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“Aunt Whitney.”
“I’m going to have a talk with Aunt Whitney.” I knew Whitney, my brother Reid’s fiancée, was giving Olive starter romance novels, but I don’t want my daughter throwing around the term “lover” all casually, especially to her father.
“Mom, it’s fine,” Olive continues, placing her hand on the table. All the initial shyness is gone. Now she’s showboating. This is what happens when you’re the only grandchild for nine years.
“So, they came over. They had a bullhorn. Then, Thelma and Louise came and scared them off. They didn’t take the bullhorn, though.”
“It’s my most prized possession,” Cam says.
“Wow,” Max says.
“We’re not going to talk about Darryl.”
I hear snickering and look across the table at my brother, who is delighting in this meeting and the weird turn it’s taken. He doesn’t know that I’m worried Max will file custody papers immediately because I’ve been corrupting our daughter and I didn’t confirm her existence with him.
However, Max takes Olive’s bait. “Who’s Darryl?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“Tell Max, honey.” If she’s telling raccoons stories, she’s not grilling Max like she’s a detective on Law and Order.
“Darryl got Aunt Shiloh.”
I add, “Olive let raccoons into the brewery a couple times. We don’t do that anymore, right, Olive?”
“Yes. Shiloh told me not to tell you that she’s paying me in Skittles for every ten days I don’t let a raccoon in.”
I knew Shiloh would do something like this. I love her, but she has to stop giving my child sugar. My child is stone-cold sugar sober today, and she’s already like this.
“How did Darryl get Aunt Shiloh?” Max asks as I mouth “No” to him.
“I thought it was Lena, another raccoon. She’s a mom. But it was actually that sneaky Darryl. Darryl scratched Aunt Shiloh, and she needed the rabies vaccine. Uncle Jackson took her, and that’s how they became lovers. They call that trope friends-to-lovers, right, Mom?”
“Yes.” Covering my eyes, I make a mental note to talk to Whitney about discussing romance tropes. I can’t handle imagining my older brother having sex, and now thanks to her, I am and it’s so gross.
I feel eyes on me, and I look up to Max’s raised eyebrow, his face red from holding back laughter. Mine is red from mortification. It’s okay, she’s wonderful, I think Max mouths to me, and my whole face relaxes. There’s a shine to his eyes, and I wonder if it’s emotion or the harsh lights.
He turns back to Olive. “This family really loves raccoons.”
“Just me,” Olive says, raising her hand.
“Should I have gotten you something with raccoons?” Max asks.
“No, I love Mike.” She sits the stuffed animal, facing her, the single eye staring her down. How my daughter can go from saying “lover” casually to playing with a stuffed animal makes my head spin.
“Well, I would love to meet them sometime.”
“The raccoons?” Cam asks, his voice raising an octave. “No, you don’t.”
“You don’t meet them. They meet you,” Olive says.
Max covers his mouth with his hand and leans back. My heart melts a little bit. I hope he overlooks I showed an R-rated movie to a child and let her read romance novels so she can use the word “lover” with the right context.
We lock eyes, and he smiles as Olive yammers on, finally telling him about her conversation with Ms. Lyle about her cat scaring a Chihuahua named Zack Morris. The corner of his lips turn up as he listens. The way the light hits his eyes, I see the shine again. He smiles and the water pools in the corners of his eyes.
The way he’s watching her, I can’t help but entertain the thought that my pregnancy wasn’t the end of the world for him. Maybe he wanted to be here.
Still, I smile. I watch. Even if he never wanted us, in this moment, I pretend like he did.
