Page 38 of One Night With My Grumpy Professor Daddy

“You know what, Daph, I don’t know…I didn’t put two and two together. I mean, I knew his last name was Strong because of the news, but I didn’t know his relationship to Drake. I never looked further into it.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry, but this is a crazy fucking story.

“Seriously.”

“Let’s get you home, OK?” I shake my head. “No, Daphne, I think I need a drink.”

She nods without a word, and even though I know she may want to protest, she doesn’t. She drives to our favorite spot. And we find a dimly lit corner, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Daphne orders a couple of cocktails, and I watch as the amber liquid swirls in my glass. The world outside feels distant, like a foggy dream I can’t quite grasp.

The first sip burns as it goes down, but I welcome the sensation. It’s a distraction, something to divert my thoughts from the painful truth. Daphne tries to keep my attention, but my mind is overwhelmed by a tsunami of emotions.

As the night goes on, the drinks flow more freely. Numbness creeps in, softening the sharp edges of my distress. The laughter and chatter around us become a blur in the background. Daphne keeps a close watch on me, clearly concerned. It’s way past midnight when the alcohol hits. Hard. My emotions, normally kept in check, now spill over. I reach for my phone, the screen swimming before my eyes as I compose a message to Drake.

“What are you doing?” I hear Daphne ask.

“I hate u,“ I type, my fingers clumsy on the screen. The words are a cruel reflection of my pain, the anger I can’t contain any longer. Daphne watches, shocked, and before she reaches for me, I hit send, my heart pounding with instant regret as the message disappears into the digital ether. Tears well up in my eyes, with a mixture of sadness, anger, and alcohol-induced despair. “He won’t understand,” she says, trying to console me.

“I don’t care,” I mumble in response, my voice slurred. “I can’t... I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“OK, baby. It’s time to go home.”

With Daphne’s help, I stumble out of the bar, my vision swimming as we step into the car. I realize all she’s had all night is a bottle of water as she watched me wallow in self-pity. The night air is cool against my flushed skin as I lean against her for support. The weight of my emotions presses down on me, and I can’t help but wonder how everything unraveled so quickly.

When we get back to my apartment, I’m a complete mess. Daphne helps me to my bed, and I crumple into a puddle of sadness. My phone buzzes with a reply from Drake, but I’m not in any state to read it, let alone respond.

Daphne stands over me like a guardian angel, her comforting words muffled by my drunken state. I drift off to sleep with the burden of my intoxicated choices weighing heavily on my heart, uncertain of what the morning will bring.

Chapter twenty-two

Drake

Stepping into the school, I’m preoccupied, trying to determine what makes me feel worse. Ava’s text two nights ago or the reason for Zoe’s school meeting today.

I can’t believe my daughter’s getting bullied. I can’t believe she was involved in a fight, and now I have to face the parents responsible for the little shit troublemaker.

Inside the principal’s office, my jaw clenches, and my patience wears thin. A man and a woman are seated at the table, with the principal at the head. Their expressions remain stoic, not offering enough remorse to ease my anger. I notice Zoe, her eyes downcast, guilt hanging around her like a cloud. The other girl sits next to her, head held high.

“Mr. Armstrong, welcome,” the principal greets. “Please, have a seat.”

I respond with a nod and take the chair across from the parents. The principal begins the meeting going over the incident involving Zoe and the other student. My frustration builds, and I just get more pissed thinking about this whole situation.

“You need to tell your daughter that it’s not OK to make fun of other people,” I say, which is the longest statement I’ve made since the meeting started.

Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, the parents of the other girl, exchange looks, and then Mr. Mitchel offers an apology that rings hollow.

“Katie is usually very sweet. I’m sure she wouldn’t have done that without being provoked. But we will talk to her and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Anger rises in the pit of my stomach. “Your daughter’s bullying is unfounded and inexcusable.”

I’m trying to be as calm as I can, but my patience is already at its limit, and when Mr. Mitchell attempts to downplay his daughter’s actions, something snaps in me.

“This isn’t something to be taken lightly,” I interject, my voice taut with anger. “My daughter was bullied. That’s what it is. It’s not just about apologies; your daughter has to understand that emotional abuse is just as bad as a physical assault. And you need to be ashamed for not teaching your kid that not everyone is the same, so she doesn’t make fun of people.”

Mrs. Mitchell, who had earlier attempted to placate me with a soft-spoken apology, has changed her strategy to a more aggressive one. “And your daughter has to understand that retaliating by attempting to burn someone with a hot drink is inexcusable.”

The anger I’ve been suppressing since last night simmers at the surface, threatening to boil over.

“Under no circumstance would I allow this to repeat itself. Even if it means advocating for disciplinary action for both girls,” I snap, my tone sharp and unforgiving. “Was Katie also suspended?”

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