visible prick site.
“Powya Rangers! Now it peeza time?”
“Well, I most certainly think you earned it. What do you think, Dad?”
Guy palmed Finn’s head and dipped down to kiss his forehead. “Strong work, buddy. I know I promised you pizza,” he squeezed his chin and studied his watch, “but Daddy has to go back to work.”
He was joking, had to be. Finn’s bottom lip started to quiver. “You pwomised.”
“Don’t worry, bud. Maya will be back in twenty minutes from her appointment, and I’ll have her take you. You can play in my office until then.”
Oh God, he was serious. Because that’s what a three-year-old with his heart set on pizza wanted, to play in his office. How mean. Empathetic towards him or not, it was my turn to shoot eye daggers. He must have felt them pinging him, because he turned and tried to explain. “I didn’t plan on this taking two hours.” He gestured toward the vials of blood as if that made a difference. Then his broad shoulders deflated a millimeter. If I hadn’t been on the receiving end of his towering arrogance several times already, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Except he did seem off somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
He’s flustered.
“I’ll take you. I love pizza.” It came out in a rush.
“Huh?” Yep, Guy said huh . Definitely flustered.
“JuJu peeza! JuJu peeza! Peeeeeeeese.” Finn was no fool. He dragged out that “e” in please for as long as possible and flashed those dimples. The kid from Jerry McGuire had nothing on him.
“Why would you do that? That’s crazy. Maya will be back soon. She knows I have a one o’clock case.”
“It’s pizza. Really not a big deal. And besides, I’m hungry, too.” My stomach growled almost on cue. Charming.
A puzzled look spread across his face. “Seriously? You’re going to take my kid to lunch?”
This wasn’t some sneaky abduction scheme. Really, the pizza place was around the corner. Sheesh.
“JuJu peeza!” Finn cheered when he realized he’d won, if this was even a battle to be won. Guy was hard to read. Especially today.
I refrained from doing my own celebratory dance because, one, it might have been a little strange and inappropriate, and two, no one ever really needed to see that. I said, “Perfect. It’s settled. Pizza time.”
Finn held his arms out for me to pick him up, and my already melty heart turned to pureed mush.
“I’ll have Maya pick Max up at preschool and meet you there. You’re sure you don’t mind?”
One more time I reiterated the obvious. “It’s pizza. Of course I don’t mind.”
I lifted Finn onto my hip and he monkey-wrapped his braced little legs as best he could around my waist. All I smelled was baby shampoo. And not the all natural, no suds, fragrance free organic stuff this generation of parents felt the need to use now, but good old Johnson & Johnson. The gold bottle, the kind a single dad with too much to deal with would choose. The kind that reminded me of everything innocent and pure. The kind that could easily clog my throat and make my lungs seize.
Guy’s facial expressions continued to question my sanity while I bent for Finn’s winter coat. “Let’s take the elevator up to get my jacket and purse and then we’ll go. K, handsome?”
“Fine, I’ll grab his stroller for you.”
“No.” It came out harsher than I intended.
“But—”
“No, we’re good.”
Definitely no stroller. We’d get there when we got there, leg braces and all. Or maybe I’d hold him all the way there since he seemed to nestle right into my side as if my body was created to carry a little someone.
Twenty minutes later I belted a very chatty Finn into the wooden high chair, after Purell-ing down the gross handlebars first, of course. I slid him closer to the red and white checkered table and placed our order.
“Dada.” Finn’s delicate finger pointed at the front window. Guy, holding a slightly bigger, pig-tailed version of Finn,
“Powya Rangers! Now it peeza time?”
“Well, I most certainly think you earned it. What do you think, Dad?”
Guy palmed Finn’s head and dipped down to kiss his forehead. “Strong work, buddy. I know I promised you pizza,” he squeezed his chin and studied his watch, “but Daddy has to go back to work.”
He was joking, had to be. Finn’s bottom lip started to quiver. “You pwomised.”
“Don’t worry, bud. Maya will be back in twenty minutes from her appointment, and I’ll have her take you. You can play in my office until then.”
Oh God, he was serious. Because that’s what a three-year-old with his heart set on pizza wanted, to play in his office. How mean. Empathetic towards him or not, it was my turn to shoot eye daggers. He must have felt them pinging him, because he turned and tried to explain. “I didn’t plan on this taking two hours.” He gestured toward the vials of blood as if that made a difference. Then his broad shoulders deflated a millimeter. If I hadn’t been on the receiving end of his towering arrogance several times already, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Except he did seem off somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
He’s flustered.
“I’ll take you. I love pizza.” It came out in a rush.
“Huh?” Yep, Guy said huh . Definitely flustered.
“JuJu peeza! JuJu peeza! Peeeeeeeese.” Finn was no fool. He dragged out that “e” in please for as long as possible and flashed those dimples. The kid from Jerry McGuire had nothing on him.
“Why would you do that? That’s crazy. Maya will be back soon. She knows I have a one o’clock case.”
“It’s pizza. Really not a big deal. And besides, I’m hungry, too.” My stomach growled almost on cue. Charming.
A puzzled look spread across his face. “Seriously? You’re going to take my kid to lunch?”
This wasn’t some sneaky abduction scheme. Really, the pizza place was around the corner. Sheesh.
“JuJu peeza!” Finn cheered when he realized he’d won, if this was even a battle to be won. Guy was hard to read. Especially today.
I refrained from doing my own celebratory dance because, one, it might have been a little strange and inappropriate, and two, no one ever really needed to see that. I said, “Perfect. It’s settled. Pizza time.”
Finn held his arms out for me to pick him up, and my already melty heart turned to pureed mush.
“I’ll have Maya pick Max up at preschool and meet you there. You’re sure you don’t mind?”
One more time I reiterated the obvious. “It’s pizza. Of course I don’t mind.”
I lifted Finn onto my hip and he monkey-wrapped his braced little legs as best he could around my waist. All I smelled was baby shampoo. And not the all natural, no suds, fragrance free organic stuff this generation of parents felt the need to use now, but good old Johnson & Johnson. The gold bottle, the kind a single dad with too much to deal with would choose. The kind that reminded me of everything innocent and pure. The kind that could easily clog my throat and make my lungs seize.
Guy’s facial expressions continued to question my sanity while I bent for Finn’s winter coat. “Let’s take the elevator up to get my jacket and purse and then we’ll go. K, handsome?”
“Fine, I’ll grab his stroller for you.”
“No.” It came out harsher than I intended.
“But—”
“No, we’re good.”
Definitely no stroller. We’d get there when we got there, leg braces and all. Or maybe I’d hold him all the way there since he seemed to nestle right into my side as if my body was created to carry a little someone.
Twenty minutes later I belted a very chatty Finn into the wooden high chair, after Purell-ing down the gross handlebars first, of course. I slid him closer to the red and white checkered table and placed our order.
“Dada.” Finn’s delicate finger pointed at the front window. Guy, holding a slightly bigger, pig-tailed version of Finn,
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