“Can we sing?”
“Of course we can sing.” I hope Vincent doesn’t mind Kidz Bop.
Kent: We’re downstairs.
Vincent: Be right there.
Kent: I missed your face.
Vincent: You saw me less than an hour ago.
Kent: Exactly.
“Hi,” Vincent says, hopping into the front seat. He turns and waves to Lia and I spy her checking him out in the rearview mirror.
“Hi, Poppy’s boyfriend.”
Vincent gives me a stare.
“Vincent is my friend, sweetie.”
“Mommy says he’s your boyfriend.”
“Well,” Vincent says, “we’re both boys. And we’re friends.”
Lia tilts her head, pondering the idea, nods, and says, “Okay. Let’s go to my surprise.”
I back out of the small parking lot for Vincent’s building, and we head for the highway. Knowing my granddaughter will eventually take a nap if we sing first, I turn the music on, and a loud guitar sweeps through the cabin before a chorus of children sing loudly. Lia immediately begins crooning along to “Sk8tr Boi.” I’m only familiar with the song becauseKidz Bop 4lives in my car for this very purpose. The tune’s ridiculous spelling pops up on the audio display, taunting the educator in me.
I glance over at Vincent. His face stretches and bunches like he’s tasted the sourest lemon ever grown. I’m not sure if it’s the music, the singing, the lack of Fleetwood Mac, or all of the above.
I lean over and whisper-shout over Lia’s singing, “Twenty minutes, she’ll be asleep.”
He nods and asks, “Where are we going, anyway?”
Hearing the possibility of a co-conspirator, Lia pauses her singing and shouts over the music. “I’ve been asking Poppy since he picked me up. He won’t tell.”
“Not even a hint?” Vincent asks.
“Near Boston,” Lia calls from the back.
“A Red Sox game?” Vincent asks.
I form a cheeky smile and shake my head.
“The ’quarium?” Lia asks.
“Nope.”
“But I love the fishes. And that giant turtle. And the penguins. Poppy, the penguins are so cute. Can we please go see them?”
“We went last summer. And we’ll go again this year,” I assure her.
Vincent scratches his sexy head. “The Freedom Trail?”
“Yes, we’re taking my four-year-old granddaughter on a two-and-a-half-mile historical walking tour.”
“I’m almost five!” she bellows. “In May. And then I start kindergarten.”
