Valentine’s Special

Special Dady Day

He wasn't an angry man, or one prone to negative outbursts, but the day seemed to always bring out the bitter pessimist in him. He mildly disliked all the marketing that led up to the day, the countless sales on chocolates and flowers. He was vaguely annoyed with the amount of chick flicks that played on TV for the whole month, over and over, to get couples into the spirit. He bristled slightly with the constant love songs blaring on the radio, on every station, and the constant requests from one sweetie to another to celebrate whatever.

But when it came right down to it, that phrase bothered him the most. The phrase was spoken by happy people, ignorant of his own loneliness, and seemed to intone that everyone should be as happy as they were on that godforsaken day. Every other day of the year he was calm, collected, and the salt of the earth, an unflappable type. But on that day, when the chocolate and chick flicks and love songs came to a towering crescendo of emotion, he always felt the most alone. His wife had left him years back, almost two decades ago in fact, but somehow that day seemed to make the impossible possible; he felt his heart beat faster in agony, felt his back shiver with rejection, and felt that same dread from 18 years earlier that he would never find someone else to marry him. Valentine's Day brought it all back and then some, and he usually decided to just sink down on the couch with a beer, find one of the rare channels playing a sports film or monster movie, and fall asleep before he could think about it too much.

He was so ingrained into his normal routine of barely checked depression that it took him quite some time to react when he walked in the door. There were flowers everywhere, small red lace decorations hanging from the rafters, and he could smell dinner cooking. The confusion only lasted a moment, though, and then he realized the only person who could make the house look so friendly and so romantic at the same time: Haley.

She went to college over an hour away, but his only daughter always found time to stop by and visit. He wasn't old enough to retire yet, not by a long shot, but he was at that comfortable point in his life where taking an impromptu sick day to spend time with his family was easily done. The surprise was more that she still found time for him and went out of her way for it. Most college girls could think of a million more things to do on a busy weekend than go home to visit their father, even if the relationship with said father had always been very close.

He walked into the kitchen slowly, still not sure what to think, and he saw his daughter sitting at the stove stirring pasta sauce. She was in her old pajamas, he saw with a smile, a cute pink set with red hearts. Her short red hair was done up in pigtails like she used to do it, and his smile broadened. He'd always loved it when she'd worn her hair like that, although looking at her from behind, the pajamas lovingly holding onto her 23-year-old body, she cut a much different image than she used to. He cleared his throat softly, and she whirled around, a bright smile on her face.

"Daddy! You're home early. I was hoping to have this ready before you came in."

She pouted slightly, sticking out her adorable lower lip, and he laughed to himself.

"What are you doing here, princess?"

Walking over to give him a hug, she shot him another heart-melting smile.

"I know Valentine's Day is just your favorite holiday in the whole wide world, so I thought I would come over this year and make dinner for us and see if I can't maybe change your mind about it."

Taking her in for a big hug, smiling down at her, he felt a small pang of guilt at his earlier bitterness towards the holiday.

"Aw, angel, I'm sure you have a million other things you'd rather do on Valentine's Day than sit here at home with your old man."

Still holding onto him, she backed her head up to look into his eyes, an odd expression flitting over her eyes.

"Nope. Why, you don't have a hot date or anything, do you?"

Wait, that look—was it jealousy? He shook his head, both to clear the thought and to answer no to her question. Her smile returned, and she laid a quick kiss on his cheek before skipping back over to stir the sauce.

"Good," she said. "I want you all to myself tonight."

***

The dinner was lovely after he had added a few spices. Haley was a beautifully smart girl, well on her way to a microbiology degree, but cooking was not one of her fortes. They sat on the couch, she nestled up against his large frame, making fun of all the romantic comedies that peppered the stations. Her small laughter was contagious, and he already felt the yearly Valentine's Day bitterness start to ebb out of him.

"I have one more surprise," she said suddenly, slowly, as if she had been trying to work up the courage to say it for a long while.

He smiled and gave her another quick kiss on the head, squeezing her.

"This has been more than enough, honey. You don't know how much I've wanted this."

Haley bit her lip, looking down, then back up at him.

"Well, the surprise isn't completely for you. It's something I want to do. Something I've wanted."

He looked at her puzzled, but a small worm had started to crawl up from inside his belly. Inexplicably, the side of his chest where he chest nuzzled felt electric, tingling. It wasn't a completely unpleasant feeling.

"Anything for you, angel, especially after this gorgeous meal."

She smiled at him again, eyes sinking back down to the couch, and then she stood up. Walking briskly, she turned off the TV and exited the room.

Not sure if he was supposed to follow or wait, he decided on the passive and sat very still on the couch. He hoped she hadn't gotten him anything expensive. Although his savings were more than able to pay for her school and living expenses, she still insisted on having a job, much to his continued chagrin. His insistence that she should concentrate fully on school was usually just waved off, though, usually with a quip about needing "Daddy present money." Her gifts usually slid towards the more expensive, though, and he hoped that wasn't the case here. He didn't want the night to be sullied by their usual exchange trying to convince her to return it and buy herself something.

His thoughts jarred slightly as he heard music come on from the other room. It was low, just enough to hear, but he could make out the romantic nature from here. The lights still dim from watching movies, he suddenly felt a slight twinge of doubt.

She came back quietly, her pajamas rustling slightly, and kissed him quickly. Absently he noted that his first estimation had been right: she must have been working up the courage for this all night. Caught off guard, he did nothing, just felt her body sink into his as she slipped into his lap. Her small hands were tangled in his hair, tracing patterns there, and his breath caught in his throat. The heady taste of the red wine she'd had at dinner entered his mouth, her soft lips carrying it to him, and he felt her tongue slip out of her mouth and lightly brush across his lips. Slowly, she pulled back, and he saw uncertainty as clear as day painted across her face in broad strokes.

"Daddy...?" she whispered softly.

He was silent, felt his mind strain into his chest for words, but none would come. He could acknowledge that there had always been sexual tension between them; he forced himself to acknowledge it now, but he had never known she had felt this strongly about it. But this was his little girl, his angel, and he didn't want to do this to her, to corrupt her, to be like all those sad stories he saw on the news. He found his words and would have spoken, but she interrupted him.

"Daddy..." she breathed, the confidence he knew coming back. She must have read his thoughts on his face. "I want this. I've always wanted this. I think you've wanted it to. I'm an adult, you're an adult, and more importantly, I want this."

She leaned in again, kissing him lightly, a weird mix of daughterly love and sensuality, then leaned back.

"We can talk tomorrow about how right it is, how wrong it is, and what we want to do about it. But 'it's Valentine's Day,' and it's been too long since those words have made you happy. Please."

The last word wasn't a request, wasn't anything, because she was kissing him again, softly, and he felt the need in her. It was all the verification necessary to prove her words true, and, his conscious mind shutting down, he pulled her closer to him.