Page 330 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
Naomi’s deep blue eyes flash up to mine. “Yeah? I’d like to see Mom try. She’s always at me because she has her doctorate. But, like, humanities? C’mon. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it? I’d like to see her try nonlinear equations.”
I chuckle because the moment seems to call for it, but I really don’t have any idea what she’s talking about. “What’s your mom a doctor of?”
“History. The late Victorian period, specifically.” Naomi rolls her eyes. “Dickens.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen the Bill Murray version and that’s about it.” That’s not really true. I’ve read A Christmas Carol and Great Expectations. I’m not sure why I’m playing dumb except that people always seem to expect it of me. And I’ll admit that beyond the novels I’ve read, I don’t know much about the Victorian period. Humanities were not my best subjects, either.
Naomi laughs but it doesn’t turn condescending and I appreciate that.
“I know you said not to apologize for her, but I am sorry. She just—she’s still so angry at Dad. Everything that ever goes wrong, she lays at his door. And he just takes it. Sometimes he pushes back a little, but mostly he just lets her yell at him. That’s why I thought ... well, for a while I thought he might be getting back at her in private. But I just can’t see him doing that.”
“I don’t know what he was like when he was younger, Naomi, but I can tell you that now? He never brings anger into our private time. Not ever.”
She smiles a very sad smile. “You know he’s never hit me? Never even yelled at me except when I used his electric razor to shave the dog.”
I have to laugh at that, and Naomi’s smile brightens a bit.
“Yeah, I was grounded for like a year for that. Other dads, they used to shout at their kids. Dad never shouted. His disappointment was worse than a hundred hours of shouting.”She pushes off her pump, draws up her knee, and curls around it. “That’s all I do now, disappoint him.”
I tentatively touch her back and when she doesn’t flinch or object, rub it gently. I can feel each rib through her blouse and it almost makes me recoil.
“Naomi, I don’t think that’s true. Mac has so much love for you. I see it every time he talks about you. It’s right there in his eyes.”
She tips her head and rests her temple on her knee so she can look at me. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
She sighs. “I’m so tired. I never thought I’d be this tired at twenty-one. I’m tired of trying to keep up. I’m tired of failing at everything I do. I’m tired of disappointing him. I’m tired of mom trying to turn me into something I’m not. I’m just tired. Are you ever tired before you even get out of bed in the morning?”
“Yeah, I am sometimes. Everyone gets low. Before I met Mac, I was in a pretty bad place. I was beginning to give up on the idea of finding a guy who really cared about me. I was kind of giving up on everything.”
“Meeting my dad changed that?”
I grin. “Sure did.”
“I’m glad. He looked happy when he walked in here. He deserves that. He’s a really good guy, my dad.”
“The best,” I agree.
“I just don’t want to disappoint him.”
“Naomi, the only way you could truly disappoint him is by taking drugs again. I don’t think he cares what you do with your life, as long as it’s whatyouwant. Degree. No degree. Career. Homeless without teeth.” That draws a huge smile out of her. “Your dad will love you as long as you’re alive and doing the things you want to do.”
Naomi slips off her other pump and pulls her knee up. “I actually do love it, you know. Physics. Even the math part, which is kind of killing me. When I’m not under so much pressure, I love the science. I’m just so afraid of falling behind and not getting the grades I need. Mom keeps telling me that if I graduate anything less thansumma cum, I’ll never get a decent position and the market’s so tight for academics.”
“Do you want to go into academics? I don’t know anything about your field, but it seems like there would be a lot of jobs for physicists.”
“Oh, sure,” she says. “Lots in the private sector. But Mom says that real research only goes on at the great schools. Everything else is commercially driven.”
“Is that a bad thing? I mean, my art is commercially driven. People pay me to tattoo them. Does that mean it’s not as good?”
“No,” Naomi admits. “It’s really good. Would you tattoo me? I’ve always wanted one. Mom says tattoos are for rednecks, but I think they’re cool.”
“Sure.”
We spend another ten minutes talking about potential tattoo designs. She really likes the idea of a geometric heart which I think would suit her and I do the rough beginnings of a sketch with a pencil and a sticky note she hands me. As I work, I start to wonder if Amy and Mac have killed each other out in the hallway when Amy slams back into the room.
She sweeps her gaze up and down her daughter, who has relaxed even more in her absence, pulling an oversized “Queens College” sweatshirt off the bed and tugging it down over her knees as she sits curled in the chair. “Put your shoes back on, Naomi.”
