Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Dad smiles politely, and I use the gap in the conversation to investigate the missing party. “Is Mom on her way? I thought the girls Christmas photos were at nine?”
“Christmas photos?!” Rainne sits up straighter, unable to hold in her excitement. “With Santa?!”
“No. Santa.” Henz bites and drops her head onto her grandpa’s chest.
Loves the idea. Loves the concept. Loves him in pictures. Hates being too close to him in real life due to his white beard.
“Don’t know the Santa situation,” Dad poorly hides his cringe, “but your mom’s running a bit behind. She has a surgery basically first thing on Monday and needed to take care of some paperwork.”
I cross over to grab the store-bought muffins since my husband is cutting up the fruit. “Oh, well, no biggie, I guess. We can hang around until she gets here so that Archer can go ahead and get to the office like he planned.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dad agrees during his stroll over to the island.
“Sounds unnecessary to me,” he pipes up from where he’s cutting the lime.
“We can’t watch ourselves yet, Dad,” Rainne cautiously reminds as her grandfather slides onto the stool beside her after putting Henz in her own seat.
“I meant…,” his sigh damn near gets me snickering, “I can stick around and hangout with the girls until Maggie gets here. Work at the office will still be there whenever I wander in.” More chopping occurs. “Besides, we can use the time to read If You Take a Mouse to the Movies, which is our school book club assignment and then talk more about what you’re hoping Santa brings you this year. Maybe movies of your own?”
“We already told you,” Rainne huffs and closes her book. “A puppy-”
“I don’t want a puppy,” Henz disagrees prior to thanking me for putting a muffin in front of her.
“And a better life for Jedd.”
Dad immediately begins to interrogate the table. “Who in the Duck Duck Goose is Jedd?”
And that’s how cussing in front of small ears should go.
“The man who lives with his guitar by the bookstore!” Henz informs while removing the wrapper from her muffin.
“Why does that sound like a Johnny Cash song?” Dad teases at the adults.
“Santa is gonna bring him the best Christmas ever because we both asked!” his youngest granddaughter theatrically proclaims, flinging crumbs left and right.
Dad slowly nods in comprehension and recalling of the individual.
Of course, he knows. I tell him almost everything. Especially after the Archer fiasco. You remember how hurt he was I wasn’t more open. And looking back on it now…I know I should’ve been. If anyone would’ve been understanding about the whole thing from the beginning, it would’ve been him. Plus…I don’t know…Perhaps he could’ve helped more? Gotten Archer a job faster? Taken him off Mrs. Prescott’s radar sooner? I try not to think of the what ifs, but sometimes it’s hard. Even after all these years.
“Sounds like Santa has his work cut out for him,” Dad acknowledges, eyes drifting up to Archer who is placing bowls of fruit beside each of our daughters’ plates.
My husband drops his gaze momentarily to the other man in the room. “Just because they ask for it, doesn’t mean that’s what they’re going to get.”
“True.”
“Yeah, but that’s the only thing I asked for,” Henz rationalizes on a huge bite of her muffin, “mearfore, Santa has to bring it.”
Like the devil’s advocate he enjoys being with his grandchildren he tips his head towards her. “Fair.”
Archer twitches a glare at his in-law pushing me to suggest, “Dad, how about we go ahead and get going before we’re tempted to settle for muffins instead of the big as your butt breakfast burrito, I know you have your heart set on.”
His expression shifts into a smug one. “You typically only want that when you’ve had a…busy morning.”
Redness seeps into my cheeks despite doing my best to stop it.
“How about Gordon after Gordon Parks if it’s a boy?” Dad suggests at the same time he rises to his feet. “Yes, he directed Shaft, but he also did amazing work in photojournalism regarding the civil rights movement. I think it would be a strong choice.”
Rainne stops midbite to question, “If what’s a boy?”
“Nononono,” I mutter on a quick headshake. “We are so not having that conversation with them.”
Dad’s grin grows unbearably hopeful. “But-”
“But nothing.” A finger point swiftly follows. “Door. Now.”
He lightly laughs, kisses each of the girls goodbye, and shoots an impish smirk my husband’s direction.
Archer’s own expression transposes into a contemplative one as though now pondering the idea again prompting a second headshake before my own round of goodbyes to my family.
Love my dad from the front of the book to the back; however, I don’t love his meddling in this chapter of my life.
Post grabbing my gear from upstairs and his from his vehicle, the two of us load into my SUV for our outing. During our first stop, I sweetly scold him on bringing the subject up in front of the kids prior to confessing my uncertainty about having more. To no surprise, he warmly reminds me that he supports whatever decision Archer and I come to and that he was only semi-serious about name suggestions.