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She bounces into the apartment and goes straight for the cabinet. While she’s digging through my assortment of chips, I grab a shirt from the couch and throw it on. Then I find my phone and text Briar to let her know Abby is here. Hopefully, she has her phone on silent so she can get some sleep.
“Will you make me some ramen?” Abby asks as she pulls out a package.
“That’s spicy,” I reply, taking it from her.
“Ooh, I love the spicy one. Please!”
“Didn’t your dad tell you not to beg?” I say, pulling a saucepan from the lower cabinet.
She shrugs with a sheepish expression and watches as I fill the pot with water and put it on the stove.
“Do you have any kids?” she asks innocently.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want kids,” I reply.
“Why not?”
I let out a chuckle as I turn to face her, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Because they’re annoying and ask too many questions. And gross. Wash your hands.”
Her jaw drops as if I’ve offended her. Within a second, she shrugs it off and goes to the sink, stepping on her tiptoes to reach the soap. I watch as she scrubs her tiny fingers and then rinses them before drying them on the gray kitchen towel on the counter.
“How long are you going to live here?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Did your house burn down?”
“Yeah,” I reply plainly.
“Do you have a wife?” she says, hanging this time on the handle of my refrigerator.
“No. Don’t hang on that.”
She lets go and drapes herself over one of the chairs instead. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” I say with my brow furrowed. “You know you shouldn’t assume boys only have girlfriends. Some boys have boyfriends.”
She pauses in her swinging and stares at me as if she’s deep in thought. I don’t know if that was inappropriate to say to a kid, but it’s not on me if her family hasn’t prepared her for the real world. She should know that kind of stuff.
Without skipping a beat, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “No. Do you ever hold still?”
“Nope.” Hooking her fingers on the countertop, she hangs from it like a monkey in a tree.
“You should join gymnastics or something,” I reply as the water starts to boil. Unwrapping the ramen, I drop the noodles into the water and give them a quick stir.
“I want to do karate,” she says.
“Karate is good.”
“My gigi said karate is for boys. She said it’s not ladylike.”
I freeze. “Who the fuck is Gigi?” I ask, realizing a moment too late that I probably shouldn’t cuss around her. But honestly, it sounds like Gigi is saying worse shit than fuck.
