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She probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as tolerate it for my benefit, so… yeah. Nice little fantasy in my head. Of course, I’ll ask her if she wants to do it rather than surprise her, so there’s no drama. Paxton is pretty much the opposite of most girls her age. She doesn’t mind a somewhat juvenile birthday party, and never really tries to act like she’s already all grown up. Somewhere around age twelve, Tammy always kind of resented being a kid and couldn’t wait to grow up and ‘be free.’
All three of my brothers were like that. Mary Lou didn’t have a choice, really. She had to grow up fast. Me? I never really thought about my age much. Don’t know if it’s selective memory or if I really never particularly cared about being a kid or growing up. Suppose I recognized the advantage in being little and having people not expect too much from me. I had been accused multiple times of being immature and irresponsible. It wasn’t until after I married Danny that I managed to make a passable attempt at ‘adulting’ as the kids call it. Before that, it seems I enjoyed the comfort of just sitting back and letting Mary Lou worry about everything serious.
I don’t believe Paxton is trying to act younger than she is, it’s merely a side effect of her adoration for cute things. Some people might think she’s acting, but all they’d have to do is be around when there’s a spider in the same room and it will become obvious she’s completely genuine.
A few months ago, Tammy tried to make her relax about the idea of spiders being in the house by suggesting we not kill them because they eat the other thousand or so bugs you don’t see. Took me about an hour to talk Paxton down from demanding mosquito netting on her bed.
Hilarious now… not so much back then.
Yeah, I goofed off mostly today. Not a big deal. Every business has slow times. If boring paperwork is my vacation from craziness, then the slow days are my vacation from my vacation. Maybe it’s the slowness, or perhaps something else needles at me—but the urge to call it an early day and go home becomes irresistible a few minutes before three in the afternoon.
Tammy has no problem calling it an early day. We’d both been doing more YouTube than actual work for at least two hours. I got a heads-up from one of the local security outfits that they’re going to be taking on a new-hire group of like eighty candidates soon… so that’ll be pretty much an entire week of background checks. Might as well take the break while we can. No, I’m not complaining. For such routine work, the pay is good.
We lock up the office and make our way to the Momvan and swing by Starbucks. Nothing like a late afternoon jolt of caffeine. I’m still not quite used to being alive again. Or something closer to alive than I was. Caffeine does something to me again. I think. Maybe it’s purely in my head because I associate getting coffee with psychically feeding off everyone else in the place—except the workers. Dealing with customers is draining enough without me siphoning off their mental energy.
So, a few customers in line for coffee donate some energy. I try not to lean on any one individual too much unless they’re being obnoxious and rude. Nothing shuts down a ‘Karen’ quite as effectively as a psychic vampire treating them like a cheap beer in the hand of a frat boy. From ‘I demand the manager’ to ‘I demand a nap’ in seconds.
Thankfully, the day is free of obnoxious people, and we get home at about 3:30 p.m. with no real plans on what to do with the rest of our day.
No sooner do we walk into the living room than Paxton comes squeeing across the house toward us. Squee is one of those new words I’ve learned recently. It’s similar to a squeal but higher pitched and lasts much longer. The sound usually signifies great happiness or sudden delight—like finding random kittens.
“Mom! Thank you so much!”
She crash-hugs into me, squeezes, then leans back, grinning so wide she almost looks like a cartoon character.
Tammy gives me side-eye.
I’m confused as well.
“You’re… welcome?” I say, eyebrow up. “What’s got you bouncing off the walls?”
“The best birthday present ever!” chirps Paxton.
I return the side-eye to Tammy. She responds with a micro shrug and a facial expression that says, ‘I have no idea. What did you do?’
“Remind me?” I nibble on my lip. “Did Mary Lou show up or something?”
Paxton stares at us with this wide-eyed, open-mouthed grin of happy bewilderment that makes her look like a life-sized doll. “The unicorn?”
“It’s only a giant plushie,” says Tammy. “And that was from me, by the way. Not Mom.”
“The plushie is awesome!” Pax hugs her sister. “Thank you, but I’m talking about the other one.”
“What other one?” I ask.
“There’s another unicorn plush?” replies Tammy at the same time, talking over me.
Paxton’s mood shifts a few clicks deeper into confusion. “No, not a plush. The actual unicorn in the backyard.”
I look at Tammy.
She holds her hands up and gives me a ‘not my fault’ face.
“Really?” I blink. “A unicorn. In the backyard.”
Pax nods emphatically.
“She’s a little too old for make-believe unicorns.” Tammy rubs her chin.
