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***
“Hey Dad, you got a minute to talk?” It was Norah, my younger daughter.
“I’ve always got time for my booshkin,” I said, wiping my brow with a greasy rag. “I sure the hell don’t know what I’m doing under this hood anyway. No idea what I was thinking buying a project car.”
Norah laughed. “Nobody knew what you were thinking, Dad. I don’t think any of us ever saw you successfully change a light bulb, let alone finish a project.”
“Ha ha ha,” I said sarcastically, slamming the hood shut. “You’re turning 18 next month, so I’m almost finished with you. What’s going on?”
“Well, um, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, you said that already. Now you’re making me nervous.”
“It’s about Logan and me.”
Oh shit, I thought. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”
“Well, you know we’ve been exclusive almost three years now…”
Oh no, I thought.
“…and we’re just so happy together…”
Please God, not this.
“…and I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. So, we’re talking about getting married.”
Oh Christ on sale. Okay, I can’t be mad. I have to be supportive yet consultative. I can’t be overjoyed because that’ll be a big fucking lie she’ll see right through, but I can’t act like this is horrible either. Shit shit shit what is even my facial expression right now?
“Dad?”
“Oh, uh, okay,” I stuttered.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I guess that answers that question.
“Look, Norah, I like Logan well enough, but isn’t he going to be working for his dad doing drywall here in town? What about your scholarships? We were hoping you might share an apartment with Sasha at university.”
“I don’t think I want to go to college, at least not now. You said it yourself that college is a waste of time and money if you don’t know what you want in life. I can always go later.”
I really need to shut my stupid mouth.
“Besides,” she said. “Right now all I really want is to be Logan’s wife, and start a family.”
I sighed.
“Baby, you know our family has a pretty bad track record of girls that get married right when they turn eighteen.”
“I know, I know, I’ve heard the stories a thousand times. This is different.”
“But you don’t know that. You’re one of the most intelligent girls that’s ever walked this Earth, but you don’t have wisdom yet. You haven’t even graduated high school. You haven’t spent a single moment in real life!”
“I know, Dad. But we’ll experience it all as a couple. We’ll grow together.”
“Sweetheart, when I was in my twenties, I dated many, many girls, and one thing I learned the hard way—several times—is that girls change so much between 18 and 24 years old. What they thought they wanted at 18 was nowhere close to what they wanted at 24. What impressed them at 18 no longer impressed them at 24. What if you outgrow him? What if you decide to use that amazing brain of yours for a higher calling than being a drywall contractor’s wife?”
“Dad,” she said, her voice more stern now. “I’m not ‘many, many girls’. I know what I want right now. And if that changes, I’ll deal with it when the time comes. I may not have a whole lot of life experience, but I do have two amazing parents who taught me to love and respect myself, and that if my self-esteem is high, I’ll automatically make the right decisions. And yes, even the decision to be a drywall contractor’s wife.”
Dammit. She argues like her mom.
“Honey…do you know if he really loves you?”
“You know he does. He bends over backwards to make me happy. You saw how he took a second job just to save for a limousine rental for prom. How he drives me to school every day. How he comes to all my games. And he’s the only one who’s actually accomplished anything on this clunker car of yours. I’m pretty sure he does that to make me happy.”
“Hey, I’ll get this Boxster running soon enough,” I lied.
Norah chuckled.
There was a moment of silence.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “How does he really make you feel?”
“Daddy, he makes me feel so, so loved. He makes me feel like the most important person in any room we’re in. He makes me laugh effortlessly. He values my opinions, and can hold intelligent discussions. When I’m with him, I feel warm and protected. After three years, I still get excited every time he sends me a message. He’s handsome, sexy, I love his big arms and—”
“OKAY OKAY that’s enough, that’s enough. I’m convinced.”
I started chuckling.
Norah looked at me suspiciously. “What are you laughing at?”
“I’m, uh, well, glad this is just a writing exercise.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, don’t be mad, but none of this is real. My imagination just went crazy and, well, I decided to write it all down. Pretty sure this is my next Substack.”
“WHAT? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”
“Unfortunately, I’m not. Well, sort of unfortunately.”
“Oh, real funny, Dad! Where am I right now?”
“Right now, as I type, you are five-years-old, and sound asleep in the upper bunk of the bunkbed you and Sasha share. You and your sister are still the cutest things I’ve ever seen, and thankfully I still get thirteen more years of you as a child.”
“Oh, this is such B.S.! I bet you’re real freaking happy right now, aren’t you? Happy I’m not marrying a drywall contractor?”
I chuckled some more.
“Let’s just say I’ll be keeping my eye on any boy named Logan. For what it’s worth, I also probably won’t buy a used Porsche Boxster.”
~JCS
P.S. I love you, Norah. I think I’ll go kiss you right now.
***
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