-my Dads Hot Girlfriend- 09-26-2016 Dani Daniel... -

I was seventeen. And for the first time in my life, I understood why ancient Greeks started wars over a face.

For three weeks, I watched her like a nature documentary. She painted watercolors in the backyard, humming Billie Holiday. She fixed the garbage disposal without a manual. She called my dad “honey” and meant it. I hated her for being perfect. I hated myself for noticing the way her tank top clung to her when she stretched to reach the top shelf.

“You see a ‘hot girlfriend,’” she continued, putting air quotes around the words. “But I see a man who cries at dog commercials and still writes letters by hand. That’s who your dad is. And you? You’re the person he loves most in the world.” -My Dads Hot Girlfriend- 09-26-2016 Dani Daniel...

I froze. I didn’t know she’d lost a brother.

“You’re staring again,” she said, not looking up. I was seventeen

The first time I saw her, I tripped over the dog. Not a graceful stumble—a full-on, face-plant-into-the-coffee-table, kibble-scattering disaster. Because my dad, the man who wore socks with sandals and clipped coupons for canned tuna, had somehow landed her .

Sometimes the most awkward beginnings make the clearest endings. She painted watercolors in the backyard, humming Billie

“No.” But yes. All of the above.

Dad was working late. Mira offered to make dinner—spaghetti carbonara, my favorite. We ate in near silence, the only sound the clink of forks. Afterward, she washed dishes while I dried.

That was the moment I stopped seeing my dad’s hot girlfriend and started seeing Mira.

“You just what?” She turned off the faucet, dried her hands slowly. “Think I’m some kind of homewrecker? A gold digger? Your dad’s midlife crisis?”