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The pickup line at the boys’ school was always a headache. It took no less than half an hour of sitting there before they hopped into the car, which sucked. But the moment I saw their happy faces, I grinned, too.
“Hey guys!” I called, waving them into the back seat.
Luckily Caden was finally old enough to buckle himself, which meant they were ready within a minute and we were heading out, bypassing the rest of the parents still hugging the curb.
“How was school?” I asked, watching their faces as best I could in the rearview mirror while they answered.
“Great!” Caden answered. “I’m in first grade, Dad!”
“I know, buddy,” I told him with a laugh. “I’m glad you had a good day. What about you, Charlie?”
“It was fine,” my eight year old answered with a blank face.
“Do anything fun? Make any friends?”
He just shrugged, silent.
“I did!” Caden said. “I have a girlfriend!”
“Like, a friend that’s a girl, or a girlfriend?”
“She’s a girl.” Caden nodded seriously.
“She’ll give you cooties,” Charlie told his little brother, shoving at his shoulder.
“Nuh uh! She’s nice! And she said she brushes her teeth every day so she doesn’t have cooties!”
Wait, what the hell did brushing teeth have to do with cooties?
“Be nice, Charlie,” I warned, which just made him frown and turn his face toward the window as the thick, southern trees zoomed past our car.
“Can we have pizza tonight, Dad?” Caden asked.
“I was going to make us some of my famous tacos!”
“Your tacos aren't famous,” Charlie grouched.
“In our family it is,” I countered.
“Mom’s boyfriend makes tacos, too,” Caden dropped that bomb.
“Mom’s boyfriend?” I demanded. “What boyfriend?”
The ink on our divorce papers was barely fucking dry, and she already had a boyfriend?
“Mom says that it’s ok since you’ve been divorced for a whole year.”
A year? Had it really been that long?
“Well, what’s this boyfriend of hers like? Is he nice to you?”
Caden nodded, which I only barely caught in the mirror. “He’s nice. He plays basketball with us at our house. He calls Mom a cougar sometimes though, and I don’t know what that means. Cougars aren’t nice, but Mom is.”
Oh shit…how was I going to explain that one?
“Uh, yeah, I don’t know, bud,” I said, chickening the hell out on that one. “Is he much younger than your mom?”
Both the boys stared at me.
