Page 70 of Don't Call Me Daddy
His voice is a low growl in my ear. “I said, lead the way, baby girl. Don’t look back at me. Let me enjoy this rare moment of peace before I go back to hating myself and you go back to pressing all my buttons. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Daddy?”
I swallow a gulp, “Yes, sir.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he groans.
By the time we make it back to the camp, the sky’s painted in streaks of pink and bright orange as the sun sets behind the horizon, and the butterflies fluttering in my belly have mostly calmed down. It was an awkwardly quiet walk, but the tension between us said more than any words could. Leo goes back to pretending he’s unaffected by me, almost as if the moment we shared back at the waterfall never happened.
But when our eyes meet, there’s no denying the hurricane of attraction brewing between us, growing heavier and stronger with every passing minute. It’s only a matter of time before it’s too powerful to contain.
I untie my flannel from around my waist and shrug it over my shoulders.
There’s a chill to the air now that the sun’s gone down, another preview of what’s to come with the changing seasons.
“There you are. We were beginning to worry you got lost. I was about to send out a search crew to find you,” Frank says as he drops a few pieces of wood on the fire.
“Oh, honey, they’re engaged and in love. Probably sowing their oats all over these woods, if I had to guess.”
“Mom—” Leo and his brothers all say at the same time.
“What? You were all thinking it too. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a little exploration every now and again. Right, Franky?” She gives Frank a wink, and even in the dimly lit sky, I can see him blush.
“All right. That’s enough of that.” Leo claps his hands together. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
“Nothing at all. We’ve got it all sorted out. Ivy, I hope you like hot dogs? It’s a Kingsley tradition. We’ve got all the fixings to go with it,” Mary says as she gestures to a folding table with an assortment of sauces, peppers, and cheeses.
My stomach growls at the mention of it all. I must’ve worked up an appetite with all that excitement back there. “Hot dogs sound amazing.”
“You heard the woman. Leo, grab your lady a wiener, would you?” Frank calls.
I start to argue, but Leo shakes his head, pointing at the empty seat in front of the fire.
I do as I was told, taking a seat while he takes my order and serves me the perfect hot dog. It’s funny now that I notice it, but Leo loves to take care of me. As much as I’d like him to know that I don’t need him to, I don’t want to rob him of the joy he gets from doing it.
Roman, Guy, and Luka all sit in a line next to me, already eating their hot dogs, and we fall into a comfortable conversation as the sun slowly disappears beneath the horizon. I tell them about the little trick I pulled on Leo at the waterfalls, leaving out the part about the wager we made, and he teases meabout looking like a professional wrestler and how he’s afraid of me. Everything about it feels right, this place, these people. I have to pinch myself to remember it isn’t a dream.
Even before my family was broken apart, before my sister got sick and my dad ran off to start a new family with his mistress, it was never like this. It didn’t feel this easy and comfortable. My parents didn’t look at each other with hearts in their eyes, but rather resentment.
My parents didn’t create intentional moments for us to bond or grow closer. They were both miserable and doing their best to survive. Mom was depressed, and Dad was always traveling forwork. If we wanted happy family memories, we had to create them for ourselves.
Then, when Fern got sick, I had to step in to play peacemaker to keep everything from imploding on itself. The last thing my sister needed to see in her final days was our family crumbling apart, knowing she’d be gone and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
So, I stepped up, took the weight of Fern’s treatment decisions off my mom’s shoulders, and took on a role I was never meant to hold. I kept her from falling apart, and I made excuses for my father’s absence so my dying sister wouldn’t have to know he’d already moved on with his life as soon as she was declared terminal.
And now that she’s gone and I don’t have to worry about taking care of my mom anymore, it feels like I’m finally close to finding my own peace. The thought of that terrifies me because the familiar always feels safer even if the familiar means clinging to the past. I thought I could run from it forever, but the more time I’m spending with Leo, in this town, the more I’m realizing I’m just delaying the inevitable.
One of these days, I’ll have to face my grief head-on … but luckily, today is not that day.
By the time we’re finished with the s’mores—and I’ve got sticky marshmallow covering every finger—I nuzzle my head into Leo’s neck, feeling so grateful for all of this. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me into him as he gently traces his fingers along my arm in a soothing, nurturing way. It feels so natural, and I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it.
Everything about this feels natural, and for a second, I find myself wishing this were real.
But I’m quickly pulled out of that daydream as the ping of grief stabs at me, reminding me all too well what the pain from losing someone feels like. I don’t think I could survive that kind of heartbreak a second time.
The thought has my walls pulled back up as I remind myself that this is just for fun. I can’t let myself get attached or get caught up in the fantasy that this could ever be my life.
“Tell me, how’s the festival planning coming along? Your dad said you two have been quite busy at the office,” Mary asks, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.
“Oh, it’s coming along great.” I clear my throat. “We’ve added all kinds of activities, something for everyone. I think it’s going to be perfect. Don’t you, Leo?” I bump Leo with my shoulder. “We’ve had so much fun, coming up with ideas. Leo can hardly shut up about it.” If I’m here to help him prove that he’s a changed man, I might as well lay it on thick.
