Meddling, Chapter 3 (M/FF, paternal - eventually)

[beguiling]

The next morning, I was up early and puttering around the house. I snagged Dad’s laptop, lay on my tummy on the couch and played some games, chatted with some friends and, of course, checked my e-mail. I didn’t really expect a response, but I hoped.

Nothing.

I knew I was going to go crazy, so I called Ari to see if she could come and hang out, or go and do something, but she had plans with her cousin. Being my sister, of course, she had the appropriate response when she found out that Dad had spanked me the night before. She teased me and laughed about how she was far enough away that he couldn’t reach her. The conversation devolved into a playful sibling battle and I was promising evil revenge when she had to hang up. I lay back down and turned on the TV, looking for things to occupy my mind when Dad came into the room.

“I’m going to go pick up some things at the store. I’m thinking about ribs on the grill for dinner. Wanna come?”

I was up and ready to go in record time. Going to the market wasn’t the draw, but spending time with Dad was. Especially post-punishment. There’s something about that in-your-face reminder that he is most definitely “in charge” mixed with the knowledge that, once the punishment is over, it’s over and forgiven. All of that emotion makes me extra clingy. I jumped into the passenger seat with a slight wince, grateful that it was a short drive, and was buckling up as Dad was pulling out of the drive when he dropped the bomb.

“What’s going on, MJ?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I don’t think I stuttered.” Dad calmly glanced at me, then re-focused on the road ahead.

I knew he wasn’t talking about last night. Dad never carried grudges. He passed judgment, issued the sentence and executed it. And it was over. So, it wasn’t my misbehavior last night, and I didn’t know what exactly he was referring to, but my guilty conscience made it damn hard to pretend that I was as innocent as I wanted him to believe.

“I, uhh, whaddya mean, Daddy?”

“Don’t play games with me, girl.” Lord, I hated when Dad said that. Some guys say ‘young lady’, or ‘little miss’, or things like that. Dad sometimes says ‘little girl’, and that gets my attention. But when he just says ‘girl’, it’s like every term rolled into one. You just KNOW he means business. Ari said once that if he combined that with “The Look”, we’d be confessing things we hadn’t even thought about doing yet. She’s probably right. “You’ve been jumping around like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and whispering to your sister. You’re plotting something.”

“Daddy, I …” What was I going to say? I simply couldn’t confess now, it was too soon. “I’m just … antsy .. I guess.” Ohhh, lame lame lame lame!!

Dad pulled into the parking spot at the store and looked at me for a long minute calmly, and I found my fingernails very interesting until I could finally drag my eyes to his. Oh, sure. Like that doesn’t just scream “GUILT” to him.

“Michaela Joy,” Oh boy. First and middle name. My already sore bottom clenched hard and I swallowed as I looked at him. “I’m not going to ask again. But you and I both know you’re Up To Something. And that never ends all that well for your butt. So, take my advice and stop now. Quit while you’re ahead. And still able to sit.”

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t say anything. Or I would’ve spilled everything right then and there. So I just nodded at him. You’re probably wondering how he saw through my attempts to hide my plotting. Or maybe you’re not. In any case, Dad sees everything. Like he saw how miserable I was feeling just then, and could fix it.

“I love you.” There, fixed.

“I love you too, Daddy,” I whispered back to him.

He got out of the car, and I sighed. Partly in relief, and partly because I wanted to be sure I could get air in around the lump of guilt wedged in my throat. This was more than knowing that he was going to be mad. It was knowing that I was deliberately doing something Dad didn’t want me to. I was suffering the results of his feelings on disobedience. I could stop now, like he said, and that would be the total end of it. But I looked at him, walking into the store ahead of me, and knew that he was lonely. Knew that he wouldn’t talk about it with me. Knew that Mike and Kim were part of the reason, but so were Ari and I. Knew that I hated that he was letting go of something that would be wonderful. I told my conscience to shut up again. That was getting harder and harder to do.

I was quiet while we shopped, just holding onto the cart or his hand, but Dad got me to laugh when he tossed my favorites – Oreos – into the cart. “They’re on sale,” he muttered as a fake excuse. Then, “Should I get some Cheez-Its? They’re on sale, too.” I laughed again, because I knew Ari always teased Dad about having Cheez-Its in the house. Not another word was said about my plotting. But I knew that Dad was aware. That damned paternal radar of his. And I knew that I couldn’t let this take as long as I was afraid I needed to. My nerves simply couldn’t take it.

Fortunately, when I checked my e-mail, it looked like I might not need to after all.