Daddy Dearest

Chapter Eleven

Melody POV

At the dinner table, the Davenport parents sit opposite each other, at separate heads of the table. Lottie, Noah, and I are on Mr. Davenport's right side, while Charlie and Maddie sit across us on his left.

Noah is reading a book as always and Charlie is messing with his phone. Mr. D clears his throat, but both of his male children ignore him.

"Boys," he says in that quiet, firm tone of his. "Not at the dinner table, please."

Noah takes his book out of sight and Charlie puts his phone away. Mr. D looks at each of them, one after the other. "Thank you."

Mr. D's soft, commanding voice does something to me. It makes me feel squishy and gooey inside, like I suddenly don't have bones and I'm about to ooze down onto the floor in a big, messy Melody puddle. My face and neck are hot, so I know I'm probably blushing madly right now. I hide beneath my hair and try not to meet anyone's eyes.

"Madison," Mrs. Davenport says gently. "Why don't you lead us in prayer?"

The Davenports are Catholic and so are Nancy and I. I think Mr. D was originally Anglican and had to convert for Mrs. Davenport, who is a devout Irish-Catholic. Her older brother is a Jesuit priest who lives in the Vatican.

"Okay, mummy," Maddie replies perkily and invites us all to join hands and bow our heads. "Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," our group responds.

"That was very good, Madison," Mr. D. tells his youngest daughter.

Maddie beams at him, two front teeth missing. "Thank you, Daddy."

I survey the table, which was nicely laid out by Mrs. D. There is pasta, Caesar salad that Charlie told me he prepared himself, garlic bread (Mrs. D apologized that it was store bought because she didn't have time to bake today due to a meeting running late), and asparagus with mushrooms. The lady is a true domestic goddess.

"This is quite a spread, Mrs. D," I say appreciatively as my stomach growls. Lottie hears it and snickers. I elbow her. "Thank you again for inviting me."

"Yeah, mum," Lottie pipes up. "If you hadn't asked her to stay, it would have been Taco Bell again."

I glare at her. It isn't always Taco Bell. Nancy isn't a very good cook, so we often get takeout for our meals, but when I'm on my own, I do have a tendency to get Taco Bell. "Shut up, spaz," I mutter.

"Oh, Melody," she says with an airy laugh. "You don't have to keep thanking me, dear. You're practically one of my children. I shouldn't even have to ask you to stay for dinner. Just eat and sleep here whenever you want."

"Hooray," says Maddie, clapping her hands. "I have a new sister! You can stay in my room, Melly."

Across the table, Charlie who is in the middle of drinking water, sputters and dribbles all over the front of his shirt. He hurriedly dabs at it with his dinner napkin. "Oh, shit."

"Bad word!" Maddie calls out promptly.

Mr. D gives him a couple of hearty slaps on the back, his blue eyes glittering with humor. "You all right, mate?"

"All good." Charlie coughs twice and gives me a thumbs up. "Water went down the wrong hole."

"I hate when that happens," his twin says in mock commiseration. 

"Yeah, because you know all about wrong holes," Charlie mutters darkly.

"Charles, apologize to your sister at once," his father snaps. This time, his voice is like a whip sailing through the air and ends with a crack. "I will have none of your vulgarity at the dinner table."

For a moment, Charlie's face darkens and he gives his dad a mutinous glower. I hold my breath. I've seen him clash with Mr. D a few times in the past, but they were minor scuffles. This time, it's different. There's a tension here now, something simmering just beneath the surface.

Of course, Mr. D wins the staring contest because Charlie looks away first and flashes his clenched teeth at Lottie. "I'm sorry, Lots2love."

"No worries, Upchuck," Lottie answers in a syrupy tone. "Jesus and I love you."

Maddie reaches out and pats Charlie's hand on the table. "Jesus and I love you, too, Charlie."

I bite down on my lower lip because I'm about two seconds from bursting into giggles. Meanwhile, the Davenport parents look at each other, most likely wondering where they went wrong in child-rearing. Noah just sighs impatiently and glares at everyone.

"Jesus loves everybody," Mrs. D announces with finality. She picks up a dish that contains the pasta and scoops servings for herself and her two younger children, then asks Noah to pass the dish to me.

I take a healthy portion because Mrs. D tells me as I'm scooping it out that there's plenty more in the pot. After I'm done, I pass the dish to Lottie. The next one I get is the Caesar salad, then the asparagus, and finally, the bread. I survey my plate and raise my eyebrows. I piled up enough food to feed two people. Ah, well, I'm hungry.

Lottie is looking at my plate as well. "Ugh, how can you eat that much food all the time and stay as thin as you are?"

"Charlotte..." her mother said warningly.

"It's genetics," Noah tells the table. "She's naturally petite."

Lottie leans forward to glare at her younger brother. "Thank you, Bill Nye."

Noah blinks innocently behind his horn-framed glasses. "It's just science."

"That's enough," Mrs. D declares, the expression on her face grim and resolute. "For once, I would like to have a happy, peaceful dinner."

I furtively look at Mr. D. His jaw is clenched, but his blue eyes aren't showing any emotion. I switch over to Mrs. D and see her staring at her husband. They appear to be in silent communication with each other. Their kids seem unaware of the tension and have started eating. Maddie tells her mother that she doesn't want to eat asparagus because it makes her pee smell bad.

This makes Mrs. D laugh, but she puts on a stern face. "Honey, that is not appropriate dinner conversation."

Madison scrunches up her face in response. "Then what is?"

"How about you tell us about your day?" Mr. D says gently. "What did you do today?"

Maddie looks like she's really thinking about it. "Um... Math. Art. Mrs. Rodriguez read us the story of Joseph and his cool coat that has many colors. Recess. Then we did some spelling. That's about it, I think. Oh, then Rebecca picked me and Noah up from school and took us out for smoothies."

Mrs. D raises her eyebrows. "Not the sugary kind, I hope. Did she take you to Jamba Juice?"

"No, Mother," says Noah, picking up an asparagus from his plate and biting into it. "It's one of those healthy juice places that's usually next to vitamin shops and yoga studios."

"Noah, don't talk when you have food in your mouth. It's unseemly," says Mr. Davenport from his side of the table.

"Sorry, Dad," Noah mumbles.

During this exchange, Lottie and Charlie eat silently. Until they finish their meal, neither of them really say much. They respond when asked questions, but otherwise concentrate on their food. I think they are both chagrined about their behavior. As they should be. They've both been assholes. I'm a frickin' orphan. I'd be grateful to have attentive parents like theirs.

After dinner, Lottie volunteers to clean up, which surprises me because she hates doing the dishes. Her folks look surprised, too, but don't question it. Mrs. D, who takes over from Rebecca when she leaves at four in the afternoon every weekday, usually does the clean up after dinner, unless I'm feeling generous that day and volunteer.

I get a text from Nancy that tells me she's going to be out later than she planned because she and her friends decided to catch a later movie. It's almost 8 pm. I just really want to go home and shower.

Ugh, here comes the part I hate: asking for a ride home. I guess I could always take an Uber, but I try not to do it in the evenings. Nancy has instilled in my brain that it's particularly unsafe to get into a car with a stranger at night. Now I'm completely paranoid about it.

Lottie doesn't drive yet because she hasn't passed her road test at the DMV. She's taken it four times. I don't drive because I have this phobia resulting from my nightmares about my mom dying behind the steering wheel. Just the thought of driving gives me serious anxiety. I'm fine sitting in the passenger seat, but sitting behind the wheel myself? No way, José.

I follow Charlie, Noah, and Maddie to the den. Maddie wants to play Candyland and Charlie is being obliging, which is nice. But he's always had a soft spot for his youngest sister and tends to spoil her. This is a side of Charlie that makes me go, "Awww..."

I was about to ask Charlie if he could drive me home, but I don't want to disturb the moment of coziness that the three siblings are sharing. It's a rare ceasefire. I mean, even Noah is willing to play when he usually prefers to sit in his dad's armchair and read.

Which leaves Mr. and Mrs. Davenport. I don't want to bother them, either, because they looked kind of tense at dinner and they might be talking right now or something. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and use a rideshare app. I'm sure nothing bad will happen. I'm just being paranoid.

I pivot and start heading toward the living room, but Charlie stops me. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Aww, Melly, you're not sleeping over?" Maddie asked in a sad voice.

"I can't, Junebug," I tell her kindly. "Tomorrow is a school day. I have to get home and sleep."

"Oh. Okay." She pushes out her bottom lip.

"I'll drive you home," Charlie says as Maddie's face becomes even sadder behind him. "Let me just get my keys from my room."

"Don't worry about it. Stay. Play with Maddie. How can you disappoint that face?" I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him and so he's looking at Maddie. "I'll text you when I get home."

"You better."

I have to pass by the living room to get to the front door and find the Davenport parents sitting on separate sofas, perpendicular to each other.

Mrs. D spots me first. "Heading home, Melody? Is Nancy waiting outside for you?"

I could have lied to her, but I didn't. I'm not very good at lying to adults because I always feel so guilty afterward. "No, ma'am. I was just going to call an Uber. Nancy is still out with her friends."

Mrs. D looks horrified. "Oh no, dear. Mr. Davenport will drive you."

Mr. Davenport has been reading on his iPad, but he puts it down on the coffee table and finally looks up at me. "I'll drive you, Melody."

Our eyes meet and I instantly get that falling sensation again. Like I'm about to drop flat on my back, only there's no floor to catch me, so it's a perpetual free-fall. "Sorry to bother you, sir."

He smiles at me and my heart thuds against my ribcage. "You're never a bother, Miss Plum." He stands up to his full height of six-two, then leans over to kiss Mrs. D's forehead. "I'll be back soon, honey." To me, he says, "Come."

We go outside through the front door, since the Escalade is parked in front of the garage. Inside the garage are Mrs. D's new Benz, Mr. D's beloved Porsche, and Charlie's Land Rover, which was his Dad's old car. Mr. D opens the car door for me.

"Watch your arms and legs," he said before closing the door.

I look in the rear view mirror and see Maddie's booster seat. Hah. I use the image to remind myself that Mr. D is a dad, the father of my two closest friends in the world.

Mr. D gets in behind the steering wheel and turns on the radio. "I've got Spotify hooked up to this thing. Anything in particular you want to listen to?"

God, his deep, silky-smooth voice is killing me. And his cologne is making my head swim. He smells like oranges, sandalwood, and new leather combined. But the scent is not overwhelming. It's... sexy and intoxicating. "I only live a few blocks away, Mr. D. I don't think the music matters. We'd only get through one song."

He chuckles and in the darkness of the car, it sounds indulgent and intimate. "Never mind, I'll choose." He starts the car and away we go.

I recognize the song as soon as Billie Holiday starts singing. "I'll be seeing you/ in all the old familiar places/ that this heart of mine embraces/ all day and through..." My mom loved Billie Holiday, I think. I seem to recall her singing this song while cooking or washing the dishes. My mother was always singing, even though she herself would admit that she was tone-deaf.

"My mom used to listen to this song," I say out loud in wonder. I wasn't telling Mr. D, really, but it was like, it just needed to be said and heard by someone.

"I like her, too." Mr. D glances at me and smiles. "Have you figured out who sent you the flowers?"

I've been fiddling with the hem of my skirt, avoiding his gaze. I don't know if it's just me, but every time I'm alone with Mr. D now, I'm hyper-aware of his masculinity and the fact that he is biologically a male, therefore has a p***s, and I am biologically a female, therefore have a v****a. Those two things go together. He's just asked me a question. I attempt to unscramble my mind, so I can formulate an answer. Something about the flowers. "Umm... no. Not anyone we could think of."

"It was an awfully large bouquet, Melody," he says wryly. "Someone must like you very much."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, conscious of his eyes on me. "I'd rather they don't, actually. The flowers were too much and the poem that accompanied it was... I don't know, inappropriate?"

"Hmm," he says and I look up at him. "The poem is called 'Every Day You Play' by a Chilean poet named Pablo Neruda. Are you familiar with it?"

I hold my breath for a few seconds and exhale slowly to calm the beating of my heart, which I'm convinced he could hear within the confines of the car. "Yes. I googled the lines and that poem came up. I read it."

"What did you think of it? Analyze it for me."

"Uhhh..." Eloquent, I know, but I'm too embarrassed to answer him. Still, he said it in a teacher voice and I'm trained to respond when an authority figure tells me to do something. "Well, the speaker is an older man, maybe? Older than the listener, anyway. I think it's about the development of love: how human love can translate to divine love and be this sublime thing. It's also about the foundation of a relationship and deals with themes like infatuation, trust, tough times within a relationship, and carnal worship.. The last stanza talks about..." I stop and fumble for the right words, my face heating up like I've been standing under the sun too long. "The speaker bringing about the bloom in the listener, like spring brings bloom to the flowers. I think maybe it's about the listener's innocence? Maybe he wants to make her a woman?"

Mr. D clears his throat and doesn't say a word until the silence becomes unbearable. Billie Holiday starts singing "Until the Real Thing Comes Along." I was wrong. We do have time for another song. I surreptitiously slide him a sidelong glance. He appears contemplative, tapping his index finger on the steering wheel.

"Uh, sir?" I prompt him.

"Valid points, Miss Plum," he finally responds. "I'm sure that was what your suitor meant to convey when he chose that excerpt from Mr. Neruda's poem."

"Maybe the sender is a lady?" I venture uncertainly.

He shakes his head. "The approach is decidedly bold and masculine. Your suitor is male."

I swallow hard. My palms are suddenly sweaty. I hesitate to wipe them on my skirt. "The flowers plus the poem? Super creepy. I'm not letting that person anywhere near my cherry blossom. I mean..." I blush furiously, wishing I could bite off my tongue. Why the hell did I say that?

Mr. D says, "That would be advisable."

Before he could say anything more, we pull up to my house and the front porch light is on because it's on a timer. I don't immediately get out of the car. Maybe I'm waiting for him to say something more or I just want to stay enclosed with him just a little bit longer.

"Miss Plum?" he murmurs. "Is anything the matter?"

I bite my lower lip and freeze. "I just need someone to talk to about some things and Nancy is not home yet..." I take a glimpse at his face, but in the dimness of the car, I am unable to discern his features. "Do you think... Do you want to come in for a bit?"