Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Later, the crowd in the yard thins out, the kids leave, and the only people left are the crew cleaning up this carnage. Dusk falls, the stars already winking in the sky, too impatient to wait for the onset of night.
Life feels ridiculously good.
“Did you have a good day, little fella?”
“I’ve had the best day ever!” Wilder yells, jumping like he’s on a pogo stick, making the veranda creak in protest. I press my hand to his head, encouraging him to lift his gaze. I reckon his hair is ten percent popcorn grit and from his eyes down, his face is probably fifty percent smeared chocolate cake.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Though maybe a few decibels quieter. I’ve never seen him like this. “Those cupcakes were pretty amazing.” Licking my thumb, I try to scrub half a slice from his face
“The Minecraft wall was amazing!” He continues with the jumping and the superlatives. “And my trampoline, everyone looooved my trampoline!”
“Mate, slow down. You’ll do yourself an injury.” I laugh as he begins to whirl on the spot. I’m stoked he’s had a good time. His joy and exuberance make me feel like a king.
“You’re sure you didn’t spike the juice?” Kennedy asks, coming up the stairs. Her shoulders look a little sunburned, and her eyes are kind of glittering.
“You got me. I spiked it with craziness.”
She turns her smile from me to our son. “Honey, I think you should go shower.”
“But I wanna go on my tramp again!”
“I think Moose is kind of lonely,” she adds, her smile turning kind of sad. Manipulative. I like it.
“Moose!” The kid’s eyes fly wide as he slaps his hands to his cheeks like that kid from Home Alone. “Annie made her a dog cake, so she wouldn’t feel left out.”
“And she can only have a little,” his mother warns. “And no licking the icing.”
“Yuck.” His lip curls in disgust. “It’s got dog stuff in it.”
“Exactly. You don’t want to wake up in the morning with fleas.”
Wilder cracks up before swinging around, heading for the screen door, only to pivot back again. “Thank you for my birthday,” he says, charging back, flinging his arms around my thighs. “Thank you, sixty-nine thousand times!”
“Sixty-nine thousand,” I repeat, pressing my hand to his dark popcorn noggin. Popcorn dust and sweat, I reckon.
“Oh-oh,” he says, his eyes going comically wide. “That’s kind of a bad number, right?” Not that he looks concerned. Amused? Yes.
“Is it?” Kennedy asks, coming alongside me.
“Well, maybe not sixty-nine thousand,” he says, unfurling his arms to drape them around his mother’s waist. “Love you, Momma. Thank you for my birthday.”
“Thank you for waiting,” she says, ducking down to hug him properly.
Wilder straightens and tugs on his T-shirt as a sly smile curls on his face. “But sixty-nine is.” He gives a rumbling little chuckle. Huh-huh.
Kennedy’s gaze and mine meet. We are joined in our suffering, and I get such a kick out of this silent language of ours.
From me to her: I’m not touching that.
From her to me: I am not impressed.
But being the more experienced, she takes one for the team.
“What do you know about that?” she asks, all casual. “About that number.”
I smother a smile as her cheeks take on a pink tinge.
“Not much.” Wilder’s dark brows lower, his tone a touch defensive. “No one seems to. I just know it’s a funny thing because Ethan and I heard Grace laugh when she said it. When we asked her what was so funny, she told us nobody knew. So then Ethan said he’d ask his mom, but Grace said she’d already asked hers, and she didn’t know either.”
“Oh.” Relief ripples over Kennedy’s face. “Well, okay. Off you go to shower.”
“But what is it?” he persists, his gaze swinging back and forth between the two of us. “What’s so funny about it?”
“First I’ve heard of it, little mate.” I give an innocent shrug. “Must be an American thing.”
Kennedy’s gaze implies I’ll pay for that later. “I don’t know either,” she answers.
“I’m gonna call and ask Aunt Holly tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you do that. Now, scoot!”
“Okay.” Wilder swings to me. “Don’t forget to tuck me into bed.”
I shoot him a quick salute, and as the screen door bangs closed, I drop my hands to my thighs and exhale a wheezing laugh. “Jesus, that was amazing!”
“I thought I was going to have a heart attack.” Kennedy presses her hand over her heart. “Where on earth did he get that from?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, pushing straight. “I might not have much experience being a dad, but as a male of the species raised in a household full of the bastards, I can tell you this is just the beginning.”
“Don’t frighten me,” she says, looking cute and sulky lipped.
“At least he doesn’t have an older brother who persuaded him to ask his teacher what a nocturnal emission is.”