Reluctant Daughter by Lesleá Newman

Author:Lesleá Newman [Newman, Lesleá]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay & Lesbian, Fiction, Lesbian, Contemporary, Romance, General
ISBN: 9781602821187
Google: fFhkPgAACAAJ
Amazon: 1602821186
Publisher: Bella Distribution
Published: 2009-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

*

“LADIES AND JELLYBEANS. Please get up, get washed, get dressed, and come to the children’s dining room.” This is how my father woke me every weekday morning when I was growing up, and I hear his voice in my head now as I dash around my hotel room getting ready to go to the hospital. If there’s one thing my father hates, it’s tardiness. Lucky for him, I inherited his punctuality gene; I am showered, dressed, made up, and out the door at exactly seven-nineteen, giving me a full eleven minutes to ride the elevator down from the seventh floor to the first floor, which is a good ten minutes more than necessary.

Stepping into the hotel lobby, I glance around and immediately catch sight of my father standing in front of the reception desk engaged in a lively conversation with Melissa, who is staring up at him with her big blue eyes and nodding continuously, like one of those toy dogs with the bobbing heads people keep on their dashboards. Today Melissa’s nails are painted a glittery hot pink and her long shiny hair is fixed in a heavy-looking braid draped over her shoulder. The tip of her braid resembles a paintbrush and rests on the counter between her and my father. He keeps glancing down at it with interest, as though he were trying to figure out a way to grab it and tuck it away for safekeeping like a lucky rabbit’s foot shoved deep inside his pocket.

“Dad?” I approach him cautiously, as though I am barging in on something I have no business interrupting.

“Lydia, there you are. Let’s go, let’s go.” My father snaps to attention, spinning around and looking pointedly at his watch to show me how annoyed he is that I am only ten minutes early, which in his book is the equivalent of being twenty minutes late. “C’mon, the van is waiting for us. You have everything?” He looks me over quickly and gives a short nod of approval at what he sees: his adult daughter who is trying her best to feel and act like an adult, dressed neatly in a white jersey and gray slacks with a yellow sweater draped over her arm and her pocketbook slung over her shoulder.

“Thank you, doll. I appreciate it,” my father calls to Melissa as he hustles me through the lobby. I wonder what Melissa has done to warrant his gratitude but decide it’s probably best not to ask.

“Nice girl, that Melissa,” my father says as he puts his hand on my waist and steers me toward the exit. “Very pretty, too.”

I ignore my father’s appraisal of Melissa as a bellhop steps back with a little bow and pulls open the glass door for us. My father takes my elbow as though he owns it and propels me outside into sunlight so bright it makes us raise our hands to our foreheads in unison as though we are saluting an invisible superior officer standing in front of us instead of merely shielding our eyes.

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