"Happy Birthday, dear Taylor, Happy Birthday to you"
We all clapped as Taylor blew the number 18 candle and looked around, cheeks red, a thin smile frozen on her face. Everybody rushed in to hug her and hand her presents and she graciously accepted their attention, but something seemed off. She had been down these last couple of weeks, more quiet, more withdrawn than usual. She had always been shy and had problems making friends, but this was odd even for her.
I had approached the subject with Marie one night before bed, but she dismissed it.
"She's just nervous, honey," she said. "She's off to college soon, it will be a completely new experience, she's probably feeling the jitters. You know what it's like."
"Sure," I said. "But maybe we should speak to her, make sure she's okay."
"Well, talk to her if you want."
"You're her mother, she'll probably be more open to you." I replied.
"And you've been her father since she was 5, she calls you Dad. She trusts you and she definitely likes you better than me."
That was true, Taylor and I were very close. My wife could be a bit cold, distant. She said she didn't want to coddle and spoil Taylor, but I often slipped her some extra pocket money in secret or took her out for ice cream and shopping. However, something told me that whatever was going on with Taylor was best discussed with a woman.
The night of her birthday, however, I decided it couldn't be postponed any longer. She had been looking forward to her 18th birthday, to being an adult finally. And while she was smiling and nodding along to people's wishes, moving through the motions, I could see she was not okay and I even noticed her wiping away a tear when she thought nobody could see her. I would have to speak to her after the party, I decided. Marie was away to visit her sick mother, so I had to address it.
Close to midnight, when everybody had left and I had tidied up most of the mess, I found Taylor outside, on the porch swing, a tiara still on her head and a pink feather boa coiled over her shoulders.
"Honey," I said, sitting down next to her. "What's wrong?"
She looked down at the floor and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"Baby girl, I am worried for you," I said. "Talk to me, please."
"I am not a baby," she whispered, standing up. "I just need to sleep. Goodnight, Dad."
I let her go and went to bed, too. I tossed and turned, my mind full of Taylor. It was 2 am when I heard a knock on the door.
"Dad, are you asleep?"
"No, I'm not, baby girl. Come in."
The door opened and in the light of the hallway, Taylor's short petite body stood at the door, uncertain.
"Are you okay?" I said, flicking my lamp on.
Taylor shook her head and sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She ran to the bed and curled up against me, crying softly on my shoulder. I hugged her and let cry. Her body was small next to me, two small breasts barely peeking through her tank top, her shapely legs pulled up to her chest. My large arms enveloped her whole body and I kissed the top of her head, holding her until her sobs subsided. She wriggled down on the bed, lying down against me, nestled against my torso, her small perky ass pushed against my stomach.
"Daddy..." she whimpered. "I don't want to go to college."
"What? You're a straight A student, why wouldn't you want to go?"
"They'll laugh at me again, Daddy, and I will be so alone. I'm scared."
"Laugh at you? Again? Who's been laughing at you and why?"
"The kids at school. They call me a sad nerdy virgin. I wanted to have sex before I turned 18, I wanted to be a proper grown up, a woman. I'm still a child, I haven't even been kissed."
"Oh, baby girl, is that why you've been so sad and why you didn't enjoy your birthday? You should've spoken to me, baby. I could've helped."
