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“What? I’m not making this up.”
“Awesome.” Muttering to myself, I goback, and slide in the booth next to my wife. For an incredibly intelligent woman, she has blind spots, her old alma mater being one of them.
After Vinny crawls back in his hole, we finish our hot drinks, and hiketo the corner lot where we pick out a tree.
The decision made, I turn over the blue tag and almost lose my fuckin’ mind. “A hundred and fifty bucks for a stolen shrubbery? We can purchase a fake one online for half the price.”
“Shush.” Samantha hands the money over to our teenage salesman. “Nothing says the holidays like the smell of true pine.”
“Tell you what. I’ll buy you some of them air fresheners. We can put ’em everywhere.” Turning from her, I help the scrawny kid saw off the end piece of wood and push the branches through the plastic netting machine. Once we’re ready to go, I lift the middle with my unhurt arm.
The wife balances the bottom and points Mikey to the front. “Grab the tip, honey.”
Feeling a whole lot poorer, I bringthe ridiculously expensive prize to our real home; the one I am paying mortgage on, which is the one I can’t currently live in.
“Let’s lock it in the shed.” Sam drops her end and latches onto Mikey’s hand.
“Why not let me set it up inside?”
“I don’t think you, or we… want to go in there.” Her pretty nose scrunches up but me, being a manly man, decide to show her up.
“A little ol’ smell don’t bother me none.” Opening the front door, I cover my nostrils and walk on overto the bathroom. Nothing’s flowing out of the bowl, but it sure doesn’t look kosher to me.
Her choice to move us to Vinny’s apartment makes a lot more sense. Back outside, I tug her aside. “Exactly when did you say Sal is coming?”
Her eyes lower to her boots where she kicks the gravel. “Maybe Monday?”
Iwillget to the truth, but it needs to wait because Mikey starts to cry. “I want my own bed.”
“Yeah, I know pal. Me too, but we can’t.” I climbhim up our front stairs, crack open the door, and he puts his mittens to his nose.
“Ewww. Poopy.” As he scrunches up his face, I squat to his level, and tuck his chin.
When I’m sure he’s listening, I use my no-nonsense tone. “That’s why we gotta stay at the apartment until the plumber fixes it. Understand?”
“O-tay daddy.” My sweet little kid nods, and I tousle his hat.
“Good boy. How about we find the swings?”
“Playgwound!” He races down the drive and I catch up before he reaches the street.
“Hold on there, kiddo.” I snap on his leash, understanding better why his mom bought it. The kid is fast as fuck. Obviously, he takes after me.
While we play, a younger tyke comes close and Sam shouts out, “Careful. The daycare teacher said our little angel’s been shoving his friends. You can help him to use more of his words. You know, teach our son to tell people to back off instead of using his hands?”
“Huh.Seems to me, you need some ramblin’ lessons, dude.”
My boy giggles and I tickle him for a second before racing him to the swings. As I push, I pull out my phone and call Slate.
“How’s the injury?” My pal never uses greetings and even though I’m used to it, the overall effect can be abrupt.
My right bicep still causes pain when flexed, but it’s usable. “I won’t be lifting weights anytime soon, but it’s healing. About that, I was wondering if you got any jobs for a cripple?”
He chuckles. “Can’t you take a couple days of disability?”
Sighing heavily, I picture the price tag on that tree and everything else. “To be honest, a few bucks under the table would help this time of year.”
“See our shrink, yet?”
