Daddy Dearest

Chapter Thirty

Melody

Nomnomnom, Alex. God, I can't get enough of him. He is just so sexy: the way he talks, walks into a room, walks out of a room, carries himself, and treats me like a little, cute precious thing; a princess, an object of adoration. It's all so lovely. I could imagine having little ginger babies with Alex and living in some country cottage like in Grantchester or something, doing the writerly thing. I think I love him. Like, for-real love him, but I can't tell him yet because--

I'm a fucking idiot. I still have this secret fantasy of me and Mr. D running away together to spend the rest of our lives in Aruba, living on my money--we'd have to use his, since I don't get control of mine till I'm twenty-five--and writing side by side together, with adjacent desks. He'd probably die before me. If he keeps himself healthy, he could live to be about eighty, eighty-five. He'd probably have to stop drinking and smoking, though.

That's actually one of my concerns about having a relationship with Mr. D. When I'm fifty, he'll be seventy-five. I would just be getting into middle age and he'd be... I don't know, on his way out?

I've come to consider the realistic consequences of me and Mr. D getting together. Lottie and Charlie would probably hate him and me, too, since I'd be the harlot who broke up their family. Mr. D's career would be over for sure. And maybe Mrs. D would get full custody of Noah and Maddie and he'd never see them again. I don't want any of that to happen to Mr. D. I love him too much. But yes, I still have the stupid little fantasies of us sitting at a sidewalk cafe in Paris, having an afternoon snack, and reading poetry together. Then someone would inevitably mistake us for father and daughter and ruin everything. Even in my dreams, these things happen.

Alex and I straighten ourselves up, double-check my room to make sure there's no evidence of our snogging exploits, and head out to the living room together. When we get out there, we see Mrs. D, Nancy, Nancy's friend Janice, and Mr. D, who is sitting in Harry's armchair, with a drink in his hand. I would guess it came out of Harry's stash.

Alex and I are holding hands. Mr. D's eyes go automatically to them. I loosen my grip on Alex's hand, but he only tightens his hold on mine. Everyone looks up to stare at us.

"Something smells good," I say with false cheer. "What are we having for dinner?"

"Quite a feast, actually," Mrs. Davenport answers. "For some reason, I forgot Nance was making your favorite miso-glazed salmon for dinner along with half a dozen sides, so I ordered a Peking Duck from Mr. Chow's because I thought Mr. D and I were supposed to bring food over."

Mr. D isn't looking at us anymore. His attention is on his phone now. He's probably checking scores for footie matches. He and Charlie are both huge Manchester United fans. Or he's playing Sudoku.

I smile at Mrs. Davenport. "Great. I'm famished. Hey, Nance, did you make any of those mushroom thingies I like?"

My step-mother glances at me with horror. "Oh my gosh, I completely forgot about them. I hope they're not burned." When she's about to get up, Janice stops her.

"I'll get it, you. Stay here and entertain your guests." Janice waves her hand down and makes a face before waddling to the kitchen.

Here's the thing about Janice: she's Nancy's age and a good-looking half Korean, half white Jewish lady originally from San Francisco, but acts like a sixty-five-year-old grandma who visits from Florida every summer. She also walks like she has a big, fat ass and pear-shaped hips even though she's tall and skinny. Sometimes I think she's possessed by a dead old lady. She works as a rehabilitation therapist at a nursing home across town and helps Nancy run her Harry Plum charity foundation. They're both a barrel of laughs.