Page 33 of Class Act

“Oh. I don’t dislike him,” I replied as casually as I could.

“How do you feel when you’re around him, then?”

Knowing my dad would accept nothing less than complete honesty and that he was a safe place for me, I unloaded it all. “Confused, annoyed, scared, unsure. Curious and worried. He’s arrogant but then surprisingly charming. Our first meeting was not good. He assumed I was scheming with his daughter to marry him, which is absurd, considering we’d never met, and what kind of adult uses an eight-year-old to get dates?”

“He thought that?”

“Well, he said it out loud and made the accusation, so he believed it to some degree. And then, like a fool, I went to his birthday party, anyway, where Leonard pulled a scheme of his own.”

Dad chuckled. “No wonder you weren’t happy about seeing him at Sunday dinner.”

“Yeah, and now I’m seeing him everywhere, and his daughter keeps inviting me to things, even though that might be a phase she’s going through. I don’t trust the way I act and feel around him, either.”

Dad listened as we strolled, not asking questions or interrupting, letting me get it all out. I unloaded it all, telling him about each and every interaction we’d had, and when I was done, he let silence fall until we turned at the end of the block to slowly walk back. I didn’t rush a response from him; I knew he was processing it all.

“That’s a lot to take in, especially for someone like you who leads a pretty quiet life,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“So because of all those feelings, you’re off balance?” he asked.

“You saw me at that Sunday dinner,” I muttered.

“True.” He sounded amused. “And the other times you’ve seen him, is it like that between you all the time?”

“Pretty much. Somehow, it’s always me, too. He’s calm and cheerful while I make a fool of myself.”

“Hmm. That’s not like you.”

“I know. Thanks to you and mom I cut my teeth on emotional intelligence and proper manners. I know better, which is why I entirely blame myself for this mess.”

“Is it a mess, then?”

I glanced to him and blinked. “Of course it’s a mess. It’s a disaster.”

Dad took my hand and wove it through his arm. “Next question. Why do you blame yourself for this alleged disaster?”

This was it, the big moment where I confessed to my dad all about my completely inappropriate mind-romance with Ford. My words were halting, as I weighed out how I wanted to present this story to him. When I was finished telling him about it, he simply squeezed my hand against his side and chuckled.

“Hailey, my profession is dealing with the human mind, and I can completely guarantee that you’re not a monster.”

“It’s a breach of privacy.”

He shook his head. “Remember when you were little and your friends all wanted posters of their favorite bands hung in their rooms?” I nodded. “That entire industry--the poster making, the t-shirts for sale, the action figures--that’s all because people like to imagine they’re part of the lives of their favorite celebrities. It’s normal to fantasize to a certain degree. It’s using your imagination to picture something you want. Often, we fantasize about someone because we want to feel the way they make us feel in these daydreams. We want that special someone. We crave that connection.” He tugged me to a stop and turned so that we were facing each other directly. “I have to say, though, the problem with this type of thing is that you’re creating a fictional character. You’re romanticizing them, glorifying them, and putting them on a pedestal. So, while it may seem harmless because it’s not interfering with your work or taking over your real life, and you aren’t following him around, it can still become a problem.”

I bit my lips and nodded as my stomach clenched unpleasantly. “I know. I felt safe doing it because I didn’t think we’d ever be in the same circles. Then we met, and it’s been really strange to try to separate the pretend version from who he really is. I’m such a wreck.”

Dad pulled me in for a light hug. “You’re not a total wreck. You might be searching for something, and daydreaming about Ford soothed some of those feelings in a way that felt safe because, like you said, you never thought you’d actually meet.” We started walking again. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just be aware that those emotional needs for connection can be better fulfilled in other ways with real people who love you.” We arrived back at the theater, and Dad held the door for me to enter. “This was pretty heavy stuff for intermission,” he chuckled once we were inside. “You okay?”

I shivered a bit as my body adjusted from the cool outside air to the warm, crowded heat of the theater. Rather than walk all the way in, I stopped by the entrance and looked up at my dad. He was as tall and lean as he’d ever been, but his hair was almost entirely gray now and his goatee matched. His frameless glasses stood on the same indents along his nose as they always had. His dark eyes were as open and loving as they’d always been, and I had such an urge to throw my arms around him and have him make it all better.

I sighed, feeling deflated but ready to face the facts, no matter how painful it was to admit. “You’re right. I’ve been doing my best to curb it ever since we met, but just when I think it’s all behind me, there he is again, bringing along that feeling tornado. I’m trying to roll with it and separate the fact from fiction, but it’s hard work when there’s so much emotion involved.”

“What’s the verdict so far? As you get to know him, how different is he from what you’d imagined?”

I twisted my lips in thought. “Well, he’s much more outgoing than I’d imagined, but he’s mostly kind. Seeing him here is a punch to the gut.”

Dad nodded. “I’m surprised that he’s gotten under your skin so thoroughly. Most guys don’t.”

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