Smile

7: Leah

“Dad, please don't ever do that again,” I cried.

“Do what?”

“Oh, please don't tell me you don't have a clue what I'm talking about, because that--what you just did there--was one of the most embarrassing things you've ever done to me. And that's a feat.”

“But I don't have a clue what you're talking about. You started it. I joined in.”

“You made me laugh in front of my first friend ever, the first time he met you! How is that not embarrassing?” I exclaimed, and dad spun around in the front seat of the car to face me.

“I backed you up out there. I saved your skin. I think your boyfriend likes me, actually. He laughed too, remember.”

“He was laughing at you! So was I! You embarrassed me! People remember first impressions, dad. He's going to think about that for the rest of his life. What if someone saw? Do you know what would happen if the whole school knew? My life would be ruined, all because of you.” I suck in a deep breath. “Please, try to not be as weird next time,” I finished.

“Leah, leave your father alone! He was just trying to be friendly,” mum scolded.

“And failing,” I muttered.

There were a few moments of silence, before dad found his volume button again.

“I will stop being weird, when you tell me exactly what weird means,” he retorted. I suppressed an eye roll as I answered.

“Being weird, is being exactly what you were being back there. Don't do that again, and I think you're on your way to being a better dad.”

“You know, what I was doing back there was being a proper dad. Dads embarrass their sons and daughters right until they can't talk anymore. They pester and annoy right up until when no one can bear it anymore. They do it because they love them, and they want to best for their family.

“If I don't do what I'm built to do, then what kind of father am I? If you aren't prepared to deal with a father, and take whatever they give you with your head held high, then what kind of daughter are you? You are my daughter, I am your father, there's nothing you can do to deny it.” Dad turned back to the road, satisfied with his speech.

“I hate to admit this,” I breathed, “but that was the best father daughter speech I have ever heard.”

“That was the intention.”

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The dress was bought.

The makeup was done.

The shoes were chosen.

All I had to do now was wait, sitting in the leather lounge suite in my dress.

It was short, just brushing my knees. It was pure white, without a crease. Black lace flowers began over the left shoulder, and ended at the waistband. It was sleeveless and the skirt puffed out due to the seven petticoats. Yeah, the shop owner explained every detail of the dress, “so that you’re sure you’re buying the right dress for your needs.”

My hair was braided and twirled into a fancy bun on the top of my head. The makeup artist mum had insisted we hire had assured me that the white, glittering eyeshadow and the matching sparkly lip gloss were totally appropriate, but I still felt as if it was too much. The mascara and the foundation, though, were undeniably perfect. Exactly the right skin tone, and probably the most expensive brand on the market, this makeup was beautiful, even in my opinion.

I wanted to get something more simple, but this was my negotiation. Mum--who had bargained her way into my shopping trip--had wanted me to buy a huge, frilly, bright blue dress. Its maximum flamboyance turned me off immediately, and the matching choker was merciless along with the blue pearl earrings.