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“Those are the worst,” I tell her. “But it gets better after a year or two.”
I laugh as her face contorts in horror. “A year or two?”
“Everyone has zits at your age. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s hard being a kid,” she groans.
I don’t want to discourage her, so I don’t tell her how hard it is being an adult. Instead, I say, “Life is about perspective. If you focus on the tough stuff, like the things that scare you, then you’ll never truly get your heart’s desire.”That’s right, I’m talking to you, Jamie.
He seems to catch on because he joins in the conversation. “Being an adult sometimes means making the best choices for more people than just yourself.”
“Being an adult means taking chances that can make life better foreveryone,” I retaliate.
Sammy jumps in. “I thought being an adult meant getting to eat ice cream any time during the day with nobody telling you you’ll ruin your appetite for supper.”
This causes us all to laugh. It also effectively breaks the tension bubble that was building between Jamie and me.
Jamie says, “I eat ice cream all day while you’re at school.”
“Really?” She sounds borderline angry.
“No, but I could,” he teases.
“I’m going to be the kind of mom who lets her kids eat ice cream for breakfast,” she says. Then she turns to me and asks, “What about you, Melissa? What kind of mom are you going to be.”
I think for a moment before answering, “I’m going to be the kind of mom who eats ice creamwithher kids for breakfast.”
“You’re going to be a great mom, then. I hope we’re still friends when you have kids.”
“I will always be your friend,” I tell her. “You can’t get away from methateasily.”
After we get into Jamie’s SUV, we drive into town in companionable silence. Once we reach the diner, Jamie parks at the curb before saying, “Last one to the door is a rotten egg.” Then he jumps out and runs to the diner so he’s the first to arrive. Sammy and I take our time.
When we reach his side, he demands, “What took you so long?”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad,” Sammy tells him.
The color drains from his face. “So, no more games?” He sounds devastated at the prospect.
“We can still play games, but no more rotten egg games. I’m beyond that now.” She sounds older than her years. But I know exactly where she’s coming from. Getting your period is a huge deal for a girl. It’s the first tangible step toward womanhood.
“How about if we play Kiss, Marry, and Kill?” I ask.
“How does that one go?” Sammy wants to know.
“We name three guys, and you have to say which one you’d kiss, which one you’d marry, and which one you'd kill.”
“That’s dark,” Jamie says while leading the way to a booth by the window.
Once we’re all seated—Jamie and Sammy across from me—I explain, “It’s not a real kill list. It’s just a fun game.”
“How about if we change it to Kiss, Marry, and Throw in the Lake?” he asks. Sammy and I nod our heads in agreement.
Sammy starts the game by turning to me. “Channing Tatum, Tom Holland, and Liam Hemsworth.”
“That’s tough,” I tell her. After tapping my chin with my pointer finger for a few beats, I finally say, “I’d kiss Liam Hemsworth for sure. Tom Holland is marriage material, so that means I’m throwing Channing Tatum into the lake.”
“I agree one hundred percent,” Sammy says, which causes Jamie to grimace. I don’t think he likes the idea of his daughter kissing anyone.
