8. Conrad #3
“Absolutely,” I said. “When it’s your turn, we’ll go see the giant nose.”
“And the burp machine?”
“Obviously.”
“And the poop thing?”
I sighed. Why was this my life? “Yes. And the poop thing.”
Billie smiled, appeased. “Okay. I forgive you for excluding me.”
Bianca was quiet. Too quiet.
I looked at her. “B?”
She stared at her pancake. “You don’t have to take us anywhere expensive.”
“Sweetheart, this isn’t about money.”
She gave me a skeptical look.
“It’s about quality time with the two of you,” I said.
A few minutes later, the front door opened. Billie was out of her chair before I had time to react. “Winnie!”
I heard the familiar laugh from the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Billie.”
“I smelled burnt circles.”
“So do I.”
Billie huffed. “Dad made breakfast.”
“I gathered as much,” Winnie said.
I rubbed a hand over my face. “I can hear both of you.”
Winnie appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later. A woven basket rested against one hip, and she carried her usual travel mug in the other hand.
Her eyes found mine. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was an odd sort of awareness.
The memory of the previous evening settled between us before she offered a small smile. “Good morning, Conrad.”
My pulse skittered, which was not at all helpful. “Morning.”
Billie grabbed Winnie’s hand. “What do you think of Dad’s burnt pancakes?”
“They’re edible. I promise.” I gestured toward the stove. “They’re right there if you’d like to judge for yourself.”
“I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve had coffee.”
“Wise.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. She set her basket on the counter and glanced around the kitchen. “Everyone seems surprisingly cheerful considering the aroma.”
Bianca studied the two of us. Her expression suggested she was mentally cataloging the exchange for future analysis.
I cleared my throat. “Actually, before breakfast gets much further, I wanted to run something by you.”
Winnie looked at me expectantly.
“I was planning to take CJ and Bianca out today.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I could almost see her attention narrowing.
“As you know, I missed part of the recital,” I continued. “And to make it up to them, I want to spend some time with just the two of them.”
A smile spread slowly across her face. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
The knot that had formed in my stomach since I’d decided on the plan loosened. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She glanced at Billie, who had realized the conversation didn’t include her.
Billie crossed her arms and stuck her bottom lip out. “You’re still going to leave me out?”
Winnie crouched until they were eye level. “What do you think about having your very own day?”
Billie’s eyes narrowed. “Will there be snacks?”
“I should certainly hope so.”
“And adventures?”
“Obviously.”
“What kind?”
Winnie leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m sure we can conjure up something fun today.”
Billie wrapped her arms around Winnie’s neck. Winnie hugged her back just as naturally. I watched the two of them for a second longer than I probably should have, struck by how maternal Winnie looked holding Billie, and how long it had been since Billie had been able to have that with a woman.
Winnie looked back at me over Billie’s shoulder. “I think some quality time with you is exactly what CJ and Bianca need.” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in her voice. Only encouragement.
We ended up going to the enormous retro arcade downtown. It had rows of restored cabinets, pinball machines, Skee-ball lanes, air hockey tables, and prize counters filled with plastic nonsense my children treated as valuable currency.
It was perfect for CJ and Bianca, but it wouldn’t have worked for Billie. It was too loud, had too many flashing lights, and not enough mud, bugs, or danger. Most of the machines were too tall for her, and there were too many rules she wouldn’t care about.
For the older two, it was heaven.
CJ stopped dead the minute we walked inside. “Oh, this is awesome.”
Bianca looked around with reserved interest that lasted approximately eight seconds before she spotted a vintage puzzle game and abandoned all dignity.
We got wristbands and a cup of tokens because the owner still understood the power of small metal coins. CJ gravitated toward pinball, while Bianca found an old arcade cabinet with a maze game.
“Bianca,” I said after her third high score, “are you hustling me?”
“No.”
“You answered too quickly.”
CJ leaned over from the next machine. “She’s become one with the pixels.”
“I have not.”
“You have. I respect it.”
For two hours, we played everything. Air hockey, where CJ trash-talked so politely it almost sounded educational.
Skee-ball, where Bianca developed a scoring strategy and then became furious when physics failed to obey her.
A racing game where I beat both of them, then regretted celebrating because Bianca turned toward me with cold mathematical purpose and said, “Again.”
We played again.
She won.
CJ won enough tickets to buy a rubber alien, a ring pop, and something labeled “mystery slime” that I confiscated temporarily because mystery slime sounded directly linked to property damage.
Bianca spent twenty minutes calculating the best prize-to-ticket value and left with a small metal puzzle, a glow-in-the-dark bookmark, and three erasers shaped like sushi.
“You could’ve gotten the giant plush frog,” CJ told her.
“That frog is ticket inflation in physical form.”
“Sometimes joy is worth inflation.”
Bianca considered this, then looked toward the prize counter. So, I bought the frog. She hugged it all the way to lunch.
We got burgers at the diner next door. CJ told us the entire tragic biography of his rubber alien, who had been exiled for evading taxes, with Bianca jumping in every now and then with legal commentary. As I ate my fries, I tried to memorize how they looked when they forgot to manage me.
CJ laughed with his whole body. Bianca got ketchup on her sleeve and didn’t notice for ten minutes. They argued about whether aliens would understand human food.
In that moment, they were kids. Not grieving children performing okay-ness. Just kids.