Chasing Butterflies (4 page)

“H
ey, Daddy,” I say a few days later, popping my head into his bright, airy office with the glass wall that offers him a picturesque view of our infinity pool and our enormous backyard lined with beautiful electric-blue jacaranda trees.

He’s hovered over his desk, glasses on, pen in hand, sketching. He looks up from his blueprints and smiles. “Hey, Butterfly.”

I step across the threshold, smiling inside. Every time he calls me
butterfly
I can’t help but smile inside. I feel so loved by him. “Are you busy?”

He leans back from his glass-top drafting table and removes his glasses. “I’m never too busy for my favorite girl.”

“Oh, Daddy, stop,” I say lightheartedly. “I’m your
only
girl.”

He smiles. “That you are. And you’re still my favorite.”

I smile back at him.

Daddy is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my father. I’m saying it because it’s true. He’s thirty-nine, but he looks like he’s younger. And he has a reddish-brown complexion that always looks as if it’s been kissed by the sun. When he’s dressed in his suits, he always looks as if he’s stepping off a photo shoot for
GQ
magazine.

And ladies are always looking at him, or trying to catch his eye when I’m out with him. But he doesn’t really pay them any mind, maybe because he’s out with me.

I know I probably shouldn’t say this. But I think it’s time for Daddy to start dating again. Mommy’s been gone for ten years now, and he deserves to be happy with someone. He says when the time is right, he will. But for now he always says he’s already happy.

“So what’s up, sweetheart?” Daddy asks, cutting into my reverie.

“Nothing really.” I clear my throat, and saunter further into the room. “I didn’t know you were working from home today.”

Daddy’s firm is located in the heart of downtown L.A., and—with close to a hundred architects, interior designers, and urban planners—is ranked among the top five design firms across the state. Ohmygod! Wait. They also have a spectacular studio in Dubai!

And I got to spend the whole summer there last year while they opened it.

It was super cool. No, stupendously awesome!

But that’s another story, for another time.

“I decided not to go in today,” Daddy says, folding his arms across his chest as he leans back in his chair. “Figured I’d get more done being home.”

“Ahh, playing hooky, eh?”

Daddy chuckles. “Something like that.”

I give him a hug. “So how was your day?”

“It was good. Better now.” He kisses me on the side of the head. “How was school?”

I let out a long exaggerated sigh, releasing him from my hug. “Oh, you know. The usual. Boring.” I slink around his desk, sliding a finger around the edges of the tempered-glass, then lifting one of his architectural scales from his desk. “But I only skipped four classes instead of my usual six today.”

Daddy knows I’d never cut classes, but he plays along anyway.

He considers me thoughtfully. “Hmm. Is that so?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Well, did you get caught?”

I shake my head vigorously. “Nope.” I set the scale back down and glance over at the large rolls of tracing paper, then sweep my gaze over toward the rows and rows of architectural reference manuals and books in the mahogany wall-to-floor bookcases that line the wall in back of Daddy, before my eyes land back on him.

He eyes me with amusement.

“I’m too sly to get caught,” I tease.

“I see. So, tell me. What would your father do if he ever found out you were skipping out on your classes?”

I shrug. “Ohhh, I don’t know. Probably ground me for a week or two.”

“Hmm. I see. How about until you turned eighteen?”

I feign shock, placing a hand up to my chest. “Oh, no. That’s too harsh. That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

His eyes flicker. “Is that so?”

“Unh-huh. But lucky for me, I don’t have a daddy who would do such a cruel thing to his only child. His
favorite
girl.”

He smiles. “Well, lucky for
you
, you have a father who trusts you immensely. And I have a daughter who gets straight As and who’d never run me ragged, skipping her classes, going out doing God knows what.”

And he’s sooo right. I wouldn’t. School—next to piano and poetry—is one of the most important things in my life. I want to go to college when I graduate, so I am not about to mess up now.

“But would you be mad
if
I did skip classes?”

He considers me for a moment, rubbing his smooth-shaven chin. “No, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be mad if it were only an isolated incident. Now if it became a pattern, I’d probably still not get mad. Surprised, absolutely. Disappointed, most definitely. But definitely not mad. Like I always tell you. I can’t be everywhere all the time. And I’m not going to always be around to gauge your choices in life. That’s where integrity comes in. You’re a gifted and talented student, Nia, who’s always been disciplined. That’s all your doing, not mine. You’ve been primed and prepared to be, and do, your very best. So I’ll always trust you’ll do the right thing, even when I’m not around. Your destiny is in your hands, Butterfly; not in mine.”

Daddy is so wrong, though.

He has
every
thing to do with whom I am, with how I am. And with whom I’ll potentially become.

I know who I am.

I know what I want.

Because of him.

I smile proudly, walking over and throwing my arms around his neck. “I love you, Daddy.”

He hugs me tightly. “I love you, too, Butterfly.”

* * *

Later on in the evening, I’m downstairs in the family room with Daddy, painting my toenails and watching the latest episode of
Empire,
while eating popcorn and drinking orange cream floats.

I love, love, love this show.

And I love my time with Daddy.

There’s no other place on earth I’d rather be than right here with Daddy.

At least two nights a week we watch one of our favorite shows together. Or we hang out all day Sunday watching whatever we missed during the week on DVR.

Chicago Fire
—Daddy’s

Rookie Blue
—mine.

Mistresses
—mine .

Pretty Little Liars
—mine, of course.

Dance Moms
—mine.

Extant
—Daddy’s. I always tell him I know he only watches it because of Halle Berry. He always denies it and laughs. But I know better.

Vikings
—Daddy’s and mine. I always love the shows on the History channel.

Stalkers
—Daddy’s. Ohmygod! This show right here really frightens me. There are some really crazy people out there doing crazy things to people. Any time I watch this show with Daddy, when it’s over he has to keep his bedroom door open and go through the whole house making sure all the windows and doors are double-locked and the alarm is working properly before I can go to sleep—with a baseball bat in the bed with me.

Daddy always tells me he’s here to protect me.

And I believe him.

Still, I feel safer knowing the alarms are set.

Daddy belches, and I laugh. “
Ill
, Daddy
.
”

“Excuse me.” He rubs his stomach. “You have me gorging myself on all this junk. All that butter and ice cream doesn’t agree with me.”

I smirk. “Uh-huh, Daddy. No one told you to be a pig and eat it all.”

Oops
.

I cover my mouth.

I’ve accidentally belched.

“Oh, who’s the pig now, huh?” Daddy teases, reaching for a throw pillow and playfully hitting me with it. We have an impromptu pillow fight during the commercial break. Something we’ve done ever since I was a little girl, along with having water balloon fights.

I’m a girlie girl, but I also have my tomboy moments. I can throw a football; enjoy hiking, boxing, and riding dirt bikes... all thanks to Daddy.

Sometimes I tell Daddy I know he secretly wishes he’d had a boy. He tells me never. But I think he only says that because he knows he has to.

Still, Daddy is a lot of fun.

“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “Pause, Daddy.
Empire
’s back on.”

“Oh, aren’t you the lucky one,” he says, tossing the pillows back on the sofa, then plopping back in his recliner. “Saved by the television.” He reaches for his glass mug and slurps out the rest of his orange float, before reaching for the bowl of popcorn.

Ten minutes later, I look over and Daddy’s reclined all the way back in his chair, asleep—mouth slightly ajar, drooling.

Shaking the nail polish bottle, a devilish grin spreads across my face as I glance at his bare feet.

I ease up from the floor and tiptoe over to him—even though I know a herd of elephants could stampede through the house and Daddy still wouldn’t hear them.

I unscrew the polish and carefully paint his two pinky and big toes.

Pink.

“O
hmygod! Daddy!” I squeal the following morning, looking down at his feet. He’s wearing a pair of Cole Hahn sandals, showing off his four pink-painted toes. “What do you
think
you’re doing?”

He feigns ignorance. “What? I thought you wanted to spend the day with me at the mall, then catch a movie.”

I blink. “I do.
But
—”

“So what’s the problem?”

There go my eyes again.

Back down at his feet.

His eyes follow my gaze. “What, you don’t like my sandals?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No. I mean, yes. But you can’t go outside like that.” And I can’t be seen walking around the mall with you and your painted toes.

He gives me a confused look. “Like what, Butterfly?”

“Like
that
.” I point at his feet. “With your toes painted.”

He arches a brow. “Why not?
You
painted them.”

Now he’s smirking.

I swallow. “I know I did. But it was a joke.”

Daddy lets out a loud
ha
. “So the joke was on me last night, but now it’s no joking matter, huh?”

“Well, no. I mean. It’s still funny. Behind closed doors. Not out in public.”

He shrugs. “I kind of like it, though. The color looks great on my skin tone. Don’t you think?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I think I’ll wear a pink T-shirt, too, in support of Cancer Awareness month.”

I give him a mortified look.

He glances at his watch. “C’mon. You better get a move on it. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”

* * *

Daddy has officially humiliated me.

I’m the town laughingstock.

Okay, okay. Maybe I’m exaggerating just a teenie bit.

He hasn’t shamed me
that
bad.

But he’s definitely made me uncomfortable walking through the Grove on a Saturday afternoon baring his pink toes for ALL to see.

Oh, how shameless he is.

And, now, here he is.

Standing in line in Banana Republic all decked out in his pink T-shirt and pink toes with his wallet out, ready to pay for my purchases. Crazy thing is, no one else seems fazed about what he has on, except for
me
.

So I need to just get over it.

Huh?

Yeah. I guess.

Daddy is simply proving a point, I think as I eye the lady who has inched herself close enough to engage Daddy in small talk while we wait in line. The point being, be comfortable in your own skin. Something he’s always instilled in me.

I find it quite interesting how I’ve spotted several women smiling and trying to catch Daddy’s eye, but once again, he’s acting like he’s too blind to see that he has admirers.

A few brazenly flirt with Daddy.

Others tend to be coy about it.

But I notice everything.

Like this lady now in her black-and-white sundress and white strappy sandals. She looks really nice. And she seems really, really smitten with Daddy.

“Mm. Excuse me. What’s the name of that cologne you have on? It smells so good.
You
smell so good.”

Daddy smiles. “Oh, thanks. I can’t remember the name of it right off the top of my head. It’s something my daughter picked up for me.” He looks over at me. “Nia, sweetheart, what’s the name of that cologne you bought me last Father’s Day?”

The lady sweeps her gaze over at me.

I shrug. “Um, I—”

“She’s your
daughter
?”

“Yeah. This is my beautiful butterfly, Nia. She’s sixteen,” he tells her.

“
Sixteen
? Oh, my. I wouldn’t have guessed. You look too young to have a teenage daughter,” she says teasingly. She touches his arm.

Daddy’s grin widens.

Oh, Lord.

I silently roll my eyes up in my head.

I can’t remember a time when Daddy’s ever gone out on a date. If he has, he’s never mentioned it. “I’m keeping it easy, breezy; light and easy,” he always says.

He says I’m his number one priority.

“What do you think about my pink toes?” Daddy asks her, the question slicing into my musing.

My eyes widen.

I can feel the floor opening and slowly swallowing me in.

She tears her starry-eyed gaze from his and glances down at his feet. Her eyebrows rise. “Oh. Different,” she says coolly.

Daddy chuckles. “Yeah. I thought so, too.” He gestures with his head toward me. “My lovely daughter here decided to paint my toes while I was asleep.”

“Daddy,” I say shamefacedly.

She chuckles, touching his arm again. “Well, she did a fabulous job, I might say. I’d love to have a daughter who painted my toes.”

Daddy proudly throws an arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.” He kisses me on the temple. “I think I’ll keep her around for a while.”

My heart melts.

I want to tell him, no. I’m the lucky one.

Instead, I squeeze him back.

And for the rest of the day, Daddy spends every chance he gets drawing attention to his feet and telling random women the story behind his painted pink toes.

I can’t help but smile.

And love Daddy even more.