“Can we play in it?” Camdyn asks, wiggling out of Morgan’s arms and to the large windows overlooking the pasture behind our house. She stands on her tippy-toes to peer out the glass covered in a thin layer of frost from the wind. “Where’s Lulu? Is she warm?”
Lulu is Camdyn’s grullo quarter horse. Yep. My five-year-old has her own horse. But when your grandpa has only two grandkids and raises horses, you’re bound to score on that level. They might not be attending private schools or have a personal nanny, but they have a pretty damn good ranch life and every man here wrapped around their fingers.
“She’s in the barn. I made sure to put a blanket on her, extra hay and,” he pauses, burying his face into Sevyn’s neck as she cackles with laughter. “Marshmallows.”
Smiling, I wipe my hands on a towel and watch my brother with my girls. I learned before I was old enough for a shot of whiskey that being a father and a dad hold entirely two different meanings. Being a dad requires you to be present, in the moment, and interacting with your kids.
Fathers yell out orders and demand respect.
Dads show them how to respect others, including them.
I can’t say I’m doing that great of a job with the girls by myself, but I’m trying. And that starts with our weekly spaghetti nights. Morgan joined not long after we started doing them because he loves spaghetti. It’s nice to spend some time with him where we’re not working.
“Did you cut the ice in the pond?” Morgan asks, removing his gloves and placing them near the fire I have going.
I nod. “Yeah, almost fell in too.”
He laughs, smiling at me. “Nothing like a polar bear plunge in a blizzard.”
“No kidding.” Morgan and I jump in the pond every New Year’s Day buck-ass naked, because we’re crazy. They say it means good luck, but I haven’t had much good luck in years, so it might be a crock of shit.
Peeking over my shoulder out the kitchen window, I notice the snow accumulating on the covered porch.
“Nut sac,” Sev mumbles under her breath, climbing onto a chair.
I turn and stare at her. Told you she was burning that word into her brain earlier today. I see her on a chair she’s pushed up against the stove, spoon in hand, ready to dip it into the sauce. The spoon she had on the ground earlier. “What are you doing?”
Her mischievous blue eyes focus on mine. “I’m stirrin’ the witch’s stew.”
I smirk. “Can I help you?”
Determination digs deep, her lips in a flat line. “No. I do it.”
“You’re getting it everywhere. And I don’t know if I want you stirring it. You ate veggie straws with your feet earlier.”
Beside us, Camdyn looks like she’s going to throw up. “And you let her?”
I glance at Camdyn. “Have you not met your sister?”
Morgan kicks his boots off near the door and makes his way into the kitchen area, sitting at the kitchen island. He sighs, the last few days written on his face.
Sev gets down from the chair she pushed next to the stove, carries the spoon with spaghetti sauce on it with her over to Morgan. “Are you tired from all your sleeping?”
He peers down at her. “I don’t get much sleep, sweetheart.”
And then she pats his shoulder with one hand, licking the spoon in the process. “But you sleepin’ with Lil.”
Morgan coughs and then clears his throat, his murderous eyes shifting to mine. “What?”
“Okay.” I take the loaf of bread from the counter and toss it in the oven. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up for supper?”
Thankfully they take off toward the bathroom to fight over who washes their hands first.
Morgan scowls, running his hand over his thick, dark beard, as if he can’t believe what he heard. With his elbows resting on the island, he leans in, eyeing me carefully. “What the fuck? You told them?”
Listen, I’m afraid of Morgan. He can kick my ass for sure, but I’m not about to tell him that, or anyone else. If you tell anyone, I’m going to deny I ever told you. So, I shrug and play it cool. “No, but Sev was in the room when Lillian tried to bring me into your drama.”
He leans back in the chair, sighing. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. He’s not going to help you out of this one. That’s on you.” I pull the very hot loaf of bread out of the oven and set it on the cutting board. “Now cut this.”
He does as I ask, and I tend to the boiling-over noodles. I busy myself making the sauce for the next few minutes while Morgan gets plates set out.
“What’s on you?” he asks Sev, who comes walking into the kitchen with no shirt on and just her underwear.
“Why are you all shiny? What’s on you?”
She stares at her hands. “I don’t know.”
That’s her answer for everything. Reaching out, I touch the goo on her and immediately know what she’s done. “Where’s the bottle?” I groan. Do you know how many times I’ve called poison control on this kid? I’m surprised CPS hasn’t knocked on my door yet.
A few minutes later, Sev returns with the Vaseline. I hold it up; the goo covering it is now on me. “Why did you put this on you?”
She shrugs. “I want to be wiggly.”
Wiggly? I stare at her, then Camdyn, who seems just as confused. Even Morgan doesn’t know what the fuck’s up. He takes another shot of whiskey, as if to say he can’t be sober for this. Believe me, I don’t want to be either.
But then I think about what she said. Wiggly. “What does that mean?” I regret asking this before the words finish leaving my mouth because she proceeds to flop herself onto the floor and slide across the wood floors like they’re a slip and slide.
Morgan laughs, eating a slice of bread like this is the funniest shit he’s ever seen. “Why you got so much Vaseline in the house?”
“Shut up.” I don’t even remember why I have it. Are you laughing? You are because you know I’m lying, but whatever.
For the next ten minutes, I clean off Sev while Camdyn drills Morgan about the condition of her horse, and Sev stands and watches me. Being the horse lover she is, Camdyn is terrified her horse is going to freeze to death in the storm. “Horses aren’t stupid, honey. They’re not gonna go swimming in the pond tonight.”
“I beg to differ,” I point out, remembering how stubborn every horse I’ve ever been on has been.
“Unless it’s your dad on the horse, then they get dumb.” He brings his face closer to Camdyn and grins. “He sucks the smarts right outta ’em.”
“My skin is angry,” Sev tells me, wiggling to get away as I toss the bottle of Vaseline at Morgan. “Stop hurting it.”
“Stop getting into things you shouldn’t.” I toss a handful of paper towels with goo on them in the trash can. “Now get up there and eat your supper.”
Wearing one of my T-shirts as a dress and with greasy hair, she crawls up beside Morgan and Camdyn. “Why is spedie red?”
“It’s the sauce. Just eat it.”
She gives me the death stare for telling her what to do. Is she trying to cast a spell on me? Are witches real? Is my kid one? All things that keep me up at night.