Good

"How'd it go?"

"Good," I said, trying to avoid looking at my daughter's body. She'd changed from a revealing bikini into an equally-revealing set of lingerie. Where had our daughter even acquired such an outfit?

"What happened?" my wife said, patting Rose's bed.

"About what you'd expect," I said with a sigh, reluctantly sitting beside her. "She cried, she asked what had happened, I told her about the diary...she did read the diary, did you know that?"

"Of course. I've been writing in it every day. She forgot to tuck the sheet back in after she grabbed it from under the bed this morning."

"Oh."

I wanted to ask why my wife knew where our daughter's diary was, but this wasn't the time for that conversation.

"She probably just wants to know what 'she' is up to, but it was a handy excuse. What did she say about me swearing at her?"

"She didn't like it, I'll say that much. I don't think she expected it to hurt as much as it did. I think..."

I hesitated to say it, knowing what train of thought it would inevitably lead my wife down, but I couldn't lie.

"...I think this is really working. We're really getting through to her."

"Of course we are," my wife said, her trademark grin not sitting quite right on our daughter's face. "Have I ever been wrong before?"

"Napa Valley," I responded flatly, and we both burst out laughing at the memory.

"Where is she now?"

"Asleep. She had a glass of wine...-"

"You let her drink wine?"

I smiled, and put my arm around my daughter's neck.

"Honey, she's in the body of a 40-year old. I think she can handle a little wine."

The grin returned.

"As the owner of that 40-year old body, I can assure you: she can't. A whole glass? She'll be out cold all night. And that means..."

Gently but firmly, I pushed my lingerie-wearing daughter's body away from me.

"Sweetie, we can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this."

"Andrew, honey; she's out cold. We can be as loud as we want..."

"That's just it, my love. I don't want. I know that...I know that you're doing this for us. And I know that it's hard for you. And believe me, I'm doing everything I can. But you just...you already...it wasn't even two hours ago, and..."

Mary moved one of Rose's fingers to my lips, and interrupted my stuttering.

"I'm asking too much, aren't I?"

"Yes! Yes, honey. Too much. Once a day, sure. Fine. I can do what needs to be done once a day. But this is...it's starting to take its toll."

My wife thought for a moment, and nodded our daughter's head.

"Once a day. Okay. That's fair."

I paused, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and was surprised to be met with...silence.

"Really?"

"Of course. Once a day. If that's all you can handle, my sweet, that's what we'll do."

"And...you'll be okay?"

"I'll be okay."

"No...other boys?"

"No other boys."

"Okay."

"Okay."

I smiled down at my daughter's beautiful face.

"We're going to get through this."

"Of course we are, honey."

"Thanks so much."

"Thank you."

---

Around lunchtime on Sunday, I started feeling guilty.

I'd spent the entire morning in a state of tension, just knowing that Mary was going to pull me aside and try to fool around. I'd been so sure that she wasn't going to be able to stick to her word.

By noon, I realized that I'd greatly underestimated my wife, and I felt terrible.

She was playing the role perfectly; sulking about being grounded, complaining about the date that she'd been **** to miss. She'd perhaps laid it on a little too thick - around three, Belle had used my wife's body to sit me down and talk.

"Lovey-dove," she started, a grimace flitting across her face as the term of endearment left her mouth, "don't you worry that we're being a little harsh on Rose?"

"No," I said flatly. Perhaps it wasn't the best approach to take - confirming our daughter's view of us as overly-harsh dictators - but there was no way I was going to risk Mary using my daughter's body to go on a date.

She'd said it herself; she wouldn't be able to resist.

"No," I repeated. "She brought this on herself. Using such language on her mother."

For a moment, I wondered if perhaps I was the one laying it on a little thick. I'd been saying 'cunt' since I was fifteen. I'd been friends with an Australian - they use the word as commonly as conjunctions.

My wife had surprised me that morning with her self-control; my daughter surprised me in that conversation with her maturity.

"Yeah," she said softly, and I could tell that she was very far away. "It's not cool, is it?"

"No," I repeated, a half-smile on my face. "It's not cool."

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes (something I feel like I haven't done with my daughter since she was in diapers) before she pulled herself together and stood up.

"Where are you going?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

"Out," my wife said, a sullen tone in her voice. It took her a few moments to remember her situation; I carefully avoided looking at her as she caught up. "Uh, I mean...out, sweety-bum! Errands. Just going on some errands."

"Oh?"

Something was afoot, and I didn't like it. For a moment, an image passed through my mind - my daughter tracking Spike down, using my wife's body to...

No. No, she'd never do that.

No matter what, I knew that my daughter would never do that.

"I've got some errands to go on as well," I said, standing up casually. "Maybe I'll come with you."

"No!" my wife's mouth squeaked. Rose took a second, trying to act calmly. "No. No, no need for that."

"Well, where are you going? Maybe we're not going in the same direction."

"Definitely not!" Rose replied, nervously twisting my wife's top. "Opposite direction."

"Mary," I said slowly. Some would say 'patronizingly'. "How do you know? I haven't told you where I'm going."

With a sigh, my wife's body collapsed back in the chair.

"Fine," she said. "You caught me!"

I stifled a laugh. This was the exact response, in both words and movement, my daughter had once given me when she was nine.

"Hmmm?"

"Rose asked me to head up to the outlet mall for her."

"What? Why?"

"There's a dress on sale," she said.

"The outlet mall is forty minutes each way," I said, scratching my head. "Why would..."

Oh.

Suddenly, my wife's good behaviour all morning made a lot more sense.

"You don't understand," Rose huffed, rolling my wife's eyes. "It's a Hot Kiss dress, and it's more than fifty-percent off. It's so cute, and..."

"Why doesn't she just go?" I asked, and answered the question at the same time as my wife.

"'She's grounded'. Right."

I sighed.

"I agree she should be grounded," She said, surprising me again. I smiled at her, and she turned a poor imitation of my wife's best puppy-dog eyes in my direction. "What she did was..."

She swallowed.

"It was across the line."

My eyebrows shot up.

"But she was so good this morning."

Yes, I thought. And now I know why.

"And the dress is so cute..."

I waved away the dreamy expression in my wife's tone.

"Go," I said with a sigh. "My errands are in the opposite direction anyway."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" she gushed, before blinking twice and composing herself. "I mean. Uh..."

"You're excited," I said with a warm smile. "It's fine. I'm sure she's going to look great in it."

"She will!"

The look of excitement made me nervous, but I knew better than to stand between a woman and a discounted dress.

"Drive safe, okay?"

"Bye," she said, grabbing the keys and headed for the door. "Love you!"

"I love you too," I said automatically, before realizing what she'd just said.

It had been literally years since our daughter told us that she loved us. We know she does, of course - we may be flawed people, but we're good parents. All Rose's life, we've never shown her anything but love and affection.

But to hear her say it, even using my wife's mouth?

It was working. My wife's crazy plan...was working.

Whatever the costs, it was worth it.

So it was with a spring in my step that I ascended the stairs, excited to tell Mary the good news.

I opened Rose's bedroom door without knocking, and was met with the sight of...