Page 110 of The Fed Sex Man

I couldn’t believe what he’d said. My day had been horrible, and I didn’t need it to get any worse. “Don’t talk about me like I’m in the other room. I’m right here, Daddy.”

“Based on the fact you’ve said nothing,” he huffed. “I’m going to make a sandwich.”

After he left the room, I looked at my mother. “What’s his problem?”

“I’m sure part of it is that he likes Tyson,” she whispered. “I’m sure he’d just like to see you two work things out.”

I sighed. “This isn’t something we’re going to be able to work out.”

“Like I said, dear. When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

Enough time had passed that I was ready to talk about it, as long as I didn’t have to talk to my father. He’d already expressed his belief that I was incapable of dealing with life outside my bubble of butterflies and bubblegum.

I drew a breath and leaned against the arm of the couch. “I was looking in one of his yearbooks and I found a passage written by a friend. He made a comment about Tyson being ‘sweet’ on someone. I assumed it was a student, but when I looked her up in the book, I found out it was the librarian. And, she looks just like me. Just like me. Glasses, hair, clothes, everything.”

She looked at me as if she expected me to continue. When I didn’t, she cleared her throat and placed her hand on my knee. “Sweetheart is that what you’re upset about?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” I asked. “He’s with me because I look like her. His friend even said one night that I was the ‘sexy librarian’. I had no idea at the time what he was talking about. It all makes sense now. It makes me sick to think about it.”

“If he was sweet on the librarian when he was in school, he must have thought she was pretty. The fact you look like her could be coincidental—”

“It’s not coincidental.”

“Maybe it’s not. Tyson would have to answer that, dear.”

“I’m not willing to talk to him about it.”

“Do you think you might be overreacting?” she asked.

I straightened my posture. “Oh, so, you think I’m living in a bubble of bubblegum and unicorns, too?”

“Sweetheart, when your father and I were in high school, he told me I looked like Audrey Hepburn. He said my lips were better than hers, but he compared me to her. He even called me ‘Audrey’ sometimes.” She smiled. “I saw it as a compliment.?”

I sighed. “That’s not the same.”

“The hell it’s not!” my father bellowed from the kitchen.

I turned around. “Daddy! This is a private conversation!”

Carrying a plate with a half-eaten sandwich in it, he stepped through the threshold of the door and paused.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re my daughter,” he said in a stern tone. “It’s my responsibility to tell you when I see that you’re making a mistake. That’s what parents do. And, right now, you’re making a mistake.”

“You’re a man,” I complained. “Of course, you’re going to see it his way.”

He sat on the loveseat and set his plate on the end table. “He had the hots for the high school librarian. Fifteen years later, he met you. You guys dated for a few months and you fell in love. You found out you look like the librarian. Maybe he has a thing for pretty girls with big butts and black glasses, who knows?”

“John. Wallace. Watson!” my mother screeched.

He glared. “What?”

She forced a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe you, sometimes. How could you say such a thing? She doesn’t have a big butt.”

His glare lingered for a moment, and then he looked away. “Sometimes I feel like a man can’t win. It seems women never understand when a compliment is given. Everything’s an insult.”

I’d heard enough. I was exhausted, my muscles ached, my eyes were swollen, and I needed some rest.

“I need to sleep on it.” I stood. “I’m going to my room.”

“Your room is filled with your mother’s crap.”

“I’m going in there anyway.”

“One question before you go,” he said.

“What?” I huffed.

“Do you trust him?”

Before I responded, he corrected himself. “Did you trust him before this happened?”

I hated to admit it, but I did. Wholeheartedly. I nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“If you trusted him, you’re either gullible as hell or he’s a trustworthy man. While you’re laying in that mess of a bedroom tonight, why don’t you ask yourself which one it is.” He reached for his sandwich. “Goodnight, Kidd-o.”