Mack Daddy(19)

“That reminds me. I got you a present.” She reached into her laundry basket, picking up a wrapped box.

“Is it Anthrax? After all, you might be a murderer.”

“Not this time.”

I looked at her suspiciously as I ripped the paper. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the entire series…holy shit.”

Her face was turning red. “Yup. Thirty-nine discs. Seasons one through seven.”

“You look embarrassed. Were you nervous to give this to me?”

“I didn’t know if you were gonna like it. I remember once you said you used to watch that show when you were younger. At the time, I thought it was pretty much the one thing we had in common. I figured maybe you’d want to take a trip down memory lane.”

“Are you kidding me? This show was the best. When Willow and Oz broke up? I mean, come on!”

“Right?” She beamed.

“Seriously. This was sweet as hell. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”

My body stiffened, because I got the urge to hug her but thought better of it. I was afraid of what it would do to me to feel her body against mine. So, I restrained myself. More and more lately, my body was reacting to Frankie without even having to touch her. The physical feelings had been slowly getting stronger over the past month, and even though I knew it was wrong to feel that way, f*ck if I knew how to stop it.

“One night this week we should watch an episode,” she said.

“You know, I probably wouldn’t have admitted my addiction to that show to anyone else.”

“But because I’m weird, you know I won’t judge.”

“I used to find you a little weird, yeah, but your quirks have definitely grown on me. In fact, normal things are starting to seem boring in comparison.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“It’s a compliment.”

She blushed as she often did whenever I said anything nice to her. I wondered if she could sense how badly I wished I could kiss her.

Frankie cleared her throat. “So, did you get any other surprises for your birthday?”

“Dad decided to stop by the party for like a half-hour.”

“Was he at least being nicer to you for the occasion?”

“That would’ve been too much to ask, so no, not really. He gave me a pen with Morrison engraved on it, though.”

“Sounds kind of formal.”

“Yup. Typical Dad gift—cold and boring.”

“Well, you’re his only son. I suppose he knows you’re his only chance to carry on the family name. So, the pen was representative of that.”

“I’m painfully aware that he considers me his only hope to carry on his legacy. The problem is, I’m pretty sure he’s going to end up gravely disappointed. The more time that passes, the more I just don’t see myself following in his footsteps or even working for his administration at all. I haven’t had the balls to really break the news. I’m just glad I had the good sense to major in business undergrad, so I have something to fall back on when he cuts ties.”

“Well, if he truly loves you, he’ll end up supporting your decisions in the end.”

“You hit the nail on the head. I’m not so sure he does…truly love me. I think he cares more about himself and his political endeavors, to be honest.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“The verdict is still out. Honestly.”

Her expression darkened a bit, and it hit me that she might have been thinking about the fact that I shouldn’t have been constantly complaining about my father when she didn’t have one in the picture at all.

I suddenly felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m complaining about my dad again when—”

“I told you not to worry about that.”

“You say it doesn’t matter, but I don’t really believe you. You seem to get sad whenever I bring up my father or ask you about your childhood. It’s not anything you say. It’s just the look on your face. I can see through you.”

She adjusted her purple glasses then looked away from me. “It is what it is. Maybe it does make me a little sad. I just try not to dwell on it.” After a long pause, she added, “It wouldn’t be so difficult if I weren’t reminded of him every time I look in the mirror.”

“You look like him? You never told me that. I thought you said you didn’t know what he looked like.”

“By process of elimination. My mother has dark hair and dark eyes. She once confirmed that he was a ginger like me, had blue eyes like me, too. I look nothing like her, so I just know when I look at myself, that in a way, I’m looking at him. I used to try to find him in my reflection when I was younger. But now that I’m older and know better than to glorify a man who abandoned his own child…I just resent the resemblance. It sucks.”

I wished she could see what I saw whenever I looked at her face: eyes equally full of wonder and humility and a beautiful smile that seemed to be the only medicine I needed lately.

“As someone who’s had the pleasure of knowing you, it’s his loss, Frankie. He just can’t imagine what he’s missing.”

I meant that. She was an extraordinary person. I didn’t think she had too many people in her life ever tell her that.