night on the beach, so I pasted on a smile and went with it, Mom’s potato salad in tow.
Her dad answered the door with a Coors Light in his hand. “Hi, Robert, Samantha.” His eyes seemed to frost a bit. “Reed.” He patted my little sister’s head as we walked in.
My mom went right to work helping her mom in the kitchen, and Izzie tagged along. I lagged behind, looking for Mel. Her brother, Chris, was lounging on the sofa, video game controller in hand. His uncertain gaze raked over me. “Hey.”
Nodding, I searched his face for how he felt about me. Did he hate me? Could he be sympathetic at all, being around our age? Didn’t look like it. “Hey,” I said, wishing I could go back to “perfect kid” status like him. But, then again, Chris was hard to compete with.
“Melissa’s finishing up getting ready,” her dad said, interrupting my thoughts, his hand clasping my shoulder with a squeeze. “Why don’t you and your dad come out back and help me man the grill?”
“Uh, sure.”
I followed them outside through a sliding glass door, onto the large wooden deck after he offered my dad a cold beer. He didn’t offer me anything.
We stood around the smoking pit for a while, our dads talking about their jobs and politics, football season and Chris being on the Varsity team this year. I tried to act interested, but my gaze kept straying to the sliding glass door. Where was Melissa?
“So, Reed,” her dad cut into my thoughts. “How’s the job going?”
I glanced up into his face. He was studying me intently, his eyes narrowed, sweat streaming down his brow. He sipped his beer, waiting for me to answer.
“Good.”
He nodded. “And what are your plans now?”
“Plans?” My voice cracked. I looked to my father for guidance, but he averted his gaze as if the Summers’ backyard was the most interesting place in the world.
“Yes, Son. Plans? School. Your future.” He tilted his head. “With my daughter and grandchild.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Uh . . .” In a godsend, the back door opened and Mel appeared in a loose pink sundress and made her way to me.
“Hi,” she said, brushing a kiss to my cheek.
“Hi,” I said back with a genuine smile for her. Saved by the bell.
“Well, Son?” her dad interjected.
Maybe not.
“Oh.” My gaze shot back. I felt like a cornered mouse.
“What’s going on?” Mel asked, her hand unconsciously gripping mine in support.
“I was just asking your little boyfriend here how he plans to support you and the baby—”
“Now, wait just a minute,” my dad interrupted.
“Dad!” Melissa shouted at the same time.
“What?” her father demanded, slamming his beer down on the picnic table, sending out a rivulet of white foam. “I think I have a right to know how this is going to be handled.” He turned to my dad. “Don’t you wonder, too? They made a baby, now I wanna know what they’re gonna do to support it. Namely him!” He pointed a shaky finger in my face.
My dad’s mouth fell open. “What about her? It takes two to Tango.”
My gaze snapped to him, shocked. But thankful.
Both of the moms came out about then with Chris and Izzie tagging behind. Mel’s mom rushed over to put a hand on her husband. “You’re absolutely right, Robert.” She turned to my dad, her eyes calm. “This is both of their problem.”
Mel’s father took a deep breath. “Right. I just . . .” He turned sad eyes to Melissa. “She’s my only
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