24. Griffin
24
GRIFFIN
I have my girls for the weekend, and it allows me to forget about hockey and Jack for a bit. Friday is warmer than usual, so we go for a short hike after school and order in pizza. Saturday, we wake up to rain. I used to love lounging on my couch on a rainy day. Unfortunately, little kids don’t lounge. They are like Energizer Bunnies from the second they wake up.
I toast frozen pancakes for breakfast, and they watch a little TV as the rain continues to come down. The girls play in the living room, jumping on couch cushions as if the floor is lava. My hope is this lasts all morning, at least.
I don’t have them as often as Carmen does. My encyclopedia of indoor activities is slim. I text Tanner for ideas. I figure he is up to date on all kids activities. He writes back almost immediately about a new paint-your-own-pottery place that opened up downtown. He tells me to book a timeslot online.
I manage to grab the last opening for this afternoon.
“Girls, do you want to make your own pottery?” I realize there’s a chance they could say no, and then I’d be screwed.
Luckily, they jump up and down with excitement.
“Can George come?” June asks.
“George the reindeer?” I don’t know why I’m asking for confirmation, but she nods her head yes.
“I promise he won’t chain smoke at the pottery place,” she tells me.
“He’s really trying to quit!” Annabelle says.
“Hmmm…I don’t know if George can fit in the car. And is he able to paint with hooves?”
I also don’t know why I’m bringing logic to this conversation, yet the girls aren’t fazed by my questions.
“One second.” June holds up her tiny finger. She and Annabelle run into the dining room and fake whisper to the wall where I assume George is resting. They scurry back a few seconds later.
“George is just going to hang out in the house today. He’s had a busy week and needs to decompress,” June says. I like to play a little game with myself to figure out where she learned new words that are peppered into her vocabulary.
“Fair enough. We can play here a little bit more, and then we’ll go out to lunch, then to the pottery place.”
The girls give me a thumbs up to this plan.
I point to the dining room. “George,” I say loudly. “There will be no smoking in the house while we’re gone. If you need to smoke, you can do it outside on the deck.”
I hold George’s non-existent eye contact for an extra second to get my point across, and I almost trick myself into believing there’s a chain smoking reindeer in my house.
* * *
By the time we go into town for lunch, the rain’s gone. The girls still insisted on wearing their rain boots; June hops into every puddle on the sidewalk as we walk from the car to Caroline’s, a beloved greasy spoon diner with delicious food. It’s one of the few places where the girls can find something on the menu.
“Dad, what’s eggplant parma-sand?” Annabelle asks.
“Parmesan. It’s an Italian dish. Have you had eggplant before?”
The girls shrug, unsure. I give myself a Dad demerit because that’s something I should know.
“For breakfast?” June asks.
“Those are eggs, I’m assuming. Eggplant is different. Why don’t you girls split a sandwich?” Caroline’s piles their sandwiches a mile high. We’re talking walls of pastrami and chicken salad.
“I don’t want to share!” June protests.
“Why don’t we all share?” I propose. “You can have half of my sandwich.”
“We have to share your half?” Annabelle cocks her head to the side as she tries to do the math. Fractions are a new concept for her. June shakes her head no, never one to wait for the data.
“What if I get a sandwich, and you each get a cup of soup?”
“I don’t want soup,” June says.
“What kind of sandwich do you want?”
“Do they put mustard on the turkey?” Annabelle wonders.
“We can get it without.” I study her face to determine whether that was the right answer. “Or with.” I’ll bet Des has less trouble negotiating multi-million dollar contracts.
“Can they put mustard in the middle of the sandwich?” June asks.
“I don’t like mustard. I like ketchup!” Annabelle chimes in, panicked.
“I don’t want ketchup on mine. Gross,” June shoots back.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” I bend down their menus so I can see them, then I go in for the close. “We’ll split a turkey sandwich and ask for mustard and ketchup on the side. I’ll put ketchup on the bread of Annabelle’s half, and I’ll put mustard on the pieces of turkey in the middle of June’s half. Okay?”
The girls hesitate a moment, considering the offer. I keep my fingers crossed we can avoid another round of negotiations. When they give me the greenlight nod, I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Can we get dessert?” June smiles at me, never knowing when to quit while she’s ahead.
“We’re eating lunch first.” I look to get the waitress’s attention, when I spot Jack sitting at the counter, hunched over a menu and a cup of coffee, a quiet moment to himself. There’s something unguarded and tentative about seeing him in the wild like this. His typical bravado from the ice, and from the bar, isn’t present.
I wave to him when he catches me looking. He nods back, another polite gesture. Funny how we’re so good at getting each other off, but polite gestures feel odd and foreign. He shoves his hands in his cozy hoodie as he reads through the menu. I don’t know what it is about men in hoodies that turn them automatically into cute, strong teddy bears.
“Who’s that, Daddy?” the girls ask.
“That’s, uh, nobody.” I instantly get a twinge of guilt for lying to my girls, even if it is a little white one. They scrunch their little foreheads, adorably calling bullshit, too. “That’s my friend, Jack.”
“Why is he eating alone?” Annabelle ponders. Kids have a preternatural ability to ask direct questions. Getting older means gaining a filter, which has its pluses and minuses.
“I don’t know. I guess he has to eat a quick meal. He probably has lots of things to do.”
The girls peek over the top of our booth at Jack, and I can’t help but join them. It’s one of the few times where he isn’t his cocky self, like an actor caught off camera.
“Girls, stop staring. Let Jack enjoy his meal in peace.”
“Dad’s friend Jack!” June yells across booths of older patrons. “Do you want to eat lunch with us?”
“Sit with us!” says Annabelle, emboldened by her completely filterless younger sister. The girls wave him over, their flailing, slim arms slicing through the air.
“Girls…” I try to regain control without reprimanding them.
They tip their heads back to our table, mouthing “Come on.” No man can resist that level of cuteness.
“Friends don’t let each other eat alone. In school, we’re supposed to include other kids.” June makes a fair point. I want to be a good example.
I join in waving him over. We share a bemused smile, both realizing that it’s best to do what they say.
The girls scream their delight as Jack stands up from his counter stool. My stomach flops into a puddle of awkwardness as Jack approaches. Because Caroline’s booths are older, it’s a tight squeeze. Annabelle moves onto my booth seat, and Jack takes the other side with June.
I thought I’d be safer not having him sit next to me. No touching or brushing of legs. Yet from this position, I’m able to stare straight into his vibrant eyes, making this just as awkward a seating choice.
“Hi! I’m June.”
“I’m Annabelle.”
“I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.” Jack holds out his hand to shake before realizing a hi-five is more appropriate.
The girls hi-five him back.
“Why were you eating alone? Where are your friends?” June asks him, no care about social pretense. I wish I could be like her sometimes.
I try to signal to Jack that he doesn’t need to answer any of their questions, yet he doesn’t look my way.
“I was having a rough day, and I needed a bowl of my favorite chicken noodle soup. It always makes me feel better.”
His answer catches me off guard. I want to ask him what’s wrong, who made his day rough for him, and what can I do to make it better, yet I smartly resist.
“Daddy’s ordering us chicken noodle soup, too!” June says. A minute ago she was adamantly against soup. I don’t argue.
“Good call.” Jack gives her a thumbs up.
“I like the noodles more than the chicken,” June says with a smile that splits her face.
“Same.” Jack nods in solidarity.
“I love putting a whole piece of bread in there and letting it get all soggy,” Annabelle says.
“You know what I like to do?” Jack leans in. “I take a bunch of crackers and put them at the bottom of the soup, and I cover them with the noodles. You don’t want a cracker that’s half-in and half-out of the soup, or only one side is in the soup. You take a bite, and you can’t tell whether it’s mushy or crunchy. Gross!”
June and Annabelle nod along as if they’re front row at a tent revivalist.
“Putting them firmly at the bottom of the soup is the scientifically proven best and fastest way for them to get nice and soggy. They mesh together to become one mass of mushy cracker.”
The girls’ heads spin with new ideas.
The waitress comes over to take our order. She doesn’t blink twice at Jack moving to sit with us. She’s on top of it.
“What are you girls going to have?”
“Chicken noodle soup. Extra crackers!” June says.
“I want chicken noodle soup and extra crackers, too,” Annabelle blurts out, worried that they’ll somehow run out.
The waitress turns to me for official approval.
“They’ll also get a turkey sandwich plain. Ketchup and mustard on the side.”
“No! I don’t want a turkey sandwich. I just want chicken noodle soup,” June says, with Annabelle nodding in agreement next to me.
* * *
A little bit later, I’m munching down on the turkey sandwich they didn’t want. The girls and Jack build cracker floors at the bottom of their soups. The girls spend a bit too long playing with their food rather than eating it, but once Jack starts taking spoonfuls, they follow suit. Naturally, the girls also want some of my turkey sandwich. It’s a universal rule that a child’s favorite food is whatever’s on their parent’s plate.
And perhaps it’s that Jack is great with kids. The girls regale him with stories from school and storylines from their favorite shows. He listens as though he was hearing a famous lecture from a renowned scholar. They ask him questions about his life and his favorite desserts. He answers as if being interviewed by Oprah Winfrey.
“Has George tried chewing gum?” Jack crinkles his forehead in a genuine desire to help.
“He says he doesn’t like gum,” June replies.
“Who doesn’t like gum? He just hasn’t found the right flavor. Maybe reindeer don’t like fruity or minty gum. Maybe it needs to be more savory, like soup-flavored gum or hamburger-flavored gum.” Jack shovels part of his cracker mushy mass into his mouth.
“George likes lettuce,” Annabelle offers.
“We’ll try lettuce-flavored gum!” June bounces in her seat.
“That’s a winner.” Jack shoots me a quick smile and wink that gets me all fuzzy inside.
“Girls, I think Jack is tired of talking about George’s smoking.”
“Chain smoking,” Jack corrects me, surprising even June and Annabelle.
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and tosses it into his empty soup bowl. “So what do you think of your dad being a cool hockey player?”
At this, the girls get quiet. They look at each other and shrug, not used to not having an answer.
“You girls like hockey?”
They shrug again. It’s wild how kids can go from super loud to super quiet depending on the topic.
“They’ve never been to a game,” I tell him.
“They haven’t?” Jack guffaws. I signal for him to drop it.
“Mom says it’s too scary.” June eats a spoonful of soup.
“It’s not scary at all,” Jack says.
“Don’t the players hit each other?” Annabelle asks.
“They run into each other. It’s like bumper cars. They bonk and crash, but it’s all in good fun. And the players wear big, puffy clothes. They have to walk like this.” He impersonates a hulking walk where he can’t put his arms down. The girls laugh. “When they knock into each other, it doesn’t hurt.” Jack arches an eyebrow. “Do you girls know what bumper cars are?”
“Yes,” they say, offended at the assumption. We ride them every year when the fair comes into town. June insists on manning the steering wheel and careening into other cars.
“Your dad is great on the ice. He’s fast.”
“Does Daddy skate like he’s on the ice capades?” June asks.
“He does. He really does. He’s magic out there.” Jack winks at me, and it sails over the table like an arrow straight into my heart.
I check my watch and signal for the check. “Girls, we have to go. We’re going to be late for the pottery class.”
“Pottery class? Fancy,” says Jack.
“I thought it’d be something different on a rainy way. Or what was a rainy day.” I take the check from the waitress.
“I’m going to paint Elsa,” says Annabelle.
“No, I am!” June screams.
“You both can,” I explain calmly.
June throws herself back into the booth cushion. “But I wanted to first.”
“What if one of you paints Elsa, and the other paints Anna?” I suggest.
“Can I paint Sven?” June asks, stopping herself just before a crying fit.
“Yes.” Another successful negotiation in the books. I eat the last bite of my sandwich.
“Can Jack come?” June asks.
“Jack has things he needs to do. We don’t want to take up all of his time.”
“Please,” they say. June and Annabelle unleash their big, doe eyes at Jack. Poor guy is unprepared and powerless against their charm offensive.
“Uh, sure. I could paint.”
“Jack.” I catch his eyeline, trying to convey that he doesn’t need to be beholden to their whims. He’s allowed to say no. Yes, they might cry, but I can be the one to handle that.
To my surprise, Jack is unfazed. Dare I say, he seems eager to join them…to paint vases…with Frozen characters.
“I’m down.” Jack hi-fives the girls. “Between me and your dad, who do you think is the better painter.”
“Jack!” The girls yell in a heartbeat before spiraling into laughter.
“I can beat you on the ice and in the pottery studio.” Jack flashes me a cocky, victorious smirk.