Smokey

Contentious matters seemed to be handled in the kitchen, and that’s where we were. I stood on one side of the island, and she on the other. It was a good thing there was something separating us, because she looked like she wanted to choke me.

“We’ve been over this and over this for the last year,” I said. “You know damned good and well that I’m not going to change my mind. You’ve got another month, and then I’ll agree to it. Now, I won’t.”

She pressed her hands to her hips and glared at me. “He’s not going to wait a month. He’ll find someone else to take out.”

“Then he’ll find someone else.”

She shot me a sideways glare. “You don’t care?”

Upsetting her was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. It hurt me to see her upset, but it would hurt me much worse to see a boy take advantage of her. I wanted to prolong her single status for as long as possible, and the rule of our home was no dating until she was seventeen.

“It’s not that I don’t care, because I do,” I explained. “I want you to be happy, but I don’t want you to get hurt. The rule is you can date when you’re seventeen. Not sixteen. Not sixteen and a half, and not sixteen and eleven months. Seventeen. That’s the rule.”

She tossed her hands in the air. “A rule you made up.”

“All rules are made up.”

She let out a long sigh, rolled her eyes, and then looked at me. “I want to go on the record as saying that this is the stupidest and most sadistic rule you’ve ever conjured up.”

“On the record?” I coughed out a laugh. “You’re not in a court of law.”

“Just as well be. You keep notes. So, keep that one. The stupidest and most sadistic.”

“I don’t keep notes.”

“Really? Now I’m stupid, huh?” She shook her head. “Your brain’s a vault. You keep mental notes. You always have. And you forget nothing.”

She was right. I did make mental notes, and I rarely forgot anything. I held grudges, too.

“Stupid and sadistic,” I said. “Duly noted.”

She glared at me playfully.

The thought of my daughter going on a date made me cringe. I didn’t care who the guy was, he wasn’t going to be good enough for me. I didn’t want her to grow up, and her going on dates was the last step in her becoming a woman.

“What’s sadistic about it?” I asked.

She arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

I nodded and waited for her response. She twisted her mouth to the side, undoubtedly preparing the verbal assault she was going to unleash on me. When she had time to think, she often gave well thought out responses that were indicative of her intelligence, and her odd system of beliefs.

I mentally exhaled, then reached into my pocket and pulled out my vape. After taking a long pull on it, I waited for her barrage of words.

She cleared her throat and shot me her signature stink-eye look. “Hell-o. Are you in the house, or outside?”

I lowered my vape and raised my eyebrows.

She nodded her head toward my hand. “Do we smoke that ridiculous thing in the house when I’m home?”

My lungs were filled with 10 cubic feet of 440-degree lemon flavored water vapor. I needed to exhale, but didn’t dare. Not in the house, anyway.

With my lungs burning and my cheeks puffed out, I shook my head. I’m sure I looked like a teen who had been caught smoking weed by his parents.

She pointed toward the door. “Outside.”

I raised my index finger.

“You have your rules, and I have mine,” she snarled. “Out. Side.”

After blowing the cloud of smoke out the front door, I turned to face her. “I forgot you were here.”

“That’s how important I’ve become? I’m transparent?”

“No, it’s not--”

“Me and my needs? We’re see through? Invisible Eddie”

“You know damned good and well that there’s no one on this earth that’s more important to me than you. It’s a habit. I’m getting better.”

“If you won’t let me smoke one, you shouldn’t smoke one around me.”

“Law says eighteen to smoke one, so it’s eighteen to smoke one.”

She twisted her hair with her index finger. “Everyone at school has one.”

“Maybe they’ve got shit parents.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s the case. Anyway. Sadistic. Here’s why it’s sadistic.” She leaned forward, rested her forearms on the edge of the countertop, and locked eyes with me. “A woman wants reassurance that she’s beautiful. She wants…no strike that. She needs to feel that she’s been accepted by the person or persons she seeks affirmation from. That confirmation, that reassurance, when it comes? It builds self-esteem. Now, we both know I’m not one of those girls that has low self-esteem, but a little boost from time to time sure doesn’t hurt. Conversely, when a woman doesn’t get said reassurance of her beauty? It whittles away at the fiber of her being. In time, she becomes downtrodden and oppressed. Then, by the time she’s, I don’t know, say 23 or 24, she’s an easy mark for anyone who will give her a moment’s notice. Your knowledge of my need for said reassurance, and lack of willingness to provide it, is nothing short of sadistic. It leaves me to wonder if you actually enjoy seeing my self-esteem pummeled into a pile of mush.”

“Really?” I cocked an eyebrow. “A pile of mush?”

“Like wet sawdust. Or, remember when we went to Georgia to see your brother? The grits? Remember the grits?”

I nodded.

“That bowl of grits.” She leaned back and gave a quick nod. “That’s going to be my self-esteem if this keeps up.”

“And going on a date with Jonny the football player will fix that?”

“His name’s Richard.”

“You want to go on a date with a guy named Dick?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Richard.”

Eddie had more self-esteem than any other 16-year-old girl on earth. She was beautiful, and to keep her reminded of it, I made it a point to tell her every day. She inherited my height, and stood almost 5’-10”. Tall and lean, her blue eyes and well-developed chest set her apart from the masses at school.

But.

They were a magnet for the testosterone-filled teenage boys.

“Richard, Dick, Jonny, Frank, Pete. It doesn’t matter. Tell him you’ll go out with him. Just set the date a month from now. Hell, tell him your schedule is booked up until then.”

“That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

She shook her head. “Have you always been this way?”

“What way?”

“Sadistic?”

I grinned. “Most of my life, yeah.”

She scanned me from head to toe, and then looked me in the eyes. “Figures.”

The timer on the stove beeped, saving me from further criticism.

“Go wash your hands,” she said. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

“I washed them when I got home from--”

She shot me her signature stink eye, a side-eyed glare. “You’ve been handling that nasty vape thing, and who knows where else your hands have been. Wash ‘em.”

“Love you, Ed.”

As she opened the oven door, she glanced over her shoulder. “I love you, too, you sadistic jerk.”