nipples pressed into his palms, and figured there was only one way to resolve those “issues.” And it didn’t involve avoiding Adele and walking around with a constant hard-on.
After the game was over, he showed Joe the door and made dinner for himself and Tiffany. He grilled chicken, tossed a Caesar salad, and warmed up a loaf of artichoke bread he’d picked up at the local deli. His daughter was unusually quiet, and he asked her if there was anything wrong.
“No.” She shook her head and played with her salad. He really didn’t believe her, and it wasn’t until the following Thursday morning that she finally let him know what had been on her mind.
“I have my first dance competition this Saturday,” Tiffany reminded him from across the table in the breakfast nook. “I’m leaving for San Antonio tomorrow after school.”
Of course he knew. They’d talked about it all week. “I wish I could be there, sugar bug, but you know I’ve got the Amarillo game in Lubbock that day.”
She stirred her cereal and sighed. “I know. Not everyone’s parents can go.”
Zach took a bite of a toasted bagel with cream cheese and wondered if she was purposely trying to make him feel guilty. Or rather, guiltier.
“Kendra’s family can’t go. ’Course that’s because her momma’s in the hospital, and her aunt has to stick around in case of an emergency.”
“Tiff, you know I’d go if I could.”
She nodded, and they ate in silence for a few more moments before she said, “I’m thirteen.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Old enough to go to dance competitions without you.”
“That’s right.” His guilt eased a bit as he slathered strawberry jelly on his bagel.
“Old enough to pack enough money and make sure I don’t miss the bus home.”
He took a bite and chewed. “Yep. You’re old enough to do a lot of grown-up things.”
“And old enough to wear makeup?”
He swallowed. “What?”
She looked up at him. “Daddy, everyone at school wears makeup.”
“No.” The thought of his baby all tarted-up with rouge horrified him. “You don’t need makeup.”
“Just a little bit?” she wheedled.
“No.”
“If Momma were alive, she’d let me.”
That was probably true, but it wasn’t an argument that swayed him. “Honey, you’re pretty without it.”
“You never let me do anything the other girls do!”
“Now, that’s not true.”
“It is! Last summer you didn’t let me go to the fair with Lyndsy Shiffer, and everyone but me got to go.”
“That’s because Lyndsy’s momma does most of her parenting from a barstool over at the country club.”
“She wasn’t going to be drinkin’ that night.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tiffany stood. “I hate my life! I want my mother. She’d understand!” She turned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.
Zach stared at the empty stairway, then lowered his gaze to the bread in his hand. What the hell had just happened? Was Tiffany really that upset over a little mascara and lip gloss? It wasn’t as if those things were really important. Nothing to get all worked up about.
He finished eating, then loaded the dishwasher. He didn’t even pretend to understand teenage girls. They were so…emotional. He shoved his car keys into his pocket and headed upstairs. He’d given Tiffany a good fifteen minutes to cry whatever was bugging her out of her system. It was time he took her to school.
He rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it. Tiffany lay on her stomach in the middle of a big pink confection of a bed surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals. Cinderella’s castle was painted on one wall, complete with horse-drawn pumpkin carriage. The room had been designed for a little girl, not for the teenager sniffling under the gauzy pink canopy. The teenage girl who thought she was old enough to wear makeup.
Tiffany raised her head as Zach walked across the room. “I miss Momma,” she whispered.
Zach glanced about at the many photographs of Devon in the room and sat down beside his daughter. “I know you do.” He reached for Tiffany’s hand and played with her silver ring. “But she isn’t here, and I’m trying to do what I think is best.”
Tiffany rolled onto her back and pulled her hand from his. “If Momma were here, I could talk to her about girl stuff.”
“What stuff?”
She shook her head. “Just stuff I can’t talk to you about.”
“You can talk to me.”
She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“I know lots of girl stuff.” Which he figured was true, although his experience was more with big-girl stuff.
She shook her head and stared up at the ceiling. “There’s just stuff you won’t understand.”
“Like makeup?”
“Yeah. And…”
“And what?”
“Why all the other girls at school got their period, and I don’t.”
“Whoa.” Zach shot to his feet, and he heard ringing in his ears.
“See.”
He sat back down and felt heat creep up his neck. “You can talk to me about that stuff.”
“Um-hum.”
“No, really.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. There wasn’t a damn thing he knew about girls and their periods. Except maybe that they got bitchy around that time. God, he’d never thought about when girls should get theirs. He didn’t want to think about it now. Not about Tiffany. “So, all the other girls, huh?”
She looked over at him, his little girl who was trying so hard to grow up yet wasn’t ready to give up her Cinderella bedroom. “Dad. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No. No, this is good.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Are you worried that there’s something wrong with you?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, we can take you to see a doctor.”
“No!” She shook her head, and her cheeks turned pink.
“Okay. You can always call one of your grandmothers and ask them about it.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe.”
And because he felt so totally inept, so totally guilty for being out of his league, he said, “And maybe you can wear a little lip gloss. Light pink.”
“And some mascara.”
“A little.”
“And eye shadow. Blue.”
“Good God, no.” The thought of his little girl tarted-up in blue eye shadow horrified him almost as much as the thought of her cheeks caked in rouge. “The next thing you’ll want is your nose pierced like that bull we saw at the fair last summer.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Daddy.”
Wednesday afternoon, Adele pulled her hair back and made a mad dash to Kendra’s school. She’d gotten wrapped up in her writing and was late picking up Kendra and Tiffany.
“Sorry,” she said, as they piled into Sherilyn’s Toyota. “I was working and lost track of the time.”
“No problem.” Kendra shut the front passenger’s door and shoved her backpack onto the floor between her feet. “Can you take us to the Estee Lauder counter at Dillard’s?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I need some makeup.” Tiffany climbed into the backseat, and as soon as she buckled herself in, Adele pulled out into traffic.
