Page 7 of Playing to Win

I lean back in my chair and tell her with a look that we absolutely are having this conversation. “Listen, Cady, I’m not going to be a hypocrite. I just want to know that you’re being sensible. Make sure you know the guy and like him. Make sure he’s decent. Don’t disrespect yourself by letting just anyone—”

She pushes herself out of her chair and stands in a ridiculously melodramatic fashion. “Christ, Dad, I do know him. And I know he really likes me, and I like him. And we’re not sixteen.”

As calmly as I can when an eighteen-year-old is shouting at me in a public place, I tell her, “Sit down, Cady, right the hell now.”

I guess I pitched it right, because she does sit. “You sound just like her.”

“By ‘her,’ I assume you mean your mother. Look, I get that you think you know everything right now, and hell, you probably know a lot more than Alice and I knew at sixteen. But we’re both just trying to stop you from making the mistakes we made.”

She drops her wrist to the tabletop, rocking the teaspoon against her cup and saucer, drawing looks from other customers. “So now I’m a mistake?”

I roll my jaw, counting in my head to control my temper. “No, but you are proving that you’re a goddamn child.” I drag my hand through my hair on an exasperated sigh. “You are anything but a mistake, Cady. You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right. But if I could have had you a few years later, when your mom and I… There are some things I would have, should have, done differently. I’m just pointing out that you could learn from me. Have fun but be sensible.”

We stare at each other long enough that I wonder if we’re in an indefinite standoff, or whether I got through to the girl who is just as stubborn as her old man. Finally, her lips break into an almost smile. “Are you going to take me for my birth control appointment?” she asks.

“Do you want me to?” I ask her with a grin, knowing the answer to that question. “Are we going to talk about why you wanted to see me today?”

She shrugs, and I swear I have to bite down on my tongue. “You’re my dad, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I’m aware of that. Every time I see a new strand of gray hair in the mirror, I’m reminded I’m your father. And I love to see you but I saw you last weekend so I wasn’t expecting to see you for, like, I don’t know, a decade.”

She laughs as I finish the sentence in a mock-teenager tone, the kind you might hear in the movie Mean Girls. Again, I’ve watched it with Cady and the fact she has the same name as the lead character is purely coincidence. No judging.

“I wanted to see you, that’s all.”

I watch her, silently, waiting for her to fill the gap. I’ve learned over the years, if I want my daughter to talk, this is how. Kids—sorry, young adults—don’t like silence.

She breathes out heavily. “It’s just, I’m fed up with hearing about the baby’s room, and the baby scan, and the nursery conversion, and what a wonderful family Mom and Richard and the baby will be. I mean, I know I’m moving to the college dorm and all, but…”

“You won’t be pushed out, Cady. Your mom wouldn’t do that. I know it’s hard.” God, do I. “But I know Alice, and Richard, want you to be a part of their family. You are a part of their family.” I reach out and lift her fallen chin until her eyes meet mine. “And you can talk to me anytime, kiddo. All right? You can stay anytime. Plus, when you’re at NYU we’ll be able to see a lot more of each other.”

Her smile creeps onto her lips. “Can I get a free gym membership?”

“You already have it.”

“For my friends?”

“One friend.”

“And food in the bistro?”

I chuckle. “And food in the bistro.” I cover her hand with mine. “I love you, kiddo.”

She rolls her eyes. “Love you too.”

“Good, you can buy breakfast.”

“I don’t love you that much. Anyway, I have places to be.” With that, she stands, plants a kiss on my brow, and quickly navigates tables to slip out of the restaurant. I watch her walk by the glass window. She stops on the sidewalk and looks right at me. Then she shrugs.

Ah, Christ, she definitely got my attitude.

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