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Kat popped up at my side. “There’s cookie dough in the fridge.” She beamed at me and Paddy shared some of that smile by proxy. “Hi Uncle Paddy!” she chirped. “How’s your back?”
“Umm, my back?”
“Grandma Lena was saying to Aunty Savannah that you’ve got a big zit on it.”
My brows lifted. “How the hell does she know you’ve got a zit on your back?”
Paddy flushed. “I showed it to her.”
“Why?”
He pulled on his collar. “I thought it was shingles.”
“Shingles?” I repeated blandly.
“I get them every couple years.” He scowled at me. “What is this, the Inquisition?”
“What’s the Inquisition, Conor?”
“It’s where these douches asked a lot of questions and did some bad stuff to people who didn’t deserve it to force them to answer. And it happened for centuries, too.”
“Did the douches kill them?” she asked solemnly.
“They did.”
“Then, I think that’s hyperbolic of you, Uncle Paddy.”
“Hyper-what? I don’t have high blood sugar, kid.”
Katina peeked at me, silently asking, ‘Is this guy for real?’
“Not everyone’s reading at your level, Kat.”
“But he’s old.”
“Hey!” Paddy huffed. “Why is it when I come anywhere near you, the sprog, or Star, I leave with a complex?”
“She’s right. You are a drama queen. How’s the zit?”
“It’s fine,” he grumbled. “Thank you for asking.”
“What’s with the bruise?” I queried, staring at his chin.
He scratched his nose. “Your mom’s still a dead shot with an Idaho potato.”
My brows lifted. “What did you do to deserve it?”
“Do you wanna know?”
“No.” Eying him, I grimaced as I blitzed the ice cream and poured the milkshake into a glass for Kat, directing, “Don’t put it on the floor. If the cats get into it, you can clean up their diarrhea.”
Her mouth rounded. “But I’m a kid.”
“So? Kids can clean up messes too.”
“That’s not fair.”
“How is it not fair? Just don’t put the glass on the floor so they can’t spill it over and drink it, please.”
