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MY FAVORITE PICTURE of Harper is a photograph Julian made in the summer after his freshman year at college. Harper’s smile floods the frame, and her curls in full expansion reach to her shoulders. Like her mother, except she’s got my coloring, brownish hair and nary a freckle anywhere. Harper is dressing after her swim. She leans forward to pull on her clothes and her breasts are prominent, but my print is artfully cropped and does not reveal too much. Sarah likes the original image, a complete nude, more.

No longer a child, Harper is firm and rounded. She’s healthy and curvy, not fat. I know Sarah sees her that way as well. She keeps the complete image of Harper dressing in her collection of favorite photographs. I’ve seen her contemplate that one as well as others more than once.

I am having impure thoughts. I am ashamed of them but they are in my head and I cannot get rid of them. Harper is blameless in this, at least I believe she is. Sometimes I haven’t been sure. Around the time she graduated from high school and later when she was home from college, even once or twice when Sarah and I visited her at school, she watched me with something akin to a gleam in her eye and her touch seemed to last a millisecond or two longer than it normally would. A “millisecond.” That’s the evidence I’m oversensitive to this. Harper received her bachelor’s degree a couple of years ago from S--, and by the time she graduated there seemed to be something there but it wasn’t clear to me just what.

Even if my thoughts are mine, no matter what, I am responsible for my own actions. I know this.

Sarah had a different take on the image.

“You don’t like the whole Harper, Matt?” Sarah gestured at her own copy one morning. “Why the crop?”

What do I tell her? That the whole image disturbs me in a troubling way but one I would enjoy without regrets or remorse if Harper weren’t my daughter? In the complete image Harper’s robust pubic patch shields her intimate curves. Her smile is the thing. It overlays all. This is a young woman happy with herself, relaxed and comfortable nude. There’s maybe a touch of self-consciousness because it’s Julian holding the camera. I don’t know why, given what we know they mean to each other, but she looks happy, self-assured.

I’m all in for Harper’s smile. I prefer the milder version of the image because ... well, just because. I shrugged.

“Can’t say for sure. Here’s one answer: I love her boobs.”

Sarah eyes widened, then she squinted. “What exactly are you saying?” she responded.

“You’ve got my number, sweetie, you know that. With Harper I’m only saying her boobs are gorgeous. Round, fat, and firm, to judge when she hugs me and we’re both naked. I love their shape and they’re exactly the right size for Harper.” I shrugged again. “Look, our daughter is more than her boobs, I know that. I think you do, too, right? So tell me why you like the whole image.”

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I had been working customer service in a grocery store for about 2 months at this point. I was just getting off after one of the worst days I’ve had there. It was raining, and that seemed to bring all the crazies in. After listening to customers bitch and moan for 10 hours I was ready to hit the bar and blow off a little steam. Some of the older guys that worked there were already there and said they would make sure I didn’t get carded. So we shared a few pitchers and instead of calming me...

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