“Celeste, come in!” my daughter yells. “It’s warm in here.” Celeste’s eyes land on mine, but she can’t make out my expression because of my shades. She places her shorts on the edge of the lounge chair and kicks off her flip-flops. She’s obviously stalling, and I’m secretly enjoying her feeling of uneasiness. She doesn’t want to say no, but she also doesn’t want to come anywhere near me. But then when my daughter adds in a “please” in her cute-as-fuck innocent voice, I know she’s got her. And I grin, despite myself, because I know all too well how hard it is to say no to her when she uses that voice.
“Okay,” Celeste says with a nod. After she applies sunscreen to her front, she hands the bottle to her friend, who applies it to her back. And it takes everything in me not to stalk out of the pool, rip the bottle out of his hands, and demand he not touch her. Friend, my ass…
I watch as Celeste fixes her hair into a low ponytail and grabs a huge, floppy black hat from her bag, tugging it on so it shades her entire face. The hat is so big, it should look ridiculous, but on her, it looks fucking adorable. A complete contrast to her barely there skimpy bikini. She glides through the water and stops in front of my daughter, making it a point not to look my way.
“Hey, Skyla! Did you enjoy your cake last night?” She smiles so wide, it lights up her entire face.
Skyla frowns and looks at me. “Dad, you never brought me cake.” She pouts.
“Sorry, I didn’t see any more.” I shrug. Thankfully, Skyla doesn’t question it because the last thing I want to do is dig myself into a deeper hole. Technically, I’m not lying. I never made it over to the cake to see if there was any more. I hate lying to my daughter, even if it’s something as little as a piece of cake. I was lied to by my dad growing up, and I swore I would never be anything like that man. Even if it hurts, I will always tell Skyla the truth.
Celeste’s lips twitch, and I know she’s thinking about why I never made it to see if there was any more cake. But thankfully she doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, she keeps her attention on Skyla. “Are you having fun in the pool?”
“We just got here. Dad woke up with a bad headache and took forever to get out of bed.” Skyla rolls her eyes dramatically, and Celeste’s lips twitch again. “He said we can only stay for a little while and then we have to go home. I have school tomorrow.” Skyla groans.
“Well, school is important,” Celeste replies.
“I guess so. I just want to be a model and design clothes. I don’t know why I have to go to school for that.” Her nose scrunches up in annoyance.
I’m about to give my standard Dad speech—the one I give every time Skyla says this—but Celeste speaks first. “Skyla, school really is important,” she says seriously. “It’s where you’ll learn how to do the math you need to design your clothes. Would you want to wear a shirt that has one arm longer than the other?” Her eyes go wide, and Skyla giggles with a shake of her head.
“No!” Skyla exclaims.
“It’s also where you’ll learn how to use a computer. You need to know how to use programs like PowerPoint and Excel for meetings, and that’s just the beginning.”
“What about geography?” Skyla counters like the teenager she is. “Why do I need to know that?”
I stifle a laugh, almost positive my daughter has stumped her, when Celeste says, “Where’s Milan?”
“Where Fashion Week is held.”
“True, but where is Milan?”
“Isn’t it a country?”
“Wrong,” Celeste says. “It’s in Italy. I just got back from there last month. If I didn’t know my countries, how would I be able to sell my clothes and jewelry and makeup all over the world.” She raises a brow, and Skyla’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“I get it,” she mutters. “I am in the STEM program,” she adds.
“What’s that?” Celeste asks.
“I’m learning how to use science and technology to design clothes. I can draw them on the computer.”
“Wow!” Celeste exclaims. “That’s amazing. It was so hard for me to learn how to use the programs. Sometimes I still have trouble.” She frowns, but I can tell it’s exaggerated for my daughter’s benefit. “I didn’t go to college, but I wish I would’ve. I could’ve learned so much more. Instead, I needed a lot of people to help me.”
“I can help you!” Skyla beams. “I’m practically a genius on the computer.”
Celeste smiles warmly. “I would love that.” The grin I’ve been sporting suddenly disappears as I take in the huge smile on Skyla’s face. The conversation went from hypothetically designing clothes one day to Skyla helping Celeste. It’s not Celeste’s fault. I don’t even think she realizes what she implied, but that won’t stop my daughter from taking it that way.