Page 44 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Right on time.” My eyes dip to the distracting bunny. Is she aware that the bunny’s eyeballs alignwithherbreasts? She looks even younger than twenty-four. I needhertowear that big, old,floralskirtagain, likeshedidwhen she first arrived.

Dropping my tie on the table, I ask my daughter, “How was school, princess?”

Teagan doesn’t look up from her phone. “Fine.”

“When I’m talking to you, Teagan, I expect you to look at me.”

She drags her gaze up. Fuck’s sake. We’ve gone around in circles about the black smudge she insists on smearing over her eyes. She’s too young for all this shit on her face.

I don’t have the patience for the fight tonight.

“The security team told me you didn’t go to cello this afternoon. What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “I had a sore head.” My daughter is a terrible liar.

I feel her head. “Is it still sore?”

She leans away from me. “I’m fine, Dad; stop fussing.”

“Okay then. What did you learn today? Did anything fun happen?”

“The usual,” she says without looking up.

I take the phone from her hand. She glares at me and tuts.

Another night of having a conversation with myself. “Where are your manners, Teagan?”

She wants to roll her eyes but knows better. “This morning, I did geography and learned that we’re slowly killing ourselves and heading for extinction. This afternoon, we did an hour of religious studies. Is that enough, Dad?”

“Less of the attitude,” I say sharply, trying to rein in my annoyance. “I’m taking an interest in your day.”

“I hung out with Becky at break time.Hermom’s letting her get highlights in her hair.”

She gives me the stink-eye, and I sigh. Not this again. “Well, Becky’s hair probably isn’t as beautiful as yours.”

She huffs out air. “Can I have my phone back, please?”

I resist the urge to fire the damn device across the room and ban her from using electronics until she’s thirty. “No, princess. Thirty minutes a day, we agreed.”

“How do you know I’ve used my minutes?” she wails.

Exhaling, I lean my forearms on the counter, rubbing my forehead.

“Uh… shall I serve?” Clodagh asks tentatively.

I give her a nod as I undo the first few buttons on my shirt. She looks away quickly.

“I’m having mine in my TV room.” Teagan grabs her plate. “Thanks, Clodagh.”

My jaw tenses. “I want us to eat dinner together, Teagan.”

She lifts her chin defiantly and tries to brush past me. “I want to talk to Becky.”

“Well, isn’t that a fucking surprise,” I snap, then immediately regret it. “Teagan,” I call after her, but she’s gone.

I let her walk off because I’m too tired for another fight tonight. Sadness washes over me. How is it that my employees skitter around me nervously, but my own daughter is brazen enough to turn her back on me?

When I turn, Clodagh looks like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and demand she suck. I don’t need judgment in my own home from a girl who’s never been a parent. “Do you have something to say?” I snap.

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