We take our victories where we can find them.
And as Tyler comes back out into the backyard in his swimsuit and turns on the sprinkler, tossing LEGO blocks into the spray, I realize parenting is nothing but small victories, stacked up on top of each other, one at a time, leading you along a line on a map you didn't draw and only see part of at any given time. Which is so freaking unfair for a strategic thinker.
But I didn't make this world.
I'm just helping populate it.
12
Andrew
“Will you be on your phone the entire time we're eating?” Declan asks as he stabs his salad with his fork like he's a caveman killing a wild boar.
“Only if you're going to use that tone.” I finish my text and set the phone down to my right. “Happy?”
“No.”
We spend the next five minutes eating, my baked haddock perfectly seasoned with green shallots and tarragon, the mushroom risotto pure perfection, but the side of Cranky Declan is leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Why,” I finally ask after finishing my meal, turning to my pint glass to clear out the taste, “are you being such a dick?”
“I'm the dick? I am?”
“I was answering texts from Gina. You do the same with Dave.”
“Not during social time with family.”
The snort comes out involuntarily. “Social time? Since when is a meal with me social time? It's always about business.”
“It was always about business. I don't do that anymore.”
If my throat could scoff in seven different languages, it would, but I'm left with just one sound to make.
It appears to work.
His shoulders drop, the tension releasing as he reaches for his full pint glass, the deep lager leaving a line of foam on his lip before he licks it off. Declan would look terrible with a moustache.
Most guys do.
“You'll see. Once you have kids, it all changes.”
“Of course it does. But you still run the company. That doesn't go away just because you have a child.”
“No. But it's different.”
“Dad said you'd say that.”
“James McCormick is the last role model you should take for how to be a father. Especially on the topic of being a workaholic.”
Defending our father wasn't what I expected to be doing at this dinner with Declan, but it's what rises up immediately.
I tamp it down.
“He definitely wasn't around as much as he should have been.”
“That's like saying the pope is a little bit Catholic.”
Can't help but chuckle a little. He's right.
Plus the beer's kicking in after a good meal.
“You're a great dad to Ellie. I'll do my best for these boys who are coming. I think, in his own weird way, Dad did his best.” I hold up a palm to stop Declan before the protest even begins. “I'm not saying it was good enough. I'm saying the man has limits, just like all of us, and he did his best.”
“Did he?”
“Within his limits, yes. And I know that's hard to accept.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
I hold up my empty beer glass. “Here's my PhD.”
The server takes the gesture as a sign to come over, pluck it out of my hand, and go directly to the bar for a refill. Instantly, my mind calculates, using a formula involving time, distance, vehicle, conversation topic, and safety.
I don't stop her.
“I can crash at your place if I have to, right?”
“Sure. Why?”
The server delivers another dark lager and I point. “That.”
“As long as you don't pass out on my sofa and ogle my naked wife when she shows up in heels and a trenchcoat, yes.”
“That happened once, Declan. Only once! And first of all, I didn't ogle her. Second, she wasn't your wife yet.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “As if that's germane to the topic?”
“Fine. I'll have a driver take me home.”
“Or you can walk to your condo. It's not far.”
“Amanda wants me home every night in Weston, unless we're together in the city. It's one of those marriage things.”
He grins and leans forward. “I know all about those.”
“And now we have baby things. Babies,” I correct.
“Like what?”
“The books.”
Rare sympathy floods his face. “Right. The books. Did you have Gina summarize them for you?”
“Amanda's too smart.” My glare tells him the truth: Shannon tipped her off, which means my brother ruined my plan. “We sit at home on the sofa and listen to the audiobook form together. You ever hear a verbal description of a c-section? I’ve learned everything about fascial tearing and uterine blood flow that I’ve spent my entire life trying not to know.”
He sighs. “I'm going to have to go through this all over again.”
“Again?”
“We're trying for another.”
I laugh. Can't help it. “I'm having two at once and you're trying to catch up?”
A sour look is all I get back.
“It really isn't a competition. If we only ever had Ellie, I'd be the happiest man in the world.”
“If the only child I could ever have was Ellie, so would I.”
Hard blinking, a sign he's surprised, makes me realize how important my words are. This is Declan's version of emoting. When he's not stone faced, he's irritatingly condescending or jocularly sarcastic, so getting a better range of emotions is a nice change.
Then again, maybe I'm not giving the guy enough credit. Shannon has definitely softened him.
And Ellie has turned him into melted butter.
“Thanks. Those babies are lucky, too.”
“Are they?”
We both gulp a lot of beer, then sit in silence, holding back the inevitable carbonated sounds that want to replace words from our mouths. This restaurant isn't top of the line, but it's pleasant, and right now, pleasant counts for a lot.
“Did Dad talk to you about the trust? About inheritance?”
Ah. That's what this meal is about.
“Yes.”
“Is he being a jerk about Ellie?”
“Ellie?”
“She's the wrong gender, in his eyes.”
“Oh, Dec. God. No. Don't worry about it. If he does the wrong thing, I'll make it right.”
“It's not about the money, Andrew. We have more than enough. And he can't change Mom's trust, so there's that.”
“He tried, with Terry.”
Declan lets out a nasty sound. “Sure did.” Concerned green eyes meet mine. “What kind of pressure is he putting on you to turn your children into little James McCormick Perfection Bots?”
I let out a curse.
“He did,” Declan says, banging the table with one fist. “I knew it.”
“You, too?”
“His big thing was that Ellie wasn't a boy, but yes. He tried.”
“What'd you say to him?”
“I told him to go to hell and stormed off.” Anger has a way of settling in comfortably on Declan's face, as if his features were made for it. “You?”