“Can you hug me now?” she asks in a small voice.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I’m very happy to do that.”
And then I’ve got a lapful of little girl, though maybe she’s not so little after all. She’s not crying, but I think it’s close, because she’s trembling in my arms, and her face is in my neck, her breath harsh. I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight. It feels good to have her like this.
It goes on. For a time.
And that’s okay.
HE THROUGH kicking his own ass yet?
Nah. But JJ apparently decided that he wants to be a singer too, so I’m pretty sure he’ll agree to anything to get out of here.
Oh dear god. Your child.
Right? ISN’T HE THE BEST THING EVER???? Like, he has NO discernible musical talent, but do you think that stops him? NO. HE’S A MOTHERFUCKING THOMPSON.
How’s Anna doing with him being a motherfucking Thompson?
She took AJ and went to the store. She didn’t pack a bag, so I think she’ll come back.
Maybe get rid of the guitar.
LOL. Never. I spent five bucks on that thing.
That… makes so much more sense.
I am the best. Want me to send your lump of self-loathing home?
If he’ll come.
Wow. I’m insulted. I told him and he practically RAN out the door. Dude, that is so rude. He didn’t even tip JJ. We set the guitar case in front of him and everything!
Thanks, Creed.
You’re welcome, Papa Bear. Go easy on him, okay? He’s mad enough at himself.
Got it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to take my son and his guitar to the boardwalk and see how much people will pay him to stop playing. I’m betting I get at LEAST two dollars.
Father of the year.
And don’t you forget it!
I’M SITTING at the kitchen table going through my lesson plans from last year when I hear Otter’s SUV pull into the driveway. Izzie’s up in her room, googling more statistics to ruin the Kid’s life with. I’m surprised when I hear the front door open almost right away, assuming Otter would have sat in the car a little bit more, trying to psych himself up.
His shoulders are slumped when he slinks into the kitchen, like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. But his jaw is set, and I know he’s steeling himself against whatever I’m going to throw at him.
God, how I love this stupid, stupid man.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey, yourself,” I say, glancing up at him before looking back down at the notes on the table. “Heard you had a nice time with JJ.”
“I—” He sighs. “I don’t know that it was nice.”
“That’s your nephew,” I tell him, trying to keep from laughing. I’m still a little angry, but I’m more relieved that he’s here and this didn’t stretch on longer than it needed to. Younger me would probably be astounded how mature I’ve become.