Page 2 of Submitting to Daddy
My lungs burn as I take the final few stairs, grateful to finally reach the landing, and that this is my last box.Note to self: My next apartment willnotbe a walk-up.Skillfully, I juggle the box with one hand and the wall and I manage to slip my keys into the door and open it.
After hooking my arm tighter around the last cardboard box, I step inside and nudge the apartment door shut with my hip. The knob catches the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and nearly yanks me off-balance. I recover—barely—and stagger into the middle of the studio apartment. My phone is wedged between my cheek and shoulder, and I’m trying not to drop it—or the box—as I listen to my mother ramble on about my move and her hesitations for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, Mom,” I grumble, still catching my breath after the three flights of stairs. “I brought the pepper spray. And the flashlight. And even the emergency whistle.”
“Mock me all you want, sweetheart.” Mom sighs. “But those things are important. New York City isn’t like Lolita.”And thank God for that.My aspirations far exceed that tiny town in Virginia and the even tinier dating pool of eligible bachelors—a handful of boys I’ve known since I was six.
I lower the box to the floor with a grunt, wiping my dirty hands across the tops of my jeans. “I’m not laughing. I packed everything you told me to. Plus extras. I’m prepared for everything from a creepy guy on the street to the zombie apocalypse.”
“That’s not funny.”We never did share a sense of humor.
“It’s a little funny,” I playfully insist with a chuckle. “Seriously, Mom. The emergency kit you gave me is already under the sink and I easily have a year’s worth of birth control. I’m officially a responsible adult.”
She lets out a heavy huff, and there’s a pause on the other end. For a second, all I can hear is the traffic humming outside my window and the noisy neighbor upstairs.
“Well,” she exhales, her voice suddenly softer, “you still could’ve waited until Saturday. You didn’t have to drive all the way to New York today by yourself.”
“I wanted to.” I look out the window, resting my hands on my hips.I needed to.“It felt right, doing it on my own. New city, new job, new life.”
I smile, stretching the kink out of my neck and stepping around a box. The apartment isn’t big—just one open room, maybe five hundred square feet on paper—though it feels smaller with the skyscrapers of boxes piled along the walls and in the middle of the floor. But what it lacks in space, it makes up for in personality.
The building is a converted factory, full of character and charm—and a slightly suspicious smell near the stairwell. A tall and narrow floor-to-ceiling window throws long shadows across the brick walls from the exposed beams. The pipes that run along the ceiling hum and groan—apparently whenever anyone in the building uses the water. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
“Well, I just… You’re in a huge city, Maddie. Alone. And this job you got…” Mom trails off.
I move to the tiny kitchenette and wish I had thought to order groceries for delivery. Sitting on the chipped laminate counter are the only consumables I have—a sad-looking box of flavorless, crunchy granola bars and a half-empty bottle of iced tea from the last gas station I stopped at.
“I know,” I mumble, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “But it’s not scary. I promise. It’s just… new.”
“Have you met your neighbors yet?” she asks suddenly.
I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “No, not yet. I think someone else is moving in upstairs.”Or so I hope, considering I’ve been listening to furniture dragging across the floor since I got here.“And I heard a dog bark earlier. That’s a good sign, right?”
“Hmmm.”She doesn’t have to say it, but that’s her version of ‘not exactly.’
Leaning on the counter, I stare across the small apartment, cataloging all the work I still have to do. There are a few IKEA boxes in the corner—deliveries made before I arrived that the super kindly moved inside. They contain my bed frame, a bookshelf, a desk, and a chair—all of which will probably take me hours to assemble. Which means the mattress currently leaning against the wall will probably be on the floor tonight.
“I know you can take care of yourself, Madison. You always could.”
“I can,” I reply, heading toward the window and sitting cross-legged on the floor—the creaky hardwood cool beneath me. “I’ve lived on my own for a little over six years.”
“That’s different. That was all campus housing. This is… well, not.”
I grumble, reaching my limit with her overprotectiveness. “I’ve got locks on the doors. Several of them. I can read the subway map. I’ll be perfectly fine, Mom. I promise.”
She sighs—half amused, half worried. “I know. You’re your father’s daughter.”
Her words unintentionally gut me. I look down at the floorboards and trace a small crack with my fingertip. Silence stretches between us, and I swallow down the ache creeping up my throat at the mention of Dad.
I miss him…
“Yeah,” I respond quietly. “I am.”
“He’d be so proud of you, sweetheart.”
I still feel him sometimes…
I wish I could to tell him about the new place. But she’s right. I know he would be beyond proud of what I have accomplished these last few years—especially the past few months. Graduating, making this move to the city, and starting the life I know I was meant to live. I close my eyes, trying to hold the tears at bay. “Thanks, Mom.”
