When Precocious parked in her spot in the apartment complex parking lot, she was a little surprised to see Linda’s spot being taken over by a very shiny and cherry red BMW convertible. She stepped out of her truck, locked the doors, and walked around the BMW to get a better look at it. The back license plate read ‘MAG’. She grinned and hurried into the apartment. “Dad!

Morris Grant, Precocious’s father, stood up from the armchair by the window and opened his arms to accept her hug. “Hey, you.”

“How are you?” Precocious stood on her toes for the hug, but even that didn’t put her even with his shoulder. “You got a new car.”

“I’m doing fine, and yes, I did. Do you think it’s obvious?”

“It’s a cherry red convertible, Dad.”

Morris waved off her comment. “I’m aware of *that*. I was asking in regards to it being obvious that I bought it in the midst of the beginning stages of my mid-life crisis.”

“Maybe a little, but even if you hadn’t, that’s what everyone would assume, anyway.” Precocious smiled at her father and led the way to the kitchen. “Where’s Linda?”

She was leaving just as I got here. She offered up her space and opened the door for me. I think she was muttering about needing more red paint.”

“Makes sense. She nearly ran out the other night.” Precocious pulled a soda from the fridge and offered it over. She grabbed a second one with Morris took the first. “How’s the soul-sucking business going?”

Morris smiled at the old joke. “I swear you sound more and more like your mother when you say that.”

“Thank you.”

Morris shook his head in amusement. “The soul-sucking is going just fine. I got three souls this week and traded them in for the poisoned apple Snow White took a bite of.”

“Must have been some high-priced souls if you got the apple for three of them.”

“Well, they say crooked lawyers make the best clients for honest ones.” Morris sat back in the armchair and watched Precocious tuck herself into a corner of the couch. “I know you can’t grow, but I swear you have.”

“I’m as short as I’ve always been. You just think you don’t see me enough, so you get it into your head that I must have changed somehow.”

“You’ve changed your phone number.”

“Not to avoid you.” Precocious made a face of disgust. “Chad won’t back off.”

“That’s what your mother said.” Morris cracked open his soda and took a drink. “She also said that you’ve already talked to the police.”

“They can’t do anything right now. It’s a big fucking waiting game.”

Morris had to bite back the automatic ‘language, young lady’, response that he felt trying to escape. This was his fully-grown daughter, and he’d never been the type of father to admonish for language, anyway. “Don’t let him win.”

“I don’t plan to.” Precocious stuck her chin out and set her jaw. “I’m a Grant. We don’t lose.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that, she’ll go on about how you’re not saying that in the proper competitive spirit.” Morris smiled as Precocious laughed. “She sounds like she’s doing well.”

“I think she is. I haven’t seen her in a couple of months. I wanted to meet her for an anti-Patriot Act rally, but I got caught up with some stuff at work and couldn’t make it.” Precocious shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll see her for Anti-Thanksgiving in a few months, if not before then.”

“I think she’s planning on it. She invited me for it.”

“Excellent.” Precocious’s smile was the type reserved solely for the fathers of doting daughters. “You can help me mount the campaign for a real turkey.”

“Gladly. Your mother and I divorced twenty years ago, and I’m still not sure how she talks me into tofurkey.”

“I have no idea,” Precocious said, then her eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s coming up on your twentieth divorce anniversary, isn’t it?”

Morris nodded. “Unbelievably so. I haven’t found the right gift for her, yet.”

“Oh! I know!” Precocious jumped up from the couch and ran down the hall into the studio/office. She dug around on her desk for a few seconds and found the catalog she had been looking for. She hurried back down the hall with the catalog held out like a shield. “Page nineteen.” Precocious handed the catalog over and waited for Morris to flip to the page.

“*Yarn*?” Morris looked up at Precocious with suspicion. “You want me to buy your mother *yarn* for our twentieth divorce anniversary?”

“You’re missing the point. And the price. Look at the price.” Precocious pointed to the tiny print that was half-unreadable in the picture.

“You have *got* to be kidding me. You know what I could buy for the price?”

“For any other woman, very nice jewelry. For mom, it’s perfect. Plus, it’s cashmere, and you’ll get a sweater out of it, I bet.”

Morris looked at the pictures of the yarn again. “Is she going to be knitting or crocheting with this stuff?”

“Both, probably.” Precocious grinned. “They sell it in bulk. She’ll want the brightest colors they have.”

“I’m not going to wear a pumpkin orange sweater.”

“So throw some navy or dark green in there. Mom will take the hint.”

Morris shook his head and handed the catalog to Precocious so he could pull his personal data organizer from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Have I mentioned lately what an odd family we have?”

“Not since I last saw you.” Precocious saw Morris twitch at that. “Don’t start in about how sorry you are you never see him enough. We’ve had this conversation since I was six, and I’m just as okay with it now as I was then. I never lacked for a strong male presence in my life, and I’ve never really needed one. There were always the guys at the communes, and if I ever really, *really* needed you, you were right there, or you got there as quickly as you could. You’re the only one who’s bitter about my upbringing, you know.”

"I'm not bitter." Morris finished entering the yarn information into his personal data organizer and put it back in his pocket. "It's just…I wanted to be more than I have been, but it was either make sure that I could always provide for you, or be a very hands-on father. I could travel around with you and your mother, or I could find a job where I could advance and make a very good living."

"I don’t think you made the wrong decision. You never had to buy my love, you know."

"Like your mother would have let me." Morris chuckled. "I'm always going to feel bad about it."

Precocious shrugged. "I really don't understand why, but feel bad if you need to." She tossed the catalog onto the coffee table and took her seat back on the couch. "Other than inappropriate guilt, what's been going on with you?"

"Just the usual, really. I did a favor for one of your mother's old friends and went after a paper mill that was polluting the ground water in the middle of nowhere."

"Good for you."

Morris smiled a little and sipped his soda. "I have to do something to make up for all the companies I defend who do horrible things."

"I didn't know you could buy back your soul. I thought those contracts with the devil were final and unbreakable."

"I'm a lawyer. I know a few loopholes."

Precocious grinned. "Surprise, surprise."

The front door opened suddenly, and Linda tumbled in with as many bags as she’d had a couple of nights before. “Help.” She nearly lost her footing trying to step off the foyer rug.

Morris was up before Precocious and easily took three bags from Linda. “What is all this, Ms. Sexton?”

“Paints. New canvases. I think I have a few new brushes in here somewhere.” Linda caught the knowing sigh from Precocious. “I did *not* go into the art supply store in a fugue state.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what you said the last time you went and came back with colors from the bargain bin.” Precocious maneuvered around her dad and took a couple of bags from Linda’s right side, more or less evening out the weight distribution. “Have you *ever* used that kelly green?”

“I *will*. I always do.” Linda led the way to the kitchen table and dropped the bags she was still holding. She started pulling items out and organizing them by piece. She had purchased a half-dozen small canvases, two medium-sized canvases, four more tubes of dark red paint, a large selection of brushes, and four bags worth of new paints from the bargain bin.

Precocious started reading labels and held up a tube the color of Nickeloden slime accusingly. “You will *not* use this.”

“I *could*!”

“But you *won’t*. You don’t use *neon* in your paintings.”

Linda sniffed like the proper haughty artist. “I may be going in a new direction.”

“What? Your new statement is to *blind* people?”

Linda turned away from Precocious and looked at Morris pleadingly. “Help.”

“No way. No how.” Morris took a step away from the table and kept backing into the kitchen. “I don’t get into aesthetic arguments with the great artist and my daughter. I protect my sanity.”

“And the sixteen hundred dollar suit that you think we’ll cover in paint.” Precocious grinned and waved the slime green paint at her dad.

“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.” Morris hoped frantically for a change in conversation that would distract the both of them. He wondered if an all-out bribe would get their attention. “How about we put the paints down and go to dinner? I’ll buy.”

“He’s trying to distract us.” Linda eyed Morris critically, then looked over at Precocious. “Think we should let him?”

Precocious thought about if for a moment, shrugged, and tossed the slime green paint onto the table. “It’s free food. We can always get him later.”

For the moment, Morris breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t trust either of them with a tube of paint, especially not Precocious, who cared a bit less about its use than Linda, but if they were putting the paint down, he was safe for the time being. “Where should we go?”

“Nowhere where I have to change.” Linda glanced down at her paint-spattered white T-shirt and old jeans. “I have to come back and paint.”

“All right, but I’m vetoing Heart Attack Burger before Precocious offers it as a suggestion. My heart can’t take that kind of strain.”

“And Mom would kill you.”

Morris stepped forward and started herding the women towards the door. “How is it possible that I divorced that woman twenty years ago, and she can *still* razz me about my health?”

“Because you still talk to her. You could have gone the easy route and insisted on never speaking to her again, but you had to be an upstanding guy and decide to stay friends.” Precocious grabbed Morris into a one-armed hug. “It’s what you get for divorcing her before you became a hard-bitten attorney.”

“I supposed.” Morris dug his keys out of his pocket and jangled them. “Shall I drive?”

Linda’s face brightened at the sight of the keys. “Yes! And speed! A lot!” She cocked her head when Morris’s BMW came into view and walked forward with a determined look in her eyes. She walked around the car once, then placed a finger just above the left rear wheel well. “This would look *great* with a streak of that green you hated, Precocious.”

Before Precocious could agree or disagree, Morris jumped in. “Don’t *even* fucking think about it. I do *not* want to explain to my mechanic how I got slime green paint on my car. And I don’t want to get *mocked* for it for the rest of my natural life.”

“You’re no fun.” Linda stuck out her tongue and jumped into the tiny backseat of the car without opening the door.

“Is she a drag racer on the weekends?”

Precocious shrugged. “Maybe. I sleep at night. I couldn’t tell you where she goes.” She hugged Morris again. “It’s really great to see you, you know. I miss you when you’re gone.”

“I miss you, too, kid.” He kissed her on the top of her head and held himself back from opening her car door. Sally had turned her into exactly the kind of woman he admired-strong, independent, and deadly if you opened her car door when you weren’t on her side of the car. He still couldn’t believe that the fully grown woman who was grinning and laying on the horn to see if it played a song could be his daughter. He still remembered her running nude at one of the communes that he and Sally had stayed at when she was a toddler. He missed those days. The only pressure then was to come up with a fairy tale with enough twists and turns to keep Precocious occupied.

“Hey, Dad, you getting in?” Precocious leaned on the horn one more time for kicks.

“Yeah, yeah, give an old man a minute.” Morris opened his car door and slid into the seat.

“You’re not old, you know.”

“Sure, I’m not.”

“She’s right, you’re not.” Linda leaned forward and pressed the button on the radio to change the station. “You still have your teeth. And perfect vision. And all your hair.” She messed up Morris’s hair, deciding not to mention that she’d just streaked it with a light blue that looked very nice in his blonde hair. “And you still drive the speed limit.”

Morris grinned. “At least.” He pulled out of the parking lot and nudged Linda to get her to sit back. “Seat belts, Ladies. We’re going to see what this car can do.” He shifted into second as the light changed to green and slammed his foot down on the gas.