Page 21 of Hilarina and the Ogre

The look of appalled surprise on Trenton’s face was almost worth the further hour’s math it triggered, but finally the book was shut.

It was the sign Hilary had been waiting for. With the feeling of righting an immeasurable wrong, he wrenched the window open and tossed the book out onto the patchy lawn.

“What’s this?” Albert asked, the timing lining up perfectly with his arrival home.

“Burn it!”

But his father only laughed and brought the book inside.

“How’s my son?”

“Suffering.”

“I meant my favorite son.”

Trenton came to take Albert’s hand. He couldn’t seem to help doing that every time. “Do you mind if I make dinner tonight?”

“If you use the secret magic word.”

Trenton was stumped until he got a hint. “It’s probably ‘dad,’” Hilary suggested.

The boy made the correction. “Can I make dinner tonight, Dad?”

Albert was overjoyed. “Of course you can, son.”

Trenton’s dinners were as good as his breakfasts, and he wasn’t the only one to think so. Annette was in heaven. “Will your mother trade for you? I’m sure Hilary won’t mind.”

Hilary did indeed mind. The house was where all his stuff was and where Trenton’s cooking was. He was already on his third helping.

Albert pretended to block the door when it was time for Trenton to leave. “Just stay,” he said. “Pretend it’s the library.”

Hilary had re-shared the story of baby Trenton at the dinner table.

“I don’t have my pajamas,” Trenton said.

“We have pajamas here.”

“Ones that would fit me?”

“Have you seen your mother’s T-shirt collection?”

It was true that Annette had never approved a T-shirt unless it was at least four sizes too large. They did indeed fit Trenton, and Hilary was given the esteemed honor of making the choice for the boy—and a great choice it was. He got to see Trenton brushing his teeth in a live, laugh, love the mailman t-shirt—the worst anniversary present Albert had ever given his poor wife (though the man himself argued it was his best.)

“I ordered the trundle,” Annette informed them, already finished with setting up the couch for the night. “It should be here Saturday.”

Hilary asked the question that should have been on everyone’s mind. “Aren’t you moving a little fast, mom?”

That only earned him a snort. “Next you’ll be telling me I shouldn’t have names picked out for my grandchildren.”

“There aren’t going to be any grandchildren.”

“I know you’ll never give me any, but Trenton’s much more accommodating. Aren’t you, Trenton?”

Trenton spat his toothpaste into the sink with all the delicacy of a genteel maiden. “I don’t think I’d be a good father.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to it. Just ask Albert.”

Albert’s hearing was nearly as good as his wife’s. He called back from the kitchen, “I mow the lawn, don’t I?”