Chapter Three
Abbott
Brock, Luke, and I had been having sleepovers for quite a while now. We tried to do them once a month, but during the holiday season and in the summer, we often missed one.
I’d been worried that when Brock found his daddy he might not still have time for them, and that would’ve been okay. Luke and I could’ve had them on our own, but this was so much better.
We we’re having it at Luke’s house because of Dog.
I remembered the first time I met his fur baby.
I thought he just kept referring to him as “the dog,” but I was not fully listening, I guess.
But, no, the dog’s name was Dog. She came that way.
He didn’t name her with that creativity.
She’d been surrendered to the shelter, and he kept her original name.
She was a great dog. And according to the paperwork, she’d been left there because the family had to move, and their new place didn’t allow pets.
That was really sad for her, but ultimately, really great for Luke.
And she was spoiled, so it worked out on her end, too I suppose.
I grabbed my backpack off the front seat and popped up to his apartment.
Dog wasn’t a barker, but she was already at the door, her tail whacking it, sounding like someone knocking.
And when Luke opened up, she nearly knocked me over, wanting to get kisses in.
It was a bad habit, and one that she developed only for me.
So whatever vibes I gave off told her I enjoyed the attention, which was fair because I kinda did.
I had far too many things in my backpack, but I wasn’t sure exactly what we were going to do today.
We didn’t make any official plans. I didn’t know if we were gonna stay big or be little or some combination of the two and if we were gonna have a pillow fort in front of the TV and sleep there, or get piled in the bed or what.
“Dog, get down.”
Luke whistled, and she did. I wasn’t able to whistle. I admit I was kinda jealous of him for that.
“Brock here yet?”
Brock answered for himself from the other room. “Getting dressed.”
“Guess that answered that.” I shut the door behind me. “Do we know what we’re doing?”
“Yes. And no. Brock brought his sweatpants and not his little clothes. So we’re gonna be big, but also, he mentioned something about bringing diamond art sticker kits. So maybe little adjacent.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m gonna go get dressed.”
Good thing I brought two different outfits.
Although, despite him being in his sweats, I put on one-piece jams because I liked them and this pair wasn’t particularly little, so it worked.
My dinosaur-with-a-hood jams I picked up on clearance after Halloween, which meant I suspected it doubled as a Halloween costume.
It had pockets, so I didn’t care what the original reason was. Pockets plus dinosaurs equaled a win.
We ordered Chinese food, getting far more than we could ever eat, including a ton of finger-friendly appetizers.
And we ate in the living room, out of the containers, with the exception of the noodles, which we did use a bowl for, to our credit.
After some back-and-forth, we settled on watching a new horror movie.
It was ghost themed, my personal favorite, and less horror and more suspense despite what the tags said.
It was good, but the real fun started when the stickers came out.
“This is so much better than full-size diamond art.” Luke was already working on his second one. “I started three of those then ended up spilling all the diamonds before I got to the end and gave up.”
Dropping diamonds aside, small projects were more fun. The sticker packs Brock picked up were cheerful monsters, bright and colorful, and the diamonds made them extra perfect.
“This one’s going on my sticker wall.” I held up a bright-blue one that, despite the color coding of the sticker itself, I filled up with neon-green glow-in-the-dark diamonds. It was going to be fabulous.
“I want ice cream.” Brock took out his phone, started tapping. He wasn’t asking. He was ordering. “The place on Miller is still open. What do you guys want? I think I’m gonna have a banana split.”
Luke rambled on something about a dumpster, which didn’t sound good to me, but he swore it was the best ever. Then they both looked at me.
“Do they have sandwiches?” I asked.
“No.”
“How about on a stick?”
“No. But they do have mixers with any kind of candy you want.”
“I think I’ll pass.” I didn’t wanna be a stick-in-the-mud, but my spoon was not here.
Over the years, I tried eating ice cream with other spoons.
I tried plastic. I tried wood. I tried metal.
I tried wheatgrass. I tried bamboo. I tried round, oval, shovel, like, all of them, and only the one I had at home tasted right.
When I first admitted that to the guys, they laughed.
They thought I was teasing. But when they realized I was serious, they backed off.
I was shocked that Brock brought up ice cream, but then again, I had my little bag, so they might’ve assumed I brought it with me. I often did.
“Bingo.” Brock looked up from his phone. “They have milkshakes.”
“Perfect.” Not really. I wanted ice cream now, but it was close enough. “I want a milkshake, please.”
He read through the list, and I ended up with a plain old chocolate malt. I hadn’t had one in ages, and some of the others sounded far too sweet to me. Who wanted cake mixed in with their shakes? I mean, obviously, people did because they existed, but I wasn’t one of them.
We waited until our order came and then went out on the balcony to prevent Dog from begging too much.
She did love to beg. And if it was something she could have, we always caved, which was why she still begged.
It was a vicious cycle. But ice cream was her favorite, and this wasn’t the place that had the doggy cups.
If only we’d thought of this before midnight.
We went to sleep, piled in Luke’s bed. And as I listened to the two of them snoring slightly, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it was okay I didn’t have a daddy. Maybe this was enough.