“I’m sure that’s not true,” I stated.
“You’re sure, huh? You doubt your own son?”
Oof. Nate would probably tread carefully here, but I wasn’t him. “I don’t doubt a teenager’s obsession with hyperbole. But by all means, tell me what she did that was crazy.”
He huffed. “She wanted to talk every day.”
“Thenerveon that girl. Good riddance. I don’t know how you put up with that nonsense.”
“You think you’re funny?—”
“I think I’m fucking hilarious.” I just had to make that clear. “What else did she do that was crazy?”
“Okay, listen to this. She got pissy if I didn’t acknowledge her in the cafeteria—every single day.”
“Hoo boy—a girl who wanted a smile from her boyfriend at lunch. She’s downright certifiable.”
He let out a growling noise in frustration.
I chuckled and patted his leg. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick, sweetheart. But can we agree she wasn’t crazy? It’s not a word we should use willy-nilly unless they root for the Giants.” Cowboys fans weren’t all there in the head either. “My guess? You weren’t ready for a commitment, and that’s perfectly fine. You’re focused on friends, golf, and hopefully your grades.”
He seemed to mull things over for a bit—and he was back to concentrating on traffic.
He really was turning into a solid driver.
“You seem very comfortable behind the wheel these days,” I noted. “And you can definitely handle your old man’s shit-talk while you drive.”
His mouth twitched, but he wasn’t ready to show his amusement yet.
Lily inspected my nails with a sigh. “I wanted to do them all.”
Yeah, I knew she did. But we’d been short on time, so she’d only painted two of them. In a sparkly, light blue color.
I looked fucking fabulous.
“You can do the rest later,” I said. Unless she ditched me to play with Paws.
Nate came back from the hostess’s desk and let us know our table was almost ready. Then he brought out his phone, and I followed his gaze to where Dylan and Hallie were standing by abig fern. They were, for once, smiling when they talked, and Nate took a picture of them.
For safekeeping, for evidence, for blackmail…
“I’m so hungry.” Mikey tugged at his suspenders. He looked so damn adorable, all dressed up.
“I know, buddy. Me too.” I folded up the sleeves of my button-down. “Do you know what you want yet?”
It wasn’t the first time we’d come here, and it wouldn’t be the last. We loved our Mexican food, and this place had an energy to it. Bright, colorful walls, fitting music, great food, and good deals on family platters.
Mikey nodded. “Tacos.”
“Excellent choice,” I said. “No taquitos? You love those.”
“Only when Nana makes them,” he said, sticking his thumbs underneath the suspenders. “She’s the best at cooking—except when you and Dad make spaghetti.”
We were admittedly awesome at spaghetti and Bolognese.
I smiled and ruffled his hair. “You know how fucking cute you are?”
He grinned and stood taller.
