"You know what I'm built on. You can't think I'm good enough for her."
"Of course you're not," Boyd said simply, and noticed those clear green eyes didn't so much as flicker.
"She's my little girl, Jonah. No one's good enough for her. But knowing what you're built on, I'd say you're pretty close. I wonder why that surprises you. The one area I don't recall you ever being low in is esteem."
"I'm over my head here," Jonah murmured. "It's been a long time since I've been over my head in
anything."
"Women do that to you. The right woman, you never really surface again. She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes. She blinds me."
"She's also smart, and she's strong, and she knows how to deal with what's dished out."
Absently, Jonah rubbed his thumb over his sore lip. "No argument."
"Then my advice to you is to play it straight with her, too. She won't let you get away with less, not for long."
"She isn't looking for anything else from me."
"You keep thinking that, son." At ease again, Boyd crossed to Jonah, laid a hand on his shoulder.
"There's just one thing," he said as they started toward the door. "If you hurt her, I'll take you out. They'll never find your body."
"Well, I feel better now."
Night Shield
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By Srichakra Pranav (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons
Inspired by writer Roxane Gay's response to a nervous father of a daughter, I've compiled a list of the things I believe all dads of daughters should know to make sure his influence is the best possible kind, from my personal experiences and through the many experiences of other daughters.
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With a quick, throaty laugh, Natasha led the way into the bedroom.
"Don't mention looking sexy around your father. He isn't quite ready for it."
"But he's all right, isn't he? About the move?"
"He misses you, and sometimes he looks in your room as if he still expects to see you there--in pigtails. So do I," Natasha admitted, and sat on the edge of the bed. "But yes, he's all right with it. More than. He--both of us are so proud of you. Not just because of the music, but because of who you are."
No one was more surprised than Natasha when Freddie dropped on the bed beside her and burst into tears.
"Oh, my love, my baby, what is it?" Drawing Freddie close, Natasha stroked and soothed. "There, sweetheart, tell Mama."
"I'm sorry." Giving up, Freddie pressed her face into Natasha's soft, welcoming shoulder and wept. "I guess this has been building up all day--all week. All my life. Maybe I am spoiled and indulged."
Instantly insulted, Natasha leaned back to look at Freddie. "Spoiled? You're not spoiled, and not indulged! What would put such nonsense in your head?"
"Not what, who." Disgusted with herself, Freddie dug around in her pocket for a tissue. "Oh, Mama, I had such an awful fight with Nick today."
Of course, Natasha thought with a little inward sigh. She should have suspected it. "We often fight with those we care about, Freddie. You shouldn't take it so hard."
"It wasn't just a spat, not like we've had before. We said awful things to each other. He doesn't have any respect for who I am, or what I'm trying to do. As far as he's concerned, I'm just here to kick up my heels, knowing if I trip, you and Dad will be there to catch me."
"And so we would, if you needed us. That's what family is for. It doesn't mean you're not strong and self-reliant, just because you have someone who would reach out if you needed help."
"I know. I know that." But it helped enormously to hear it, all the same.
Waiting for Nick