Dad laughed. “So, you told him—about why you came to live here?”
No, you did. “Yeah. We’re—he’s helping me through it.”
Dad sighed massively and wrapped his arm all the way around my shoulder, pulling me into him for a bear-tight hug. “I’m so relived to hear that. And you’re all going out to Betty’s tonight, right?”
I nodded. “If that’s…is it still okay?”
“Of course it is, honey.” He pressed a big sloppy Dad kiss on my brow. “More than okay. I’ll even give you a later curfew. How’s that sound?”
“Really? What time?”
“Eleven sound fair?”
“Yes!” I hugged him, wrapping my skinny arms all the way around his neck. “Thank you, Dad.”
“Just happy to make you happy.” He rubbed my back, and as I pulled away, sitting beside him again, my butt landed on the remote, starting up the film he’d been watching. I went to apologise, but my eyes strayed from his smile to the TV set, stopping on the tiny dancer, gracefully billowing across the screen.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Dad grabbed the remote and went to turn it off; I placed my hand over his.
“Wait. I want to see.”
He lowered the remote and I rose to my feet, walking slowly over to watch the only piece of my mother I had left.
“Did she ever tell you about this concert?” Dad asked.
I shook my head.
“It was the year before she quit ballet.”
“Before she had me?”
“Yes.” He stood beside me. “It was Swan Lake.”
“I know.” I smiled, watching my mother dance. “I did this one last year for our ballet recital.”
His arm wrapped my shoulders. “I remember. You were such a beautiful dancer.”
“I think I inherited that from Mom.”
“Yes.” He looked at the screen. “Among other things.”
I looked up at his watering eyes. “You miss her, too?”
He pressed stop on the remote and the screen went black. “I always will.”
A moment of silence passed between us. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“What for?”
“I…I’m just sorry—about everything.”
He looked down at me, his eyes narrowing tightly on the inner corners. “You know, honey, if there’s something you need to tell me—”
“Thanks, Dad.” I hugged him softly, squeezing once before backing up. “I do know that.”
“Okay.” His concerned smile dropped for the warm one I always loved. “Well, you go on now and have a good night. Promise?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”
As I closed his door, the gentle hum of piano followed me out into the hall again.
“Are you okay, Ara?” David called from downstairs.
“Uh, yeah,” I called back. “Just gotta throw on some jeans. Won’t be long.” I slipped into the cleanest-smelling pair of jeans I could find on my floor and grabbed the blue zip-up sweater from my dresser, then scrunched my hair up a few times and grabbed my purse as I stumbled out the door.
“You won’t be needing this.” David took my purse, appearing out of nowhere, and ditched it back into my room. I heard it hit my bed with a dull, leather-sounding thud.
“Why won’t I need that? Don’t they sell food there? I’m starving.”
He shook his head, unamused. “You know I won’t let you pay for your own food.”
“Why? Is my money dirty?” I followed him down the stairs, my careless feet thumping loudly behind his barely audible footfalls.
“No.” He opened the front door. “But when a guy takes a girl on a date, he should pay. It’s the way I was raised.”
“Well—” I sauntered past him; he closed the front door behind us, “—it’s weird.”
“Don’t pretend you object to me treating you as a lady.”
“Maybe I do.”
Despite that, he still opened the car door for me. “Why do girls always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Spill that equal rights nonsense—argue that we’re taking their independence by opening a door for them. That’s just not the case.”
“Well, what is the case?” I sat down on the front seat, leaving my feet on the driveway.
“Simply that we’re demonstrating good breeding; showing the girl we’re worthy and capable of taking care of her—that we’re polite, considerate, nurturing.”
I folded my arms. “Women don’t need nurturing—or to be taken care of. We can fend for ourselves. We’re equal to men, you know.”
“Ara.” He stared down at me, the skin under his eyes tight. “I’m not disregarding equality by being a gentleman; I’m exercising chivalry.”
“That’s outdated, though, isn’t it?” I challenged, with a grin.
“Never,” he said in a high tone. “Why should courtesy be outdated—or offensive? Is it not polite to offer a pregnant woman your seat on a bus?”
“Yes, but that’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s pregnant.”
“Then, if you want equal rights for all, it would only be polite for me to also offer this to a woman who is not pregnant. Or to the man playing Angry Birds on his iPhone.”
“This is getting off topic.” I swung my legs into the car. “The point is—” Argh! What was my point? ...Oh yeah. “The point is that I should be able to pay for my own food if I want.”
“And you can, but not when you come out with me. I have rights, too.”
“So…I’m taking away your rights by buying my own food?”
“Absolutely.”
“What a load of rubbish.”
“Think of it like this; some girls believe exerting independence by denying a man his own rights to be respectful demonstrates strength. But women are incredibly strong. We already know this. So, unfortunately, by labelling chivalry to be insolent, she is merely robbing the next generation of civility—ensuring the extinction of well-mannered men. It’s my right and duty to preserve the tradition.”
“Not all women consider it good manners when a guy forces her to accept a free lunch.” I tightened the fold of my arms.
“Oh, really?” He looked down at me with one brow arched. “Yet, if I neglected to wrap my jacket over your shoulders on a cold evening I’d be regarded as a jerk.”