16. Jake
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
jake
Birthdays have always been strange to me.
Growing up, I never celebrated getting older, so the idea of having a party at the age of thirty felt wrong.
Caitlin—and Whitley—had insisted if they couldn’t throw me a party, they should at least give me a cake, although I was convinced Whitley only wanted to give me one because she knew I would give her a piece…
or three. That theory was solidified when I noticed the cake was pure chocolate.
“Happy birthday, Jake.” Cait flashed me a wide grin as she presented the cake to me.
“Cake! Happy cake day!” Whitley squealed.
Scooping Whitley up in my arms, I spun around with her in my arms. “Thanks, stinker.”
She scrunched her nose, jabbing a finger into my cheek. “I’m not stinky. You are stinky.”
“That’s not very nice, Whit,” Caitlin scolded her.
She shrugged, forcing her way out of my arms. “Truth hurts.”
I barked out a laugh. “Damn!”
With a sheepish look, Caitlin asked, “Are you still okay to watch her for a little bit? I know you probably don’t want to after her blunt comment, but I swear she’s not always like that. Only like ninety percent of the time.”
“Of course, I can still watch her. I’m happy to help.”
“Are you sure? I can cancel my thing if you don’t have time or don’t—”
“Cait.” I cut her off, hands settling on top of her shoulders. “I already said I would.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, okay? You don’t have to do that.”
“Sor—”
I raised my brows at her, and her mouth clamped shut. “That’s better.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. You’re doing me a huge favor.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that so soon. Who knows, maybe you’ll come back and we’ll have adopted a chicken or something.”
“Please don’t,” she pleaded, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.
I pointed to the cake in her hands. “Come on, let’s cut this cake before Whitley throws a fit.”
After we all ate, Caitlin left for a yoga class that a friend she met at a cycling class recommended to her.
Whitley had chocolate frosting smeared all over her face and hands, and I was doing my best to clean her off.
“No!” she whined, tucking her chocolatey hands closer to her body.
“If you don’t get the frosting off your hands, you might get it on your clothes and then they’ll be dirty.” I attempted to reason with her, which was honestly how I thought reasoning with a tiny dictator or a cult member would be like.
“No, I don’t wanna!” she screeched when I reached for her hand.
I sighed as she did exactly what I was afraid of and wiped her hands on the front of her shirt, smearing sticky, brown frosting all over herself.
“Do you want to change your shirt and wash your hands now?” I asked, bracing myself for a battle.
“Can I put on my Booey shirt?”
Booey as in Bluey.
“Yeah, I think that’s a great idea, bug.” I led her back to her bedroom, digging through her closet for the Bluey shirt she was talking about. “Where’s it at?” I asked, but was met with silence.
I whipped my head around, but the kid was gone.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Whit!” I called for her, hearing a faint giggle down the hallway. It wasn’t hard to catch up to her, but I still moved as quickly as I could, lest I find her with a kitchen knife like a tiny, psychopathic serial killer.
She’d barely made it out to the living room when I got to her, picking her up from behind and carrying her back to her room, despite her nearly kicking me in the balls.
“Where’s your shirt?” I asked, setting her down on the bed and closing the door, turning the lock so she couldn’t make an escape.
A manic laugh bubbled out of her.
“You don’t have a Bluey shirt, do you?”
“Nope!” She rolled over on the bed, laughing her heart out.
“Can we change your shirt into something else, though? You have chocolate all over it.”
“Only if it’s a Booey shirt.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling a long breath through my nose to suppress a groan. “If you change your shirt, we can go on an adventure outside, how about that? Do you want to go on a scavenger hunt?”
“Ooh, scavenger hunt! Yes, yes, yes!” She nodded enthusiastically.
“Okay, can I wipe your hands off, too?” I was probably going to get in trouble for what I offered her next, but I added, “If you let me clean off your hands, I’ll give you another slice of cake later.”
“Cake!”
“Yep. Cake,” I sighed, knowing I would regret my decision.
Ten minutes later—I never realized how long it took to dress a child—Whitley was in a clean shirt with clean hands, and we headed outside to explore the yard.
The weather was pleasant, slight cloud cover to provide shade from the harsh sun and a gentle breeze to cool the air down a bit. I wasn’t sure what I would have suggested if it had been raining. Changing a shirt just to play in the mud seemed a bit like a contradiction.
“Scawager hunt!” she cheered as she stomped out onto the grass, waving her arms around.
“Go find me a…” I paused, thinking of something a kid could search for. “A stick!”
“Okay! Stick. Stick. Stick,” she repeated before running off toward the trees and bushes on the backside of my house.
“Don’t go too far, though! Stay where I can see you!”
“’Kay!”
I followed behind her, staying close enough I’d be able to catch her if she ran off, but far enough away that she could feel a sliver of independence.
She was down on her hands and knees in front of the bushes, crawling across the ground, but she suddenly shot to her feet, eyes wide.
“I heard something!” Whitley gasped before frantically whipping her head around trying to find the source of the sound.
A soft mewling in the bushes caught my attention at the same time Whitley started running toward it.
“Wait, Whit, you might scare it off!” I warned, but it was too late.
She had already crouched down in front of the bush, a high-pitched squeal escaping her lips.
By the time I reached her, she was in the process of scooping up a tiny orange kitten, cradling it against her chest.
“Can I keep it?” Whitley stared up at me with round, widened eyes. They practically sparkled with stars in them.
“Uh.” My words caught in my throat as I mentally prepared to break this tiny human’s heart. “I don’t know, bug. Your mom probably doesn’t want—”
Whitley’s brows pinched together as she jutted out her bottom lip in a massive pout, tears already beading at her waterline.
Fuck.
“Please,” she whined, drawing out the word. “Please, I want to keep it.”
“Whit.”
A guttural cry ripped itself from her throat as the waterworks began. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, and she squeezed the kitten tighter, coaxing out a loud mewl.
I scrubbed my hand across my forehead, mentally mapping out how I was going to explain to Caitlin that her daughter found a cat and now wanted to keep it.
“Okay,” I conceded, and the tears immediately stopped, save for a small sniffle here and there. “You can keep the cat for now, but it’s ultimately up to your mom, so don’t get attached, yeah?”
“Yay!” she shrieked. “You’re my friend now, and I’m gonna name you Cheeto!”
The kitten curled itself up even further into her chest, purring loudly as it snuggled against the little girl.
What the hell had I just gotten myself into?
Ushering her into the house, we waited until Caitlin got back home, although the cat had mysteriously disappeared once Caitlin pulled into the driveway.
“Jake!” An exasperated voice called my name from across the lawn a couple hours later. “Why did my daughter just tell me you said she could have a cat?”
I stepped out onto my front porch, but Caitlin was already storming across the lawn with Whitley following close behind. She was stifling a laugh with her hand in front of her mouth, the kitten in tow under her other arm.
“He said I could keep it!” Whitley giggled as she pointed accusingly at me.
Gee, thanks, kid.
“That is not what I said,” I protested, even though it was part of what I said. “I told you that you could keep it for now, but your mom was the one who got to decide if you could keep it forever.”
She dropped the kitten on the grass and crossed her arms across her chest, popping her hip and putting on her best scowl. “Nuh-uh.”
“I believe you, for what it’s worth.” Caitlin shook her head, but the smile she was trying to hide was unmistakable. She bent down to pick up the kitten, petting its forehead with her thumb. “He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”
“He’s so cute, and he’s mine!”
Cait and I exchanged glances, as though we were silently asking each other what the best move was here. A secret language between us. Mind-to-mind connection or some shit.
I raised my brows as if to say, You’re her mom.
In response, she mimicked like she wanted to retort, You’re the one who told her she could keep it.
I shrugged. She started crying, what else was I supposed to do?
That earned me an eyeroll, and she turned back to her daughter.
“If you keep the kitten, you’re going to have to take care of him. That means feeding him and helping me clean his litter box, yeah?”
The pigtails Whitley had bobbed as she aggressively nodded.
“Okay, bug, you can keep him.”
“Thank you, Mommy!” She ran up to Caitlin and stole the kitten away, running back to the guest house.
“Does letting my daughter adopt a kitten count as doing something spontaneous?” She sighed as she took off after Whitley.
I chuckled, following behind her. “Why the hell not?”