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We each take a sip of our drinks. “Holy shit, this is good.” It’s like a raspberry-flavored piña colada.
“Would I steer you wrong?”
I say, deadly serious, “No, Ada. I don’t think you would.”
She meant the drink. I didn’t. Why I would put this much trust in a woman I’ve only known for a few weeks, I can’t really explain. But I have. For better or worse.
“No more avoiding. Answer the question. Really answer it.”
Sipping her drink, Ada thinks about it some more. As I watch her, hair piled high, breasts just peeking out on top of the water, sipping a frozen Raspberry Dream with the sound of a waterfall as the background, I feel strangely at peace. Even as I’m immensely turned on.
“Look, this isn’t about me being a daddy’s girl,” she says at last. “My dad and I work in the same field, so I understand what he’s accomplished. My respect for him goes much deeper than as a parent. His professional opinion matters, and hearing him say something like, ‘Good call, Ada,’ would be everything. Because he doesn’t blow smoke up my ass. At least, not in terms of my job. So if he is genuinely proud of me, then I’ll know I’m on the right track.”
“And if you slip up, or make a mistake, or do something differently than he would have done it, does it mean you can’t be as respected in your field as he is someday?”
She puts down her drink.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I know it’s an entirely different situation, but one time my family was on this skiing trip in the French Alps . . .” Before she can say it, I add, “And yes, I know how obnoxious that sounds. Anyway, we met this financial investor, which is what my dad does, but it struck me that the two of them had gone about things very differently. My father started with a lot of money because of my mom, but this guy didn’t. Didn’t matter. Both of them were staying in the same ski lodge, equally successful, if you’re measuring that by wealth. At the time I thought I wanted to be an investment banker too, and I remember being enthralled by the idea that I could do the same thing as my dad, but differently. I could make it my own. Does that make sense?”
She nods. “Sure. But I can’t see doing anything better than my father.”
Because you idolize him.
“Not better. Different. Both equally as good.”
She’s quiet for a moment, but just when I start worrying I pissed her off, she says, “Funny, my mother said basically the same thing during ‘the incident.’ That I was being way too hard on myself. Though my father never did anything quite so stupid.”
“I agree with your mother. And doubt your father is perfect. No one is, Ada.”
She looks me squarely in the eyes.
“Youthink I’m too hard on myself? Isn’t that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black?”
I reach for my drink to distract myself from, well, all of her.
“Probably. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a point. I don’t think you trust your own judgment as much as you should.”
“Why do you say that?” She’s genuinely curious.
“Listening to you, seeing the way you interact with your team. I don’t think you realize how amazing you are. Not the daughter of Dennis Flemming. You, Ada Flemming, a distinct but equally brilliant scientist.”
Ada opens her mouth.
“And before you say anything, no, I’m not trying to sweet-talk you to get into your pants.”
Her mouth drops completely open. “How did you know I was going to say that? Or maybe notthatexactly but . . .”
“Because it sounds exactly like what someone would say if they were trying to do that. But I said it because it’s true.”
The girlfriends step out of the hot tub, wading by us. They look at me and giggle to one another.
“You’re aware that happens pretty much twenty-four seven?” Ada asks as they leave.
It wouldn’t feel appropriate for me to say yes. Instead, I tell her the truth, which scares the shit out of me: “If you looked at me like that, I’d never notice, or care, what any other woman thought.”
Ada moves closer.
