"Why are you here?" the famous producer and director speaks to you, as though this were a business meeting.

Swallowing carefully, you maintain eye contact with him. "I need answers, Da-Father," you say, your throat dry. Before taking a deep sip of your drink, you hold it with both hands, afraid they are shaking.

"Answers?" he seems startled, unsure if your stated motive is accurate. "Answers about what?"

Cautiously, you continue speaking, the importance of the questions in your brain killing off your hesitation. "Fa--" you shake your head, "DAD. I am in love with Harry."

Nodding, your father acknowledges your statement, "I assumed as much, allowing yourself to be papped with him. Twice. And yes, I'm talking about the time this afternoon, as my publicist has already called me."

Now you are the one who is startled, although you shouldn't be. This is your father's world. He always knows everything first. It's part of his success. By your side, Harry squeezes your hand, and you feel his strength flowing through your veins.

"Yes, well...That's neither here nor there, Dad. The paparazzi don't concern me." Your boldness isn't fake. Now that you've sorted your practice, Harry has your back, and your stepmonsters have shared their surprising answers, you are more confident and less fearful of the whole situation. This conversation is about you and Harry. And your father and his relationships. Are you different from his wives?

His eyebrows raise at your pronouncement, and you feel a zing of pride because you've surprised him. Shifting in his chair, your father glances between you and Harry, inclining his head in a measure of respect, and you're not sure if it's intended for you or the man next to you who hasn't let go of your cold, clammy hand since he moved from rubbing your back moments before.

==========

The tension between them is palpable, and I cannot relate even remotely. My father and I have had our disagreements, and I haven't seen him as often as I would like over the years, but we've never had this kind of strain between us.

My girl, though, is not backing down, even if she has in the past, and she barrels forward, "I love Harry. And I want to commit to him fully. But I have to know....," her voice is strained, and she pauses, taking another deep sip of her drink with one hand while clutching mine tightly with her other. I'm listening carefully as I have no idea what's going on in her head, so I'm trying to glean as many cues as I can. Then her words hit me. She loves me. That's not news. We've talked about it. She wants to "fully commit" to me. Wow. That's not what I was expecting to hear from her.

Her father sets his drink down, steepling his fingers in front of him, "Need to know what, child? Will I support you in dating this one? Cause I've already talked to Nolan about him." I watch as she sucks in a breath at this pronouncement, clearly stunned, "And he says Harry is a good man. So yeah. I suppose you have my blessing."

For whatever reason, this angers my girl, and she stands without warning, shaking my hand from hers, "No, you egotistical buffoon! I don't care if I have your blessing. Don't you get it? I love him. What you have to say about the matter means nothing! What I need to know is why you have gone through wives like they are new underwear. You shake off women time after time, not giving them much more than a few years to prove their love to you. And I want to make sure that I'm not going to be that person -- the one he discards like yesterday's trash!"

At these words, I have to stop from defending myself. Fuck. I had no idea that's what she was worried about. If only she had told me, I could have reassured her. But in a moment, the terror fades as I realize that she has to hear it from him. Nothing I say would phase her after a lifetime of watching her father go through women like normal people go through tissue. So I bite my lip and keep my mouth shut. I'm here for moral support and nothing more, but it truly hurts to sit and do nothing.

Her father blinks -- whether at her passionate outcry or her words, I do not know. Calmly, without raising his voice, he gestures to her to sit down. When she does, I watch his face, and his eyes drift to the side, to a photo I had not seen previously. The photo looks like my love, but must be her mother due to the dated clothing. His countenance softens, and I can immediately spot a different side of him. A softer side. A gentler side. A loving side.

Sighing, he captures her eyes with his own. She's shaking, partly in anger and partly in fear. I'm not sure which is which, so I simply place my hand on her thigh to remind her of my presence.

"I've not been a very good father to you," he begins, then pauses as if waiting for her to object. When she doesn't, he continues talking, "I have been selfish over the years. You see, I loved your mother very much." He picks up the photo next to him, looking at it wistfully, "She was the light of my life. She was my better half, and knew exactly how to make me smile. To make me cry. To make me angry." He takes a sip from his own drink, and I wonder if it's a gin and tonic or water for all of the effect it has on him. Her eyes have skittered away from him to the picture of her mum, but they skirt back to his face at his next comment, "You're the only person on earth who has ever had the same power."

==========

You don't breathe or move. The comment is so absurd, and yet he doesn't look like he's joking. Focusing once more on his eyes, you draw in a slow, unsteady breath, recognizing the weight of Harry's hand on your thigh, comforted to know he's here with you.

"Your mother --- she was my one. My only. And then she gave me you. And I had two angels on earth." Your eyes fill with tears because you've never heard words like this from him before. But you don't move. And you don't speak.

"When she passed, God rest her soul, I was devastated, left alone with a child. And every time I looked at you, all I could see was her. It broke my heart. Not knowing how to be your father while mourning her, I....well, I did the worst thing ever. I married for the wrong reasons. You already know Audrey is amazing -- more parent to you than I have ever been. But I never loved her like I loved your mother. She stayed because of you, and I was willing to let her do that job. I was willing to let her take the place of your mother because I couldn't bear the thought that the love of my life was really gone."

He stands at this point, wandering around the room, glass in hand. "And then came the rest. One after the other. Because, dammit, I could never find the woman who matched your mother in grace and dignity and kindness and beauty and love. Pure love. It broke my heart when she died, and I still haven't recovered."

Your tears have not only welled up, but have spilled over onto your cheeks.

"And in the process of replacing your mother, I lost you. I couldn't bear to look at you as you became more like her, year after year. You embody her every day, my daughter. It became easier to shove you off onto stepmother after stepmother." His booming, commanding voice has dropped to nearly a whisper, and you know you don't have the energy right now to stand so you sink back onto the sofa next to Harry.

Shaking your head, you aren't sure how to respond. As you draw in a breath to say something, your father continues speaking, "So you ask me if you will be like your stepmothers, thrust aside for the next flavor. I don't see my relationships with them that way. I cared about -- and still care about -- each one of them. We had fun times together, your stepmothers and I."

You nod, because you know this statement is true after talking to each of them. The confirmation from your father of the themes you heard from your stepmothers is comforting. The tears have started to dry on your cheeks, but you don't make a move to wipe them away.

"You say you love him," he continues, and then pointedly addresses his attention to Harry, "Do you love her?"

Without hesitation, Harry speaks, clearly and confidently, "Yes, sir. With all of my heart and soul."

"Then, daughter of mine," your father grins, "I have no doubt that you will be fine. If he loves you even half as much as I loved your mother, he will never leave you. Never." Clearing his throat, he sits down again.

==========

After his pronouncement, I'm not sure what to expect. Will there be silence? Will she want to leave? Hug him? Impatiently, and uncomfortably, I wait. But then my lady does a remarkable thing.

"I do love you, Daddy," she states confidently, turning her legs, torso, and head until she is completely facing him. "I hope you know that. Thank you for telling me about how much you loved my mother. It wasn't something I ever knew."

Astonishment crosses his face, and then it clears as he shifts in his seat. "I've never made a secret of it from anyone but you, I guess."

Nodding, my love grasps my hand between hers, threading her fingers through mine. It feels final and secure, as though we've just jumped over a final hurdle. "So, Dad, tell me what you think of my boyfriend's chances of success in this business."

My head turns to her swiftly, shocked at the rapid change in subject. She smiles at me, squeezing my hand tighter as we await the verdict of her showbiz whiz father. Looking between the two of us, her father pauses long enough to make my balls sweat. He's a big man in the entertainment industry. What if he says I'm a hack?

"Well...." he begins, clearing his throat and taking a sip of his drink. I'm legit freaking out. The man has a reputation for spotting talent and nurturing it. While I don't need his approval or his sponsorship, nevertheless I am anxious to know what he thinks. My fingers are so rigid against hers while we await his judgment that I'm in danger of cramping. Our roles have suddenly reversed. Whereas before I was determined to support her in every way, now she's the one supporting me. I feel her strength seep into me during the silence.

"To be completely honest, Harry, I was prepared to not like your music before I even heard it. Not because you were photographed with my daughter, but rather because you were a boyband member, and I was pretty sure you would release something droll and boring. But I have to tell you that the music you've put on this album is creative and original. Even if you weren't with my only child, I would still think that this is quite the launch into a solo career for you. But the most important thing is: are you happy with the music you put out?" He pauses, leaning forward with both of his elbows on his knees, anticipating my response.

==========

Harry relaxes into the sofa next to you, his shoulder pressing against yours as he nods at your father, "I'm very proud of it, sir. It's music I love to listen to."

With that statement, your father and Harry both decide to like each other. The wary circling has ended, and you're relieved to see them talking like they've been friends forever, comparing notes on common acquaintances. Their instant kinship is no surprise. Harry's always been good at charming dads. It's one of his talents. You just didn't realize he would be charming your dad.

Miss Eloise announces dinner, and the three of you head outside to dine al fresco by the pool. The warm sun and cool breeze feel good on your shoulders, and for the first time in a very, very long time -- maybe ever -- you can breathe. Really breathe. Why had you never asked your father these questions before? No matter. You've asked now, and it's like the weight of the entire world has flown away into the cloudless blue California sky. In fact, there's even a little bounce in your step.

The rest of the evening is the most relaxed you've ever been around your father. In fact, it seems that your father is more comfortable around you than he's ever been before too. He and Harry exchange bad jokes, and then your father asks about your practice. Stunned, you look back and forth between your father and your boyfriend, wondering what magic dust Harry sprinkled on your parent.

"Uh, it's actually going really well. I've got a different clientele than I expected, and they are very understanding about my relationship with Harry," you explain.

"I'm..." he pauses, "I'm proud of you."

Swallowing hard as tears well in your eyes, you're grateful when Harry steers the subject away from you onto the movie-making business.

"You've got the Dunkirk premiere coming up, don't you, son?" your father asks, and you're startled at the use of the word "son".

Harry, however, takes it in stride. "Yes, sir, and I'm hoping there will be more than one premiere." He looks at you inquiringly, "Will you do me the honor of making your debut as my girlfriend at the Dunkirk premiere?"

Blushing and overwhelmed, you look down at your mostly-empty plate. Harry takes your hand in his, which forces your eyes up to his. "Will you?"

"I.....I don't know what to say, Harry...It would be my pleasure to be your date," you modestly share. And you watch as your father beams with pride.