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His eyes darken ever so subtly. “You taste like fifty or sixty years of commitment.”
“You could get a shorter sentence if you committed murder.”
He laughs as he opens the door of the small suite he reserved. We drop the bags and Mick flops down on the small sofa.
“I’m hungry,” Anna and Devon whine in unison.
Mick pops back up. “I’ll go get some dinner.”
I start a bath for the kids, because my sisters’ kids always calm down when there’s water. I still can’t figure that one out, but it works.
“Is there anything special I can get for you?” Mick asks me.
“I’ve been stuck in a car with four children and you for about forty-eight hours. If you don’t come back with ice cream, don’t come back at all.” I shoot him a heated glance.
“Did I ever say thank you for doing this for me?” he asks quietly, staring down at me.
“You can thank me with ice cream,” I shoot back, and then I go into the bathroom with Anna and the babies so I can wash Anna’s hair.
“Anything else?” he calls out.
I stick my head back out the door and glance toward the double bed I assume we’ll be sharing. The kids will be in the other bedroom, and the two portable cribs will go in the sitting area. I look at him and look toward the bed again. “Anything else you think we might need, you should get,” I say.
Then I go into the bathroom and wait until I hear the door of the hotel room click shut. Then I let out the breath I’ve been holding almost since we got out of the car.
Mick
I’m walking around the grocery store, putting random items in the basket, when my phone rings. I drop some sugary cereal, the kind my mom never let me eat, into the basket and pull my phone from my pocket.
I see Henry’s name on the screen, and it makes me smile. “Hey, Henry,” I say.
Quiet greets me. I pull the phone back and look down. We’re still connected. “Henry?” I ask.
“Mick?” he replies. “Is that you? I can’t figure out this damn smart phone that Faith got me. It just makes me feel stupid and does nothing to make me any smarter. But Faith said I needed it so she could send me pictures of my great-grandbabies. She sent me one the other day with one of her boys wearing a diaper and cowboy boots. He was hitched in the doorway like it was a saloon. It was pretty fucking fantastic, I’ll say. So I guess this stupid phone was worth it.”
I laugh. “Henry, are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I just called Wren to check and see how your trip was going, but she couldn’t talk because the children were screaming in the background. So, I just pulled you up in this little address book thingie, and there you were. Like magic. So, how’s the trip going?”
It’s shit, actually is on the tip of my tongue. “It’s…going okay.”
“One thing you should know, young man, is that you don’t get to be my age without the ability to detect a lie. Now, tell me how it’s really going.”
“I think I really dislike kids, Henry. Particularly when there are four of them and they won’t stop screaming in the car, or when they’re fighting with one another, or when they won’t stop picking on each other. Over nothing! It’s crazy.”
Henry laughs. “My Nan used to say you couldn’t call yourself a parent until you’ve swung a flip-flop blindly into the back seat hoping to connect with a child.”
I’ve seen pictures of Nan. I couldn’t imagine her swinging anything at anyone. Then I remember what it has been like for two days with four kids. I can totally see it.
“Well, I’m not a parent. I’m just a guy who’s in over his head.”
“You want some advice?” he asks.
Like I could stop him. “Sure,” I say drolly.
“Feed them, water them, and love them. The rest will settle down. Those kids don’t know up from down right now. They’re in a strange place with some strange people—no offense intended.”
“None taken,” I mutter.
