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“So you ready to get your grub on?” Kris asks as we finally get to the start of the food and passes me a tray. “Get whatever you want. I’m manning two trays for this event, and we can come back up for desserts.”
“Pan, ain’t none of this stuff in my diet plan.”
“With all the shopping you’ll be doing and sweating later, you need the extra calories.” He sticks up two fingers, and a huge fried chicken breast hits my platter.
“Sweating, huh?” I shake my head. I point out multiple sides because veggies are good for me and because I can’t help myself, I do grab a salad. When Kris and I sit down, I watch him hold out his hand to me. I think he’s going to do a blessing. I give him my hand and bow my head. It’s odd. I’ve watched him do this with Cat. I really hate that name. When he finally says amen, I say the same. “Have I told you I really do not like the name Cat? It’s so blah.”
“Oh, just wait, our kids will be Boy, Girl, and Other.” He smirks now, giving me that devilish wink.
“Our kids? Do you remember my age? I’m too young for kids. I can barely take care of myself. Sure I take my meds like I’m supposed to and can cook, but-”
“Easy, Tink, I’ve hardly touched you yet. I’m not talking about knocking you up tonight or even at all if that’s not what you want. I was just making a joke. I do like you, but who knows, we could start really working together, and you decide you hate my controlling ass and run off with your drummer.” He takes a bite of collards. “Besides, if we were to make it, women have children later in life now, and old men like me go till it’s dust. Look at Michael Douglas, wasn’t he like sixty-two when his twins were born?”
“I don’t even have a drummer. You want to have kids at sixty-two? That’s a little old, don’t you think? How could you possibly enjoy them?”
“You have like zero sense of imagination or humor.” He points to the bbq baked beans on my plate. “Eat, and we can revisit knocking you up in five days.”
“I’d rather talk about you changing Cat’s name.”
He looks up at me again as he stuffs his face, then nods. “Okay, how’s about we call him—Jeff?
“Jeff, or maybe Phil? No, wait, I got it, Bob! Or-” I shut him up with my hand across his wagging mouth.
“No, just—no! You're not allowed to name anything anymore. You got that? If it needs namin’, I’ll be doing it.”
He nods, then licks my frickin’ palm!
